#a good game is like so far down the list of my expectations at a baseball game man like i'm there for 1) friends and 2) garlic fries | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shougojo · 6 months ago

Note

POPS IN AND SHAKES YOU

BAMBI. you are the next one on my list to convert to a hsr / genshin papa enthusiast >:)

bambi…. do u have any thoughts abt hsr and genshin papas (twirling my hair as i type)

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ HONAKI STAR RAIL MEN AS DADS — VARIOUS HSR.

ft. jing yuan, blade, dan heng, aventurine x fem! reader (separate)

content. literally so much fluff u can consider ssfw (super sfw), BUT is kinda suggestive, established relationship (marriage), dan heng’s part is slightly il dan heng, lots of mentions of pregnancy, parental au, somewhat a headcannon w little blurbs in between !!!!, lots & lots of kisses, pet names used for reader, not proofread

notes. IM SO SRRY IT TOOK THIS LONG; hopefully i cooked/redeemed myself w this 😞🙏 made a specially for @neuvistar — maryse !! i also made the writing smaller bc i don’t want it to look longer (srry if it’s hard to read :’)) i doubt myself w this idk if it’s even good (i cut off half of the characters i was gonna write bc i honestly idk 😾 & i did some of them dirty IM SORRY) </3 but i actually do have thoughts, but i hate when i have smt in mind & i js can’t seem to write it down SHAKES YOU IN FRUSTRATION

JING YUAN — is literally father and daddy coded you cannot persuade me that he isn’t (i will throw hands at you) he’s super sweet and gentle with you before and after your pregnancy, he’ll actually probably treat you the same after you get your children — although maybe he’ll be more patient. overall he’s on the chiller dad side. personally, jing yuan would naturally know how to handle his children even when they’re a few hours after birth. he would cradle them with so much care and gentleness like your baby is made of fragile glass. but what’s to expect? he has yanqing to deal with in the first place.

JING YUAN — would be the man to kiss your forehead multiple times during pregnancy, he’ll actually transform into a male wife, he’ll also go as far as canceling all of his meetings and not give a damn about each one, even if you tried telling him to; he’s stick by your side like super glue. he’s SO reassuring. it’s a shame fu xuan had to deal with a man like him, he’ll never focus properly even if he went to work. all he has on his mind is you and his soon-to-be little versions of you and him.

“take it easy, love. i’ll be right by your side if you need me.”

JING YUAN — who would and will have two daughters, he’s such a girl dad i can see it. i feel like he wouldn’t (??) have twins, just like one child at a time, a very supportive dad. he could easily cheer up his daughters anytime, like when they trip, fall, scrap their knee, need help on homework, need assistance on changing, and so much more.

JING YUAN — who takes naps with his daughters anywhere, anytime. his daughters definitely inherited their father’s love for sleep (and his lazy personality), they enjoy sleeping just like their sleep deprived father. you’ll as often walk in on the three sleeping together — the children wrapped in jing yuan’s warm, muscular arms. unfortunately, you go a long way just to wake up your husband, what makes you think waking up your husband and two more lazy children that have the same ego as their father help?

“mommyy… 5 mor’…”

“mhm, what she said… just 5 more minutes, darling… how about you join us..?

JING YUAN — spoils his daughters. he doesn’t spoil them too much, or else they’ll grow up to be greedy, so he’ll spoil them just a right amount that they know how to behave properly when receiving something thoughtful. he cherishes the moments he gets to spend with you and the children together — he occasionally schedules times so he can get home at a specific time to spend with his family. eating dinner, playing games, and just enjoying his family. on rare occasions, his girls will wake up early and even come to your’s and jing yuan’s bedroom to wake you two up in the morning! leading to a huge cuddle session and cute babbling from your mix of you and jing yuan.

BLADE — is quite the dad, actually. he obviously won’t show it, but he’s in between being extremely nervous and extremely excited on being a dad. he’s not sure if it’ll be worth the shot even being a father, due to all of the trauma and greif he’s had in his life. but after he met you, he’s started to diminish his need to disappear. additionally, you’ll be there to reassure him.

BLADE — is a very good father. like before, he’s nervous, but he has soft spot for you — which means he has an even softer spot for his own children. he’s a girl dad; one daughter and i can see it. he takes REAL good care of her when she’s just minutes out the womb. just the way blade’s eyes softened so much and his mouth slight gaped can tell how blade sees his beautiful daughter. the man to tuck his girl’s stray hairs out of her face and kiss her face afterwards.

“she looks just like me..”

BLADE — who's so gentle with his daughter. despite being a wanted criminal who fights with much skill and discipline, it’s a true surprise to see him so vulnerable while using his rough hands to softly cradle his daughter who’s ten times smaller than him. he’ll let his daughter play with his bangs and long luscious hair, even if he has to brush it all over again. he doesn’t give a single care about his hair, as long as his daughter gets her entertainment. he’ll let her slap his face, squish his cheeks, bump his nose, whatever (he probably wouldn’t let them all slide). on some days, when blade’s not running around and escaping from soldiers, he lets his daughter go ALL out on him. the two will definitely play — dress up, dolls, tea party’s, and much, much more (but it’s not like he can say no).

BLADE — who unfortunately “becomes” a pretty princess once his daughter gets to work. neon clips, silky ribbons, fake makeup, pink hair ties, jewelry, everything. and when you witness it, it’s more than difficult to hold in your laugh.

“blade!… blade?-”

“don’t.”

BLADE — is a pretty accurate protective father, but sometimes, it’s not even his protectiveness that’s acting. just a small glance or look from him can scare any boy from staying near or close your daughter. you remind him constantly to give his daughter some freedom, but what’s he gonna do if he’s doing nothing — but staring at the boy? it’ll take time for him to accept a guy that your daughter actually really likes and wants to be with, but don’t worry, blade will be “kind” enough to do it for his daughter. but don’t expect him to accept a man so easily (and the man to accept a dad-in-law so… scary), he’ll definitely have them take a “trial” on something to be able to be his daughter’s lover. heads up, if any guy hurts his daughter in any way, physically, mentally, or emotionally, they better count their days.

DAN HENG — is literally the sweetest dad to ever have, it’s tooth rottening. he’s like the entire package. he’ll make sure his children get a good education, live in a good environment, provide them with a decent life style, and hope they grow up to be amazing people (i’m crying rn). but before actually receiving you giving birth to your child, dan heng was the biggest nervous thing ever. he never thought to ever have a child of his own, and doubt how he’ll have to work it out. but you reassured him, and true to your words, he was.

DAN HENG — stays by your side almost all the time during your pregnancy. even when he had lots of trailblazing with the crew, he insisted to stay back to care for you and his future children. fortunately, he was allowed to by himeko and welt — unfortunately for march 7th and the trailblazer, they were missing a member to provoke. he can and will do everything and anything for you; the whole princess treatment. need water? right on top of your bed stand. need a pillow? he’s already rushing for a spare one. need something to eat? he’s already provided it (breakfast in bed guys). don’t forget the cuddles on the side, he’ll provide that anytime. his cuddles are literally so warm it warms up your body in the process, he’s like your personal heater. dan heng will definitely rub soothing circles on the belly — he knows it gets difficult to be a mother (not by experience guys get it out of your head), so he hopes all his acts of service helps you.

“shhh… take it easy love.”

DAN HENG — would have 2 children, a son and a daughter. unless it’s il dan heng, then that’s something else. i’d say the son is the oldest, although i don’t exactly 100% see it. there will be tears when he gets to see his very first child, holding them like it’s like his very last chance of living. he’ll immediately kiss your forehead after you’ve given birth to your and his’ child, promising to care for your son (and future daughter) ‘till the day he dies. he’ll also be by your side when your in the process of delivering your child. rubbing circles on your hands, lightly hushing and kissing you, intertwining hands, and saying the most supportive and loving words ever. and you maybe even cried during it because you can’t believe to have such an amazing husband like dan heng by your side (i’m crying again). additionally, the way his heart and eyes melted when you send him a small smile and slowly closed your eyes to rest.

DAN HENG — who like blade, would let his children play with his hair. sometimes, he’d transform into his vidyadhara and let his children play with his long hair; clipping clips, tying his hair, fashioning it, etc. i guess the son wouldn’t be so into that, but he’ll help his sister dress up their father. you melt whenever you happen to see your little toddlers play and try to chase after their father’s dragon tail. careful not to have them trip or fall, dan heng enjoys teaseing them and having them run after his tail — like a puppy, hoping that they manage to catch his tail and play atop it. i also can’t help but think of the thought dan heng would have his tail “turn” into a slide for his little children! they would just slide down and run back to their father for another round until they’re exhausted.

“hehe... again! again!”

“alright, you can slide some more, but then it’s gonna be your nap time.”

“ok, daddy!”

DAN HENG — who lovingly tucks his kids in their bed or crib when it’s their nap time, or it’s their bedtime. it’s such a heartwarming scene to witness, it could easily melt even the coldest of hearts. i think dan heng would sing them lullabies, but occasionally when he feels like it’s time for them understand the meanings of his songs. dan heng slightly blushes when he sees you in the doorway, flustering that you got to see how vulnerable he is, but that’s not a bother.

AVENTURINE — is one of the funnest and dedicated dads. he just loves his children so much, even if he has a side job, he always manages to make time for them and you. would definitely cry tears of joy and happiness when he receives them, stroking their small heads and holding them so tenderly. he loves you so much for giving him his children; he'd babble on forever about how you're such an amazing wife for working so hard for him and you, probable crying while saying all those heartwarming things. he's more than grateful to have his little children.

AVENTURINE — is such an AMAZING dad and supporter oh my goodness. he's so caring when you're a few months and/or weeks pregnant. maybe he becomes a male-wife (??), that's very visible in my brain. for awhile, he would take a break on going to the casino — to stay home and care for you. would easily decline any offer from any opponents that want to gamble. you would sometimes just wake up in the morning and hear his conversations to somebody about some business.

"no... im good... listen, for the last time, im not. please and thank you." hangs up.

"oh! mornin' babe. huh? — oh, its nothing, just some brat."

AVENTURINE — is a girl dad, but i feel like he would have one son and two daughters. he would love them all equally and take care of them so much; giving them a childhood he never managed to have. aventurine i guess i pretty known for being quite a guy, but his kids would be the sweetest ever — which he said was inherited by you. but just like their dad, they have another side (😈), they can be SO troublesome and little maniacs if they want to.

AVENTURINE — who gets tackled to the ground whenever he gets home from work by his children. it’s so cute and entertaining to see him get beaten to the ground by kids so much younger than him. they would just tackle his — grabbing his hat and coat and wearing them themselves ITS SO CUTE. additionally, i see aventurine taking the three bundles of joy to his gambling games and have them like sit on his lap and let them experience it. and also watching their dad ‘win’, is what he said. but after a couple weeks of their visits, aventurine eventually had to limit their visits because they kept exposing his cards; throwing them, playing with them, shouting out his cards, etc.

“daddy has only two more blue cards!”

“and one yellow!”

“oh! hehe… don’t shout out, love, it’s rude.”

AVENTURINE — who does the weirdest things with his kids. he would one hundred percent (sorry not sorry) dab up his son and teaches him the weirdest shit ever. like it’s kinda not surprising at all. he would also let his daughter play around with his necessary stuff. many of his other stuff needs to been hidden well, because you know, his kids are pretty curious.

462 notes · View notes

eggiesins · 3 months ago

Text

Sandrock Bachelors Being Drunk

Mild NSFW so Minors DNI

My first head canon post, enjoy!

Arvio

Arvio already has no idea what inhibition is so expect his personality to intensify by 200% while his ability to actually come up with schemes drops by 200%. He’s gonna have so many half-baked terrible ideas that he will immediately try to act upon, so be ready to keep him on a kid leash to avoid some really dumb incidents. “Builder! I just had the best idea for how to get more investors for By the Stairs, but we have to act fast! I’m hopping on the next train to Atara right n- what do you mean it can wait til morning??” Arvio already slurs his words, so drunk Arvio I could see being almost unintelligible. Once he’s drunk enough, he’ll constantly flip back and forth between beaming over how much he loves the builder and sobbing over Fang’s most recent rejection.

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE rizz

Amirah helps at first, but clocks out of babysitting after the first hour of shenanigans. Good luck Builder. He’s your responsibility now.

Burgess

Sweet, sweet summer child Burgess. He’s not much of a drinker, but would easily be peer pressured into drinking games, especially if the Builder wants him to play. Others offer to drink for him if he wants, but Burgess insists that, as the Chief Water Inspector, his high hydration levels and position of bureaucratic authority give him a high enough tolerance to make it through the whole game. They do not. Sweet baby boy’s never been drunk before and has no idea how to handle it, so be ready to babysit this one too. He’s gonna cry over how beautiful the cactus flowers are in full bloom, how Banjo jumped in his lap and started purring, and how you’re an angel from the Light sent to save Sandrock. Keeping him hydrated is easy, but if he does throw up, he’ll never forgive himself for the wasted water.

He’s very good at listening to the Builder’s instructions and advice on sobering up, though. Of all the drunks on this list, he’s the easiest to comfort and get to bed by far.

Drunk Burgess is a “sinner” (by his perspective) & 100% gives Pen the “you’re a bully but I forgive you” speech instead of turning the other cheek or forgiving immediately.

Ernest

It’s been a while for him. Did he drink and party with Luna back in Atara? 100%, but since arriving at Sandrock, he’s been so busy with hyper fixating on Logan and trying to survive droughts and sandstorms, there hasn’t been much of an opportunity for him to just let loose and party. Once he finally does, though? Mans is writing sonnets on sonnets on sonnets. None of them rhyme, or even make sense, but he gives them his all anyway. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” “Ernest, you said that one already.” “Did I? I guess every time I see you, I seem to just forget everything else.”

Ernest is pretty open about flirting with the Builder normally, so when he’s drunk, expect to hear it way way more. He’s gonna rizz up that Builder as well as his drunk brain can ‘cause he absolutely LOVES seeing them blush because of him. He’s all talk though, well aware that when he’s drunk, neither he nor anyone else should take him seriously. He’s just having fun!

Fang

I could see Fang going one of two ways when drunk: either he realizes he’s drunk and immediately goes to sleep regardless of location OR his walls come down and you get to see an almost completely unfiltered Fang. When his walls come down, oh man, Arvio better watch out. If Arvio were to try any shenanigans, Fang is definitely telling him to shut up and sit down. He’s grumpy normally, so drunk Fang would be much more likely to express that grumpiness. It’s not that he’s a mean drunk so much as he is just more comfortable expressing himself under the effects of liquid courage.

If he’s with the Builder, he becomes soooooo clingy and jealous. “The feel of your touch, unforgettable.” Yeah he’s not giving up the feel of your touch while he feels confident enough to truly demand it. If the builder is standing, he’s right behind them with arms around their waist. If the builder is sitting, his head is on their shoulder, hand on their thigh, glaring down other townies who get too close.

X lowkey loves when Fang gets drunk because it means he doesn’t have to filter what he says either, not that he does it too much normally. He definitely eggs Fang on if the kind doctor happens to be roasting someone (Arvio) like a squawking mini-hypebeast. At the same time, X helps the builder out a lot with getting Fang to drink water and go to sleep.

He has a very low tolerance, 4 drinks max

Justice

Our favorite Sheriff and tiredest dad of all the bachelors, Justice definitely knows how to drink. One of his best friends is the local saloon owner, so yes, Justice has a pretty high tolerance. With that, Justice tends to be pretty mellow when he drinks, but if he’s with the builder, he’s getting flirty too. He’s gonna lean hard into the cowboy aesthetic, with a fake tip of the hat before asking the builder to dance. During the dance Justice is pulling the builder close enough to stand on his feet (so he doesn’t drunkenly stumble on them) & going all the way with the spins and twirls. He’s not elegant by any means, but he is fun! He’s giggly and having a good time (probably annoying Logan).

If the builder is a friend, he’d insist on walking them home to see them off safely before stumbling back to his house. If the builder is more than a friend, Justice is definitely laying on the rizz and trying to get laid down at the workshop.

[insert “hmm society” question about life here] (seriously though, why do all the civil corps members wax philosophical so often?)

Logan

We all know the yakboy only dances when he drinks, but what else will he do when drunk? Logan has a temper, yes, but he’s also a soft gooey ball of affection with the people he cares about, and that dichotomy is on full display when he drinks. He avoids drinking games (they’re dumb & childish & he’s a grown man, damnit), but if the Builder wants to get up to drunken shenanigans? Oh he’s in.

“Darlin’, are you seriously tellin’ me ya wanna go build a scarecrow that looks like death to set up outside Cooper’s house ‘n scare him when he wakes up at 4am?” “Ye” “What do ya need me to do?”

Surprisingly, not a horny drunk at all (fanfic writers sue me). BUT, he is an affectionate drunk with the builder. Kinda like Fang, he’s all about the physical affection, especially in public. The builder is his, and he’s gonna make sure it stays that way. When they get home, he just wants to lay in bed with the builder in a cuddly vice grip til they both fall asleep.

He definitely relies on Rambo knowing the way home, just hops up, tells the goat where to go, and halfway passes out in the saddle. He’s definitely getting roasted for being a lightweight by Andy when he gets home.

Miguel

How else would a religious fanatic obsessed with discipline act when drunk? Off the rails ranting & outright simping for the builder. Full stop. I’m not even a Miguel fan and I know this man is so down bad for the builder. He wouldn’t even want to drink initially, until the builder challenges him to a game. “Very well, Builder. For the person who has done the most to promote telesis in this barren land, I can surely raise a glass or two in celebration.”

Once he’s drunk, expect a strange combination of sermon and praise for the builder (he will definitely be mortified in the morning). But if the builder even touches him by accident, he’s already hiding a sneaky semi tenting his pants.

“Miguel…are you hard right now?” “Builder, it would be a sin for me to deny the truth of this situation. *proceeds to dramatically throw his jacket off* Take me now, body and soul.” “I mean, sure, but…can that wait til we can get home?” “OH…………………..yes”

The next morning, while nursing a hell of a hangover and the raw, unfiltered embarrassment of drunken mistakes, he vows to never drink again. At least, as long as the builder doesn’t ask him to.

Owen

Honestly? I don’t see Owen acting too differently when drunk, just a lot less anxious when interacting with the builder. Seemingly out of nowhere, his stuttering and nervous way of speaking with the builder is gone, replaced with a more confident barkeep.

He’s wicked good at drinking games, having spent his entire life inside of a saloon. If you think you’re winning beer pong or rage cage against Owen’s 6 foot something ass, you’re wrong. There’s a reason Justice and Logan outright refuse to play drinking games with him, and it’s cause it always ended with someone throwing up. Never Owen, though. He’s got a finely tuned tolerance for alcohol and knows exactly where his sweet spot is.

He won’t really try to initiate any sexy times with the builder, but if they start dropping hints for him? “Justice, can you watch the bar while I step out with the builder real quick? They need some help..um…perfecting a new recipe.” Cue Justice’s shit-eating grin. “Sure pardner, take as long as y’all need” with a quick wink at the couple

Pablo

Is he drunk, or has he just been pretending to drink that much? Who knows? Pablo’s been around, especially in Walnut Groove. He knows how to drink and even more so, he knows how to look how to drink especially. He’s watching the town get absolutely smashed with glee, taking stock of everything that happens, especially anything embarrassing.

He’s the one who calls at 8am the next morning when you’re hungover to hell and back and tell you, in excruciating detail, every embarrassing thing you said and did, just in case you forgot. All in all, I think he likes to drink a little, socially of course, but he’s far more interested in getting others drunk instead of himself.

Pen

Assuming that Pen can get drunk (he is sensitive to Duvos peppers), he’s gonna be glued to whatever the nearest reflective surface is. But what actually surprises the builder is how genuinely affectionate he becomes with them, especially if they’re not officially a thing yet. He wants them sitting in his lap so he can wrap their skinny arms in his big arms the entire time.

When he’s not being affectionate, he’s definitely trying to spar with them, though. For Pen, fighting is very much foreplay, and this is even more true when he’s drunk. He would already be turned on just by the builder existing, so a drunken brawl at 2am? He’s the hardest he's ever been the entire time, full stop. Bro is so hard from fighting the builder he has to take care not to fall flat on his face or he might break Pen jr.

Pen avoids getting drunk because it also makes him feel guilty, at least some part of him. He doesn’t necessarily like deceiving the builder (Sandrock he could take or leave tbh), but he has to so he can protect the life he wants for himself. The builder changed a lot of that for him, so he feels a lot of guilt about keeping secrets. Don’t be surprised if drunk Pen says he needs to confess something, only to go silent for 5 straight minutes before telling them he’s just hungry.

You know that meme about the guy’s roommate who blacks out and designs an entire airplane? That’s Qi when he drinks, but with spaceships. How did you get him to the saloon to start drinking in the first place? Three words: Saloon Trivia Night. Qi is competitive, and assumes that he’s usually at the top of his respective totem pole, so when Owen starts including trivia questions about archaeology, building, agriculture, etc, Qi can get frustrated relying on his team to answer for him. And for every round lost, that’s another drink finished. Soon enough, he’s ranting about the uselessness of ��soft sciences” and the possibilities of interstellar space travel (someone please just make out with him and shut this nerd up) The drunker he gets, the more he only excuses the builder’s mistakes and no one else’s.

This man definitely gets hot and bothered when drunk, but has no idea what he’s feeling or what to do about it, so he usually just goes to bed. If the builder is romancing him, though? The builder will definitely need to initiate things, but from there a now-uninhibited Qi goes off, following any and every instinct he can that the builder will allow. He wants to try everything with them, for science of course.

Unsuur

Regular Unsuur is honest, if a bit stoic. Drunk Unsuur is too honest, and still kinda stoic. As soon as he has a thought, he’s saying it, no filter. It doesn't matter who he is talking to or what he is saying, he’s gonna let loose with whatever he’s thinking. “Hey Cooper, why do you talk so much? Like, you talk a lot. Going on and on, kind of like I am now. Why do you do that?”

“Unsuur, are you drunk?”

“Yeah. Oh. Builder, can I make love to you until you’re breathless and destroyed and the only word you know is my name? I think you’d be really beautiful like that”

“Unsuur, we’re in public! Everyone can hear you right now.”

“Oh, yeah. We should probably go home before doing that. Pretty sure having sex in public is a crime.”

Aside from shamelessly flirting with the builder, Unsuur would also just wax philosophical to all the town pets in some corner of the saloon. None of the other drunks there could keep up with his train of thought, but he doesn’t let that stop him. Now Macchiato’s third eye is open, and he’s considering joining the civil corps under Captain.

I hope you guys enjoyed the headcanons! Let me know if you want to see the bachelorettes too! Yan has dialogue in the game about "mixing yakmel milk and catnip" so if y'all want any other headcanon posts, intoxicated or otherwise, let me know!

#sandrock #mtas headcanon #my time at sandrock #mtas #unsuur #mtas logan #mtas arvio #mtas fang #mtas owen #mtas unsuur #mtas builder #mtas pen #mtas miguel #mtas pablo

257 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 4 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + eight

authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)

It's out of our hands We can't stop what we have begun

---Leann Rimes

“Clarke.”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.

She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”

His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”

It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.”

Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”

Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”

Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”

His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”

“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”

“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”

Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”

“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?” Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”

And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”

“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”

Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”

________

Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it.

Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl….”

Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.

“Can I come in?”

As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly.

Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”

Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.

“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely.

It’s too repulsive.

“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”

Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read.

With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted.

“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”

Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.

“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”

“Solana.”

Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.

She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.

That…..that can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.

“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.”

Roman….

He confuses her.

He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly.

After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.

But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears.

Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.

He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space.

Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”

It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.

It’s just…..different.

“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”

That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”

And there it is.

Solana winces. “Weapons?”

Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”

“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.

Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.

And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.

“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”

“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”

Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?”

Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”

“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly.

“You want to?”

She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”

It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.

Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate.

He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”

She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.

For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.

“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”

Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”

Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.”

Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it

Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”

“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”

And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.

“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”

Roman speaks up first, skeptical. “I didn’t know you were going in today.”

“I have to take care of something.”

Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer.

There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.

________

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.

I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.

Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.

I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me.

Roman…

He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me.

I’ve never had a man be nice to me.

We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them.

And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.

I feel so torn sometimes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.

I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.

I can’t.

________

When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.

What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins.

And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems—so she also won’t be present.

That leaves one person.

Roman.

Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began.

But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.

Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.

Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”

She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.

Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.

“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”

“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins.

This is one of those moments.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.

Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”

“Assess?”

While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”

Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”

Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night.

“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman.

“Whassup, my dogs!”

Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.

He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“

“Sami.”

His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”

“Go sit somewhere else.”

This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing.

Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“

Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”

“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Go join Sami.”

“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“

“Wise Man.”

Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”

Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins.

She has no idea where Solo is.

“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.”

It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”

He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”

“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.

Heart

Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”

But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.

Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”

“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”

She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.

Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains.

The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.

“Soso.”

“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”

Jey, possibly foolishly, waves off Roman’s threat. “You understand Yeet, right?”

Blinking twice, she asks, “what?”

“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”

“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”

“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”

“—when life going bad.”

“—or when you leaving.”

“—or going.”

“It’s a way of life.”

Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.

“I—I still don’t get it.”

And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”

“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”

At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”

“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”

Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.

Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.

Some she can answer. Some she cannot.

So she asks him.

And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.

If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi.

And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.

“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”

“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”

Survive…

Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word.

“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”

Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”

She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.

The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”

True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”

Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.

Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”

Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.

Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.

Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment.

It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable.

Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected.

Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”

The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.

Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman.

“Fuck, you look good.”

Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.

Thinking that she’s beautiful.

A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.

Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line.

Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”

Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”

“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”

Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.

“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice.

Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”

“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”

The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body.

Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”

Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”

What?

Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name.

But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”

“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”

Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia.

“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”

Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on.

“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”

The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions.

“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks.

“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.”

That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”

Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

________

As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat.

Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.

For now.

The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information.

The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.

Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman.

And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her.

“Roman Reigns.”

Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.

Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is.

“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”

Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister.

“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul.

Roman simply states, “talk.”

“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”

“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”

Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome. Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do something.”

Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.

“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”

Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.

“Uce—”

Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”

Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”

“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”

Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.

Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”

This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health.

And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her.

Him not being healthy concerns her.

What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.

He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”

Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.

He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.

The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage.

But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her.

“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”

She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can.

“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”

At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”

Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”

He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”

Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”

This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”

Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”

This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.

Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.

“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.”

Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand.

“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”

It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two.

“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”

Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.

But…..

But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him.

About more than just his question.

“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”

He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.

This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.

It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised.

There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him.

“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.

________

The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination.

So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.

It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering.

Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.

Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”

Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard.

Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”

He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room.

Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop.

Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.

Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood.

The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage.

There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.

But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.

Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.

But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from.

Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.

Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.

Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed.

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.

Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”

Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”

Not good enough.

“Make it 20.”

________

As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.

Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”

Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”

“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.

“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”

“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”

“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.

“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”

They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.

Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”

He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.”

Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way.

Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.

Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.

Xavier is his.

The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck!

It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”

Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack.

Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head.

Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands, “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”

And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate.

That only pisses him off even more.

Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt.

“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”

His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves.

“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”

And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”

“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”

Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”

Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.

Mentally.

And it does the trick.

“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red.

He knew something happened to her.

He just didn’t know how bad.

Raped.

Beaten.

Twelve.

And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom.

Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall.

It all makes sense.

She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.

The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana.

He’s fucking breathing rage.

“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”

“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”

A fishing trip…..

This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.

“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.

“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”

Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better.

Solana was hurt.

She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault.

With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.

Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.

Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket.

“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”

________

Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.

But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.

But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He��s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get.

Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.

But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps.

Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before.

Why is she up?

Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety.

But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.

“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.

It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.

And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.

Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.

Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost.

“Shit…..”

Roman has heard this song before.

Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.

“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.

He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.

Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”

And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic.

Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”

This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is.

She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”

“Until I’m back….”

He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.

“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”

“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”

“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”

She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did.

Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”

He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?”

She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.

She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.

But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable.

And uncomfortable.

Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.

Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.

Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:

He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.

There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.

She’s his.

And he’ll protect her with everything in him.

No matter what the cost.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x poc!oc #roman reigns x reader #arisnotebook

261 notes · View notes

sadhours · 6 months ago

Note

Pervy Billy please 🤤🤤🤤

okay okay, here’s a teaser of my upcoming series stuck in the middle with you

billy hargrove x pamela oc!mayfield

cw: 18+ minors dni, perv!billy, stepcest, psuedocest, teasing, groping, dry humping and masturbation

🎀🤍🚬🍦

It’s like the little bitch does it on purpose. Those shorts can barely be classified as such, they’re practically just underwear and she’s prancing around the house like she’s trying to get a rise out of Billy. It’s making him pretty damn bricked up, just trying to enjoy his fucking bowl of Wheaties.

They’re alone. Neil and Susan shopping, like they do most Saturday mornings and Billy’s got no idea where Max is nor does he care. Pamela is doing her chores, pale blonde hair bouncing whenever she reaches down to grab miscellaneous clutter. Thanks to the motion, he also notices she’s not wearing a bra; breasts swaying under her thin cotton shirt. God, her legs are long, he thinks as he skates his eyes up and down them.

Billy’s aware he’s staring. Part of him thinks Pamela wants him to. He shovels another spoonful of cereal in his mouth before dropping the bowl in the sink for Pamela to clean. It’s her chore after all.

He’s got his own chores. Lists them off in his head; fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom, organize the garage, mow the lawn, wack all the weeds and take out the garbage. They can wait, he decides as he keeps his place in the kitchen and watches as his step sister continues on with her chores. Chews on his lip as she uses the scrunchie on her wrist to tie her hair up in a bun. She starts by cleaning off the counters, putting everything back in its place before she takes her place at the sink. A smirk spreads across his lips and he crowds behind her, places his hands on the counter to cage her in.

Pamela tilts her head, doesn’t look at him but exposes her neck like she’s expecting something. Billy takes these movements slow and calculated. He doesn’t want to scare her off, but then again, he’s sure Pamela is playing the same game he is. He laughs, soft as he towers over her. His breath fans over her neck and Pamela’s skin pricks with goosebumps as she wets the sponge. Squirts dish liquid on it before she finally speaks up, “Can I help you?”

Billy purses his lips, closes the gap between Pamela’s ass and his crotch as he tells her, “Just making sure you’re doing a good job is all.”

She snorts but continues cleaning the dishes and maybe Billy’s imagining it but he thinks he feels her push her ass back against him. So he grabs her waist, holds her steady and presses his lips against her exposed neck. It’s not a kiss. Just to feel her warm skin. Rolls his hips slow, testing before moving his hands to feel up her sides. Swooping forward and cupping her breasts in his palms.

He kneads them in his hands, shamelessly rolling his hips and Pamela elicits the prettiest little sound. A moan if Billy’s not mistaken and it makes him greedy. Slams his hips forward, grinding against her ass in those tiny shorts while he gropes at her tits. Pamela drops the silverware and sponge, gripping onto the edge of the counter as she pants.

“See what you’re doing to me?” Billy asks against her ear, rocking his hips forward again. Making sure she can feel the way his cocks hard in his basketball shorts. “Walking around in that shit… dressed like a fucking slut,” he pants, “Tryna get my attention, huh?”

“Billy,” she gasps, a whine of a thing.

He pulls her top up, just enough to expose her tits and gets his hands back on them. Pinches her nipples, rutting against her like the pathetic little perv he is.

“Billy.. we— ah, we can’t,” he babbles out, but she’s still grinding back against him.

“We can’t what?” he grunts out, nose bushing against her temple.

“Do this,” Pamela replies, hands moving to reach for his wrists. “It’s wrong.”

Billy knows it’s wrong. That’s part of why he can’t stop thinking about her like this.

But she’s right. This was probably far enough. He pulls away, looks down at her as she turns. Her pretty face all flushed. And he acts kind of like a child, stomping away to his room and slamming his door. Just to lean against it and shove his shorts down, get his cock out and wrap his hand around it.

“Fuck,” he whines, closing his eyes and imagines his step sister on her knees in front of him. “Oh, you slut,” he whispers, lips twisting up as he plays out this fantasy. Fucks his fist hard and fast, cumming with her name on his lips.

#billy request #billy Hargrove smut #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove x fem!oc #Billy x Pamela #SITMWY #tw stepcest #stepcest cw

251 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

Know Your Place 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

The grocery store is nice. It’s not very big or crowded either. You expected one of those manic superstores you saw on TV. Instead, shoppers mill around in a mellow din and investigate apples or jars of jam.

You take out your list as you step out of the way of another customer. As you unfold it, Walter stands nearby. He looks around the store, his chin high, and heat speckles across your neck. You look up at him and give a sheepish smile.

“You don’t have to stick around. You just need coffee, right?”

“I’m in no hurry,” he assures you and peeks down at the paper in your hand, “so, what’s on the list? What are we looking for?”

“You really don’t have to,” you insist. “I’m sure I can figure this all out.”

“I’m sure you can,” he says and takes a basket from the stack near the door. “But I’m offering because I want to.”

“Hm, okay. Bet it would be faster...” you mutter. “Okay, er, zucchini.”

“Zucchini,” he nods. “Well, look at me talking a big game and you stumped me. I don’t think I’ve ever bought any.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“No problem, it’s gotta be with the... squash,” he points and gently nudges you ahead of him. “Right there.”

He walks with you down the aisle and you squeeze by a cart as he trails behind you. You stop before the green vegetables and take a bag. Walter nears and offers up the basket. You bag up the zucchini and set it carefully inside.

“Alright, and eggs... flour...” you look down the list.

“Making a cake?” He wonders as he turns down the next row of produce.

“Muffins. I thought... every day I could have one for breakfast. Like my mom makes. And I could freeze the extras for next week.” You explain, “and lunches, just a loaf of bread and tuna.”

“Wow, seems like you’ve got everything planned out,” he muses.

“I thought I did but I couldn’t even find the grocery store,” you laugh nervously.

“Don’t be rough on yourself. You’re new. You’ll get around,” he assures. “Hey, be right back, gonna go grab my beans.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Dairy’s down there,” he points before he hurries off.

“Thanks,” you utter after him.

You grab a carton of eggs and peer around at the aisles, squinting up at the signs for each aisle. You see him down one as you search for the flour. It’s in the same row as the coffee. As you come down it, he tucks away his cell phone.

He approaches as you look at the bags of flour. You grab a small one. Light enough to carry back to your dorm.

“Here,” he takes the eggs and puts them in the basket. As you put the flour in after them, you sense his size again. The way he looms reminds you of how small you feel and really are. “So, besides getting lost, how’s school going?”

“Good, I think. Yeah. I like most of my classes,” you say.

“But...”

“But?” You check your list again and find a tin of baking soda.

“You don’t sound entirely pleased.”

“I don’t?” You look at him. “Well, I guess I miss my mom. A little.”

“That’s normal. And it just means you love her.” He insists.

“I do,” you agree.

“What about friends?” He prompts.

“None, so far,” you shrug. “But I guess it takes time.”

“No one you know from home going here?” He asks.

You shake your head, “home schooled.”

“Home schooled,” he hums, “wow.”

“I know, it’s weird.”

“No, it’s not.”

“That’s what the guy in my history class said. It’s okay. It’s different. I think it’s weird to go to a school school. Sounds scary,” you say.

“Well, you are,” he chuckles. “You’re in college. That means you’re pretty smart, home school or not.”

“Maybe,” you agree dully and check your list.

“Marshall?” A deep timbre undercuts the next item written down, “figures I run into you.” A man appears at Walter’s other side. “Getting that piss you call coffee.”

“Chris,” Walter greets flatly.

“Don’t act so happy to see me,” the man retorts. “How’s classes? You suspend anyone yet? I know it’s the first day but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Haha,” Walter drones sarcastically.

The man puts his hand on the shelve and as he leans, his eyes fall on you. He’s a tiny bit shorter than Walter but still taller than you. And his dark hair is slightly fluffy and a thick beard darkens his square jaw. His irises are bright and blue.

“Oops, I’m interrupting,” he says.

“Doing some shopping,” Walter answers.

“Don’t tell me you’re in one of his classes. Good luck.” The other man chirps.

“Don’t listen to him,” Walter girds.

“Him? Chris,” the man reaches across Walter’s front and offers his hand. “And you... TA?”

“Mauve,” you shake his hand gently as his covers yours completely. His grip is strong and firm. “Um, we’re... I...” you hesitate as you try to come up with some sort of explanation. “We just met but Walter’s been so helpful. I’m new here so I don’t my way around yet.”

“Walter being helpful? And who wouldn’t be for you, Mauve?” The man grins.

“Chris,” Walter growls and angles away from him, “what else is on your list?”

“Erm, bread,” you flick it nervously with your thumb, the other man peer around Walter at you.

“Nice to see you, then, Marshall,” he says.

“Mm, you too,” Walter doesn’t look back as he marches past you.

You smile at Chris and give a tiny wave before you follow the larger man back down the aisle. You catch up to him as the list crinkles in your hand, “is that a friend?” You ask.

“Kinda,” he shrugs. “He’s in Psych too. Sometimes we teach 304 together.”

“Oh. Cool. Must be nice to get to work with others like that,” you say. “He seems nice.”

“Nice? Chris?” He echoes. “Can be, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” you accept.

“Mauve, you’re a nice girl. You think everyone is nice. Just like that guy in the Student Centre, right?” He says.

“Well, he wasn’t mean.”

“No, because he was trying to trick you,” he turns down another aisle and stops by the small cans of fish. “I’m not trying to scare you, I’m just looking out for you. Guys like the one who sat at your table, they aren’t nice. Colleges aren’t full of nice guys.”

Your lips fall straight and you nod. You pick out a can of tuna as you try to hide your anxiety. You know he’s right. At the orientation, they told you how to call Campus Police and about those buttons on the polls that set off the sirens to signal help. And you’ve seen the news stories. Your mom couldn’t stop watching them before you left.

“My mom told me the same,” you say.

“She’s a smart woman. You wanna stay safe for her, right? She must be very worried to have you so far away, huh?” He drawls. You nod. “So, how about I keep an eye on you? Just so you can call and tell her everything’s good.”

“I think... yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree. “Walter...”

“Yes?” He raises the basket for you to put the cans of tuna inside.

“Are we friends now?”

You peek up at him and you’re surprised to see his lips curve, just a little, “sure.”

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #chris x reader #dark chris #dark!chris #destroyer!chris #night hunter #destroyer #series #drabble #au #professor au

121 notes · View notes

pretzel-box · 1 month ago

Text

Hello everyone.

This will be a rather long post about some things I wanna adress, including the fact that I plan to stop writing for Pressure, my OCS and other peoples Ocs in the near future.

Down under the cut is a list with my personal view, issues and some other things that lead to this decision. Maybe I miss a lot or don't go too deep into detail but the main points are covered.

But before I would like to add that this is MY opinion and MY choice. I let you think of it what you want but I also request that you respect my actions.

The first point is probably already clear from the start. Maybe some noticed, maybe not but I fell out of love with the fandom and the game itself. It became boring to play, the characters lost their charm and I can't come up with any creative scenarios anymore and the ones that already exists have lost their meaning. This may sound like the typical burnout thing and maybe it is but I'm more than certain that I wanna step away from the game and the fandom to focus on other things that bring me more joy. Maybe I start a multifandom writing blog or I just learn another hobby.

The second thing that is close connected to the first point is the fandom of the game, including the community on tumblr. A huge part are super sweet people with a very creative side. I would go as far and say that I brought some of those together with my projects and writing and it really makes me happy to see everyone interact so friendly on my blog.

But something that I haven't adressed is the fact that there are also plenty of hardcore fans, haters and weird people in my askbox or general in the fandom. It is to be expected when someone gains a massive amount of followers. But I do not accept the fact that people judge me based on what I write, who I write for, when I write and if I write at all. I delete those asks. Some telling me that my community project is awful, unserious and pulls other ocs into dirt. Other people are claiming that I don't write Sebastians Character right and oh wow seriously? I am not Sebastians creator, I do not have that ultimate deep lore and mindset to write a person 1:1. I get hate for my own stories and of course the fans could now come to my protetion and say „But Chea don't listen to the haters, you are amazing“ but it doesn't fix the thing in a slightest.

Also regards the people that praise me, some of them ( I won't name anyone) are counting to those weird people that force me. There were 2 or 3 people that acted all sweet in public only to try and take control of some story plots etc.

Also, I started writing when Pressure was first raising to be popular. There weren't many pressure writers out there. I am usually not someone that posts their work online, I don't comment on stuff and I rarely like something. But I really wanted to see more pressure fanfictions. Now we reached the point where there are more than plenty amazing writers and I can quit. There is no need for me to continue something that only makes me hate myself more because everytime I open my notes to write a story for pressure it feels like a mental torture. I leave the writing to the other blogs.

The status for now:

AASB gets discontinued.

Reverse AU gets discontinued.

Streamer AU will recieve 6 more chapters to end the story on a good term.

House of Entities will get continued for a small period of time, probably till I am done with the Streamer AU. There is no plan for the chapter count yet.

All requests in the inbox will get deleted and the inbox itself will be closed after Streamer AU finished.

Any other unnamed project will get discontinued as well.

All stories, one shots, series, drabbles and other works of mine are free to use. Other authors can pick them up, re-write them or just make an own story out of those. I drop all rights for the ideas and I won't demand any credits either. Maybe someone else would like to continue House of Entities as well.

My final word, which may sound repeating: I do not change my opinion, there won't be any motivation talks or sugar coated words that will change my stand in those things. I know some of you will try and comfort me but this is really not needed. I wish for you all to accept the outcome of this situation and move on more or less.

I apologize dearly because this is very sudden and I hope you all will understand.

-Chea

87 notes · View notes

acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years ago

Text

Shrinking Violet (Rhysand Smut)

Hi! Happy Friday, my loves! I impulsively wrote this first thing this morning. Don’t exactly know what came over me but I thought I would share it 😏

Also, I’m using my updated General ACOTAR Tag List for the tags, so if you’re not on it and you wish to be, please click the link and comment so I can add you! ♥️

Warnings: Smut, of course! Enjoy!

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The violet-shaded dress had seemed like a good idea at the time. A time when you’d felt daring and mischievous and like you could do whatever the fuck you wanted.

Now, with a tight-lipped servant tugging your corset strings as you stared yourself down in the mirror, your audacious nature was refusing to rear its head, scattered to the ashes by nerves.

“I wish to have a gown the exact shade of Rhysand’s eyes.”

Rina, your good friend and the Hewn City’s most reputable seamstress, had looked up at you from the various sketches on her dress. She was snowed-under with orders with the upcoming event — Rhysand’s first visit as High Lord of the Night Court. It was nothing short of a damn coronation.

“Are you sure you should?” Rina had raised an eyebrow at you. The look she always got when you were up to something. “He’s High Lord, now. Things are different. Should you truly make a statement with your gown that most certainly won’t go unnoticed?”

“Should I not?” You’d spun around, palming the various fabrics that made up an entire wall at the back of the studio. “High Lord he may now be, but I know Rhysand more personally. I wish to have a violet gown that is an ode to those depthless eyes.”

Rina had shook her head, but said no more on the matter. You were paying — well, your father was — and you had a design in mind. That was that. She’d known you long enough to know that there was no talking you down from an elaborate idea.

Besides. Besides, besides, besides. You did know Rhysand more personally.

More personally, in the form of him secretly fucking you in the darkest corners of the Hewn City, when he had just been the High Lord’s handsome son, learning the ways of the court. You were his filthy little secret, someone he would never display publicly on his arm. Would never think of you beyond the haze of lust that clouded him. Perhaps that was what the dress was secretly about. Capturing his attention.

Things had changed dramatically since he’d last had you pressed against a wall, a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as he’d pounded into you. He was always ravenous for you behind closed doors and totally different in the open. A game — it was a game the two of you played.

But he was High Lord, now. You were excited to see what that looked like.

Violet gown, indeed. You smoothed your hands over the tight bodice as the servant stepped away. As the daughter of a member of the Night Court council, you would be expected to look every bit the rich, expensive, pretty subject who would bat her eyes at the new High Lord and offer polite well-wishes for his future.

While wearing a gown so tight it was like a second skin, the very daring shade of his eyes.

Anything to keep those eyes on you.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Rhysand had been trained for this, of course. Right down to the finest detail. Any outsider looking in would presume him to have been High Lord for far longer than a matter of months. There was something effortlessly arrogant about the way he lounged on his obsidian throne, one leg hooked over the arm, a chalice of wine in his hand that was constantly being topped up.

He was the centre of attention, and he was loving every second of it.

You’d never seen the instating of a new High Lord. Rhysand’s father had been on that throne for your entire life, until he’d gone and gotten himself killed. And now…now it was time for a fresh face. One with a feline smirk and a lilting voice behind it that sounded like music.

You knew precisely what that voice sounded like when he was close to falling off the edge.

You hadn’t yet spoken to him or caught his gaze. The evening’s proceedings had been fine-tuned to run smoothly; food and drink and music and dancing. Now, a long line of people queued up to the dais, forcing Rhysand to listen to the same sentence on a loop with every person who knelt before him.

I welcome you, High Lord, and pledge my allegiance to you as your loyal subject.

The words had become a monotonous drone. You wanted to spin around in your violet gown and make a show of yourself and catch the High Lord’s gaze. You wanted to be adventurous and fun, just like you and Rhys had always secretly been.

Your father went before you, prattling off the same oath as those who’d gone before him. He and Rhys exchanged pleasantries, and Rhys’s voice seemed to snake past your father and round to you, caressing every bit of your skin that was on show. The sound was like silk. You wanted to tear your dress off and wrap it around your naked body.

After what seemed like an eternity, your father was stepping aside and leaving you to wander up to the dais. Feline eyes met yours, the exact shade of your gown that felt suddenly too tight and too hot on your body. You gave a polite acknowledgement to the two Illyrians at the High Lord’s side — Azriel and Cassian — before you offered a flourishing bow.

“I welcome you, High Lord, and pledge my allegiance to you as your loyal subject.” You spoke, your voice slightly lowered. Just for him.

Rhys’s eyes slowly studied every inch of you, starting at your hair, your painted face, the heavy jewellery that complimented the column of your neck and the lobes of your ears. And then they flicked down to the gown, studying the beaded detail. The way it sinfully clung to your body before flaring around you in layers of violet tulle.

Heat flashed across those eyes, and you knew — he’d clocked exactly what you’d done.

“Good evening.” He drawled, his head falling on a tilt. His hungry gaze roved you once more. “And what have you come as?”

A subtle smirk tugged at your painted lips. “A shrinking violet.”

The High Lord tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. You wanted to drag it between your teeth, too.

“There’s nothing shrinking about you, darling.” He purred. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips to the backs of your fingers. “Enjoy your night.”

A dismissal. A teasing one. It was all part of the game. His eyes fell to your gown again, and you spared him one last glance before flouncing away to dance.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You liked this game — yours and Rhysand’s.

Dark, shaded alcoves and long, winding corridors, perfect for a session of cat-and-mouse. Huge, unoccupied rooms, the walls of which volleyed your moans back and forth. You’d played the game a hundred times before, and you wanted to play it tonight.

The party was unending, and so was the flowing wine. All part of the game. When Rhys had merely been the High Lord’s son, his apprentice, the two of you had always waited until everyone was gloriously intoxicated before you would share a heated glance and slip away — you first, and him following moments later.

The night had reached that point. The frenzied music had become languid and sensuous, the bodies on the dance floor grinding against each other. Not one person in that throne room was sober. And so you set your drink aside.

You strolled casually past the dais, shrugging out of the numerous dances people tried to pull you into. Rhys’s gaze seemed to find you immediately, and as you passed in front of him, you met his eyes and dipped your chin. The signal. The game was starting.

But he was High Lord, now. Far more scrutinised and important. Perhaps he wouldn’t follow. Perhaps he was done with your antics—

Mere moments passed between you slipping into an empty corridor and the door opening behind you. A smirk played on your lips. You lifted the skirts of your gown. Kicked your heels off. And ran.

Your feet slapped against the cold concrete floor as you sprinted away from Rhys. A dark, lilting chortle echoed behind you, and his pace picked up as ran after you.

You were light as a feather, weightless as a cloud, shoving through doors and empty rooms, skidding along polished floors, climbing huge, ornate staircases. Rhys was always a few steps behind, and you knew he could easily catch up if he wanted to. But he savoured the chase as much as you did.

You flew up another grand staircase, up and up to the very top of the gargantuan building. You knew precisely what you were doing, and so did Rhys. You took a left, veered down a long corridor. A dead-end. The door at the end led to an enclosed room.

“Where do you suppose you’ll go now, little violet?” Rhys called behind you, his breaths heavy. “I do believe I’ve caught you.”

Indeed, he had. You laughed wildly and opened your mouth to retort, but your already-huffing breaths were stolen from you as his body smacked into yours from behind, slamming you against the door. The wood groaned as he pressed his front to your back. The evidence of his arousal was already waiting for you.

“Got you.” He hummed into your ear, his nose brushing your neck. “Now, what’s my prize?”

You bit down on your lip as he pushed his groin against you. “Your prize is whatever you wish it to be.”

“Excellent.”

He reached past you, opening the door to that unoccupied, echoing room. His hand splayed over the bodice of your dress, keeping your body flush to his as he walked you both inside.

“I think I would have you against the wall.” His hand travelled down, fisting in the skirts of your gown. “Or perhaps on the writing bureau. Or the chaise lounge. Tell me, which would take your fancy?”

“Why not all of them?” You bit down on your bottom lip as his hand finally found a way under the fabric, skirting your thigh.

“Naughty, wicked thing. Why not, indeed.”

You were suddenly being spun in his arms to face him, and there was barely a chance for your eyes to meet before he was claiming your lips with a scorching kiss and backing you towards the wall. Your back hit it with a light thud, and Rhys was boxing you in, settling his knee between your legs and very deliberately pressing it against the very centre of you.

“You know,” he purred as he broke the kiss. “My father used to tell me to stay far away from you. He said that I should find a female fit to pop out heirs. That females like you like to play games.”

You sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed your neck. Crawled downwards. “Your father would be right about that.”

“Hmm.” He hummed. “But, you see, I like to play games, too. And the bastard is dead now. I am High Lord. Your High Lord. And I’m feeling mighty playful tonight.”

His knee pressed harder against your soaked underwear, and a soft moan slipped past your lips.

“So play,” you said.

Rhys struck.

In a flash, he was sinking to his knees before you. Like you were his High Lady. He lifted the skirts of your gown, throwing them over his head. The sight of him disappearing beneath the fabric might have been amusing had his nose not nudged against your centre, causing you to jerk.

“Now this,” he yanked your underwear down, blowing a breath against your slick folds, “this is a feast fit for a High Lord.”

His silver, sinful tongue licked a stripe right up you, and your head fell back against the wall, a loud moan breaking free of your throat. Rhys wasted no time in feasting on you. He licked and lapped, his teeth grazing your clit, and you imagined what he must look like beneath your skirts, his face flushed and soaked with your wetness.

“I love your taste.” He groaned against you, sucking on your clit. “You have no fucking idea how much.”

Perhaps not. But you could hazard a pretty good guess just how much as he damn near devoured you, bringing you to the very brink of bliss. When he heard your moans and breaths hitching in your throat, felt your hips jutting forward, he sank two fingersinto you.

“Gods,” You gasped, writhing against him, against the wall. Your mind fractured into a thousand tiny pieces as your release slammed into you. Your legs shook.

Rhys licked and pumped all through it, enjoying every moment, every gasp and groan. Only when your walls ceased their contracting around his fingers did he pull away.

He emerged from beneath the fabric, his hair tousled, his eyes heated. His mouth swollen and glistening. One look at him, and you were fisting your hand around the front of his perfectly-tailored jacket, yanking him to his feet.

You wanted to taste him just as he had tasted you, but he stopped you from lowering yourself to your knees. His hand grasped your clothed breast, and he kissed you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You were bored of the dress, now. Pretty as it was, just like his eyes, it was too much of a barrier. You tried to reach behind you for the laces—

“No.” Rhys nipped your lip, staying your hand. “I want you to wear it while I fuck you.”

Your eyes flared. “As you wish.” You glanced down at his lips. “High Lord.”

A guttural groan escaped him, and the tether on his control snapped. The following moments were a confusing, heady circus of heavy kisses and panting into each others mouths, both your hands fighting to undo the laces and buttons of his trousers. As soon as they were loosened enough, he was shoving them to the floor.

“I think about you, you know.” Rhys said, hissing between his teeth as you wrapped your hand around his length. “I come to the thought of you. How do you manage to make a mess out of me without even being there?”

“Because I wish it to be so.” You squeezed gently. “And so it is.”

“Wicked, wicked creature.”

You silenced him with a kiss as you pumped his cock, savouring the feel of it twitching in your palm, jerking at the very brush of your touch. Rhys emitted a growl, and he was batting your hand away, replacing it with his own.

“If I don’t get inside you,” he dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds, “I think I may bring this city down around us.”

His eyes held a promise to do exactly that, and as the head nudged at your entrance, he grabbed the back of your neck, sliding his lips over yours.

The tip had barely slipped in before thudding footsteps approached, and a knock was pounding on the door. Rhys growled beneath his breath. Ignored it. Pushed into you further. You gasped.

“Rhys.” Cassian’s voice came from the other side.

“Not now, Cassian.” Rhys thrust into you, right to the hilt, giving a very audible grunt.

“You’ve been gone for too long.” The Illyrian general persisted. “People are starting to notice.”

“Not fucking now, Cassian.”

He pulled out to the tip, his angry words breathed against your mouth. You swallowed them greedily as he thrust right back into you once more, a slight pinch of pain within the pleasure that wrangled a loud moan from your throat.

There was a pause on the other side of the door, a curse — Cassian muttering “Cauldron fucking boil me” — before his footsteps retreated once more.

“Look at you,” you nipped Rhys’s lip. “Keeping your loyal subjects waiting.”

“I am.” He shifted, slamming into you again. “For you.”

Your response because lost amongst the pleasure as Rhys fastened his hand at your hips and lifted you from the floor.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded deeply. “And hold on.”

You did just that, your legs locking around his waist, your arms around his neck. Rhys pressed his head against your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin there.

And he fucked.

“Gods, you feel exquisite.” He groaned, slamming into you harder, faster. “I could spend the rest of my existence buried inside you.”

You moaned, your head falling back. You felt his tongue against the column of your neck. “That seems like a foolish way for a High Lord to spend his time.”

“Nothing about this is foolish.”

He was damn right about that. Words eddied away from your tongues, the room being filled with moans and grunts and gasps and screams. Rhys filled you so utterly, so completely, that you couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to do so.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He grit out, reaching down to circle his thumb against your clit. “I wish you could see yourself right now. Coming undone for me. Coming on my cock.”

“Fuck, Rhys.” You gasped. They were the only words you were able to get out before he sent you hurtling over the edge.

The fall of your second climax was euphoric, addictive. You were hot and cold, asleep and awake, present and absent, lost somewhere in the ether. Your moans filled the room, perhaps the whole building, the entire city, as your walls clenched his cock hard, his thumb continuing the ministrations to your clit.

Rhys’s thrusts picked up, the pace frenzied and desperate. You could feel him tightening inside you, hear his breaths and grunts hitching in his throat, the pleasure furrowing his brow. You purposefully clenched around him once more, and he lost it.

“Gods!” He roared, stifling the sound with a hungry kiss to your lips. His hips stilled abruptly, and he was spilling into you, every last drop filling you.

It seemed like ages that he spent moaning and groaning and whining, emitting needy little noises, drawing out a few more languid thrusts despite having emptied himself entirely into you. He was completely at your mercy. Undone by you.

He was your High Lord, and yet tonight, you had ruled him.

He was still breathing heavily as he pulled out of you. His eyes locked with yours, and a strange, indiscernible expression crossed his face.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He breathed.

You snorted. This was all part of the game, the continued teasing. You liked that a lot.

“Would you give me a crown?” You jibed.

Rhys’s eyes glittered. “Only if I could fuck you in it.”

You smirked, toying with the lapels of his jacket. “And what of your throne? Would you fuck me on there?”

“I would fuck you in every last corner of my city. Over and over until my people have committed our moans to memory.”

Such a poetic, silver-tongued male. Your smirk remained as you let go of him, but he was having none of it. He clutched you against him.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He repeated.

You smiled vaguely. “No.”

“You could live however your heart desires. We could play there, too.”

Your laughter was light, airy. You pushed him off, squirming out of his grasp. “Such pretty words.”

His hand caught yours, and he pressed it to his chest. “Come back to Velaris with me.”

“No.” You said again.

You smirked at him, and he smirked back. And as you leaned in, he slammed his eyes shut, bracing himself for your kiss.

You didn’t deliver. You merely swiped your thumb over his lips, erasing the evidence of you ever having been there.

“Until next time,” you hummed. “High Lord.”

You finally pushed around him, smoothing your dress as you passed, your bare feet padding on the floor.

“This is inconvenient.” Rhys called as you braced your hand on the door handle.

You glanced over your shoulder. “What’s that?”

“I am your High Lord. But hearing you call me such makes me desperate to bury myself deep inside you again.”

A soft trill of a laugh left you, and you turned your back on him, opening the door. “Don’t be greedy.”

You stepped out without looking back. That was how this wicked, glorious thing between you went. The best thing you could do to not make it hurt so much when he ignored you before his subjects. Rhys being High Lord hadn’t changed that. Nor had it taken away the mischievous, playful male with honeyed words that you knew him to be. But walking away like that, you had the power.

His laughter followed you down the hall, and you smirked one more.

High Lord, indeed.

You both knew his control had been obliterated at the first sight of you in that violet dress.

A gown the exact shade of Rhysand’s eyes.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

general acotar tags: @wandas-dream @his-sweet-nightmare @kennedy-brooke @chocolatecakelargeshake @daily-dose-of-sass @lpnikki @reiincarnatiion @linduzmunna @leeknows-wife @nightcourtwritings @ann-writes-universes @cosmic-whispers @simplefan-638 @lucyysthings @judig92 @shannonsaid @azriels-mate123 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @iangelofmusic @baybay123455 @poisonousgirlie @kuraikei @sweetandsourwrites @clarkie-carmody-blog @myheartsalwayswithyou @lavenderdreams22 @bluelovesleep @setmybodyfreeposts @augustinerose @shadowhunterfangirlforlife @brekkershadowsinger @sweetashoneyhoney @lilylallylooly @morrie-rose @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @peachycandy10 @shadowqueen25 @favoritecrime1 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @theravenphoenix26 @lillithathecat @illyrian-dreamer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tonysttank @bangtanbecks @lu-dao-writes @azrielscrown @owllover123 @blamemef0rit @nottyourlover @anisa-lakay @thanksfortheridenes @writingforrhys @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @sadiebluewin @comfortpotato @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @acourtofchaosandmess @marina468

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhys x reader #reader insert #smut #high lord of the night court #high lord rhysand

1K notes · View notes

wosowrites · 1 year ago

Text

In the End (Jessie Fleming x Reader)

warnings: mental breakdown

prompt: in which canada wins the world cup causing the reader to break down and jessie, her ex girlfriend, to comfort her.

a/n: had to get this one out before canadas game for my girl @woso-scotland

No one believed in Canada other than the canadian fans. English fans wanted england to win but knew Germany, Sweden and USA had a good chance as well. Canada was never on the list of possible victors in the mind of football fans. And yet, they shocked the world.

Germany versus Canada. World Cup final. August 20th. You were shitting yourself. Lena sat beside you, whispering words of encouragement. It was your second World Cup, but France 2019 hadn’t met your expectations. You wanted glory, and now it was in your reach. To be honest, you were scared about the football aspect, but you were terrified of the opponent. After a 0-0 draw to Nigeria, Canada had become positively deadly. But Jessie Fleming was the actual issue. You played for Arsenal, she for Chelsea, and after a game in 2021 you had started talking and eventually dating. But you couldn’t say no to a transfer offer to your childhood club, Wolfsburg when it came. You didn’t handle the situation well, basically ghosting your girlfriend and then telling her in a short text that you couldn’t be with her. It was unfair, but emotions were never your thing and they weren’t hers either so your younger self thought it would be fine.

It wasn’t. And you knew that when you got to Germany and realized how in love you were with her. Too late though. You thought it had been too late. But the second you walked out of the tunnel to roaring germans and canadians, you knew it wasn’t. Your eyes locked with your ex-girlfriends and you could basically see her pupils widen. She still loved you too. Your heart swelled with joy and you smiled at her slightly. She smiled back gently, her freckles brighter than ever due to the tan she had gained from the australian sun.

"Don’t look at the opponent like that, y/n," Popp scowled at you, grabbing your jersey and dragging you far far away from the Canadian side.

The game started off slower than a World Cup should have. Canada had most of the possession, passing confidently and trying to send balls through. But every time Ashley Lawrence, Kadeisha Buchanan or anyone else from the red side tried to send a ball up, your midfield would block it but not well enough so the ball would be sent back to Canada who would resume their passing.

Lena had the first shot of the game but it was an easy save for Kailen Sheridan. From then on, it was all Canada in the attack. The german box was crowded and any shot could happen any time. However, Jessie went down just outside the 18, holding her head after a collision with Lina Magull. You want to help her up as she was close to you but you felt Alexandra’s eyes burn into your skull so you looked away and placed yourself in the wall for the free kick.

It deflected off your head, pretty painfully you might add, but then out of nowhere, a whistle was blown and the referee signaled a VAR check.

Now a lot of people say Canada only win games through penalties, but during team talks, Martina had brought up that she thought that to be untrue. You can’t get penalties without attacking the opponents box. And Canada did that skillfully, and when they couldn’t finish, they drew fouls. It was a strategy and their strength. You thought you were going to throw up. Had it been you? Had you maybe cost your team the first goal.

It hadn’t been you. It had been Klara. She had pushed Jayde Rivière in the back to move her away from your keeper before the ball was kicked. And then the referee was pointing at the spot. Your ex girlfriend was standing in front of the ball, and she scored without a fail. Bottom left, no chance for Ann Katrin.

Canadian voices filled the stadium in the 44' minute. You couldn’t have been more angry and more happy for half time to come.

Martina was positive. Demanding, harsh, but positive. And her positivity was what drove you to score in the 56th.

A corner kick resulted in your continuous movement around the box. You went back and forth, in and out, anything to be a bother to the Canadian defenders. And that you were. In a rare Kadeisha Buchanan slip up, she had lost you as her mark. The corner went short to Lena who fired it into the box but Buchanan cleared it… right to you. One touch was all it took. You leaned over the ball and hammered it as hard as you could. The ball glides over the grass and slammed into the back of the net. You screamed so loudly your head went light. Running with your arms wide, you yelled, and cheered, and punched the air. Lena picked you up in her arms and held you high in front of the German fans. Alexandra kissed your head, your teammates screamed words of love at you.

But the Canadians weren’t done.

From then on, there was no break. Through substitutions came new legs but almost no shots were taken. It was as though a big game of keep away was hapenning between the two boxes. And then something so unexpected happened that you almost looked at the ref to see if it was aloud. Quinn scored. They got the ball from a clumsy pass from the German defence and shot the ball so hard you were almost scared for Ann Katrins safety.

The stadium erupted, Quinn looked almost scared of themselves.

But then you scored again, securing the golden boot. You didn’t care about that though. You wanted the big money. The big WC. A free kick taken by Lena Oberdorf in the 94th minute hit the cross bar and then went off your head and into the net, seeming almost accidental.

Extra time. You were exhausted.

But Canada ended it with a strike from Jordyn Huitema within the 18.

When the final whistle blew… well you wanted to die. You fell to your knees and let your head hit the turf. You stayed like that in child’s pose, plugging your ears to try and block out the Canadian celebrations for almost the minutes. Staff tapped your back, Martina tried to comfort you and tell you how proud she was of your goals but you just wanted to sob and never stop sobbing. So that’s what you did.

You sat up and sobbed to yourself. Head in your hands, heart in the most horrible pain it had ever been in, and mind full of doubts about what this meant for your future. Your body shaked so hard, harder than anyone else on the pitch. You sobbed louder, shook harder and felt worse than anyone else on that field. Maybe it was because you had felt the taste of glory and it had been taken away so suddenly, or maybe it was the fact that despite your goals you couldn’t secure the cup for your team, but whatever it was, it led you back to Jessie.

As soon as Jessie had congratulated and been congratulated by everyone, she looked to find you. The bright number 7 on your back was facing the Canadian side and she could see how hard you were crying. She basically ran to you, quickly kneeling beside you and cupping your face in her hands. This meant a lot. Jessie Fleming was not one for PDA.

Having her freckles so close to you once again almost made you feel okay, but then there was the fact that you couldn’t breathe. "Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You played so well, you were so good," she whispered to you, trying her best to help you close out the sound of the crowd. "I- I can’t breathe," you said, taking huge gulps of air. Jessie sat beside you and let your head rest on her shoulder. She brushed her fingers through your baby hairs, kissed your head and whispered words to you. Ten minutes later, however the ache still there, the shaking wasn’t. "I need to get back to my team," she whispered, looking over her shoulders at the screaming and crying Canadians. "Yeah, me too," you said.

She gave you a small nod and then said "we should talk. Later, tomorrow or in a week if you want. Whenever your ready," she said. You nodded absent mindedly and walked away.

Receiving the golden boot was an award you knew you would appreciate later on, but you accepted it like a zombie in a trance. Everything felt blurry and you faked a small smile for the camera before hurrying off stage. Kailen got the golden glove, Sophia Smith the young player of the tournament and you all took a picture together. Then, the trophy lift.

You sat down on the turf, under the players bench with your head in Lena’s arms. She cried and you cried as you watched the red, white and gold confetti litter the field. "In four years, Lena. I promise you," you cried to her.

A week later

You hadn’t realized how freeing it was not to be in World Cup mode anymore. You could breathe, sleep, and eat without asking yourself how it would impact your game. In your last day in Australia before going back home to your family in Germany, you set up a meeting with Jessie at this small café.

Jessie arrived a couple minutes after you. She looked perfect, but she looked as though it was her first day in a while of being sober. "First day sober for a week, huh?" you asked her when she sat down. "That obvious?" she smiled. "Yeah. But you still look perfect," you let slip.

Jessie blushed and looked down at her lap. "You deserved that cup. Convert to Canadianisme," she teased. "And how does that work. Do I just marry a Canadian or…" you smiled. "Your flirty today," she smiled. "Yeah I’ve been drunk for different reasons," you laughed.

"Drinking your pain isn’t good y/n," she grounded you. "And drinking your joy is?"

"Fair point I guess," she said. "You must feel on top of the world. Cause you are," you said to her after a beat.

"I actually dont. I feel stupid for not fighting for you," she whispered. "Don’t. Please don’t feel like that. I left without any warning. It was so unfair of me," you said to her, leaning closer to her. "World Cup, Olympic Gold, FA cups, League Titles, they’re all nice but they would be nicer if I could win them while calling you my girlfriend," Jessie said, looking at you with the kind of eyes only a psychopath would say no too. "Are you saying you forgive me for packing my bags and leaving you in the dust…?" you asked, not comprehensive of her words. "Because if this is some runner up pity party I don’t want it," you said. "It’s not a pity party. Listen you’ve lost a lot this year and I realized that the one thing I can change is for you not to have lost me," the freckled girl said.

You didn’t care who was watching, you stood up and kneeled next to her. You were a fair bit taller than her so being kneeled next to her didn’t make the biggest difference in height when she was sitting. You grabbed her face gently and lowered it and kissed her. Right in the middle of the café, right in front of everyone, right in the face of all the people who thought you were trash.

Because trash doesn’t bag Jessie Fleming.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #jessie fleming #canwnt #lena oberdorf

372 notes · View notes

tyrantisterror · 11 months ago

Text

A Dozen Or So Great Vampire Ladies

Ok, so, on a mostly unrelated post the topic of good vampire ladies came up, and @bisexualdaikaiju suggested/challenged me to do a top 10 vampire women list. As a self-professed lover of vampire women, it felt like a challenge I couldn't back down from. But it is kind of challenging, for two kind of contradictory reasons.

First, while there are MANY female vampires in fiction, most of them feel like afterthoughts, getting far less characterization than their male counterparts, who more often than not are the star villains of the show. When these supporting lady vampires do get something to do, it's generally the same role: make their human lovers sad when they rise from the dead as a monster that has to be killed, an emotional beat that is often undercut by a lot of these vampire women not getting much characterization to endear them to us before they died. Everyone wants to have the Lucy Westerna plot beat from Dracula but they don't want to do the work that Bram did to make Lucy lovable. The lady vamps who get to step out of Lucy's shadow are rare - but that just makes them all the more wonderful.

The second problem is that, since this is an obsession of mine that few seem to share (there are lots of vampire fans, but man do the boy vamps get to hog the spotlight among them), I've done a lot of scattered thinking about it and I just know I'm bound to forget at least one excellent lady vampire character that should be here. And whittling it down to ten, and trying to rank them? That's too hard! My thoughts are too mercurial to do that reliably in a way I don't forget!

So instead here's a list of, like, a dozen or so lady vampires that I think are just fucking stellar, many of which I think break the mold of what pop culture makes us expect lady vampires to be. It is not ranked - I love all these characters more or less equally, and think it's a lot more interesting to see how they take their archetype in different directions than to figure out which one is "best" of the lot.

Carmilla Karnstein

I'm going to start with the most famous literary female vampire, Mircalla Karnstein from Carmilla. I think she might be the first vampire to have an unhealthy obsession with using anagrams of her real name as aliases, though I'm sure now that I've typed that someone will find an earlier example to school me. She's also the one who popularized the idea of lady vampires being extremely sapphic, with an arguably genuine romantic affection for her female victims. She's got well-deserved clout, basically, and like Dracula has been adapted countless times and reinterpreted in some excellent ways. My favorite screen Carmilla is Ingrid Pitt's take, which captures her fierceness, passion, and tragic nature so well.

2. Amy from Fright Night

Ok, we're having one Lucy Westerna knockoff on this list, but as Lucy knockoffs go, Amy is one of the best. It actually helps that she spends 90% of her movie as a human, because we get to know and love her so much before she turns monstrous. And once she does...

youtube

It is pants-shittingly terrifying. I will never stop raving about the vampire designs in this movie - they made their "game faces" so fucking monstrous and I feel like in a better world this would be the standard ever since, especially since they still gave the vampires pathos while making them so ghastly when they've got their feeding faces on.

3. Drusilla

Buffy the Vampire Slayer had a bunch of vampire characters, and to its credit they did a decent job of making the ladies just as distinct as the gents. Harmony and Darla could both have made this list, but my favorite was always Drusilla, who was so traumatized before she became a vampire that it kind of overwhelms the demon spirit inside her. Like, bare minimum thing to make a lady vampire more interesting than 90% of other female vampires in fiction: give her at least one personality trait, preferably an interesting one, outside of being a vampire. Drusilla's fun, and she survives the entire series after dumping her boyfriend to be a single female vampire. Good for her.

4. Ruby from Scary Godmother

Ok look I am a fake Scary Godmother fan but kudos to the artist of the books for making a lady vampire who's very clearly of the nosferatu mold and is also explicitly benign and sweet. A+ vampire lady character design. I hope it doesn't awaken anything in me.

5. Nadja

What We Do in the Shadows is excellent at finding new takes on vampires in general - it even made me actually like Psychic Vampires as a concept, a feat I thought was impossible - but goddamn do I love Nadja specifically. She's got a distinct personality as vampire ladies go, being very confident and self-assured while also being a complete fucking goober (it is a comedy, after all). She's perfectly capable of being terrifying AND hilarious, often at the same time. A vampire girl failure, in the parlance of our site. I love her.

6. Lady Dimitrescu

I know that she's apparently only in a fourth of the game, but it's still pretty great that Resident Evil 8 decided its mascot villain - its equivalent of the Tyrant, G, Nemesis, etc. - would be the hottest woman I've ever seen a milf an 8 foot tall lady vampire. She's not dainty and willowy like most lady vamps in fiction - not an ambush hunter - but rather HUGE and capable of tossing a human around like a rag doll. She's a physical powerhouse and she looks fine feminine while doing it. Despite being an unabashed blood-sucking monster, she still has enough depth and complexity to have important relationships (like a genuine love for her "giant mass of hive mind flies" daughters), and also she gets to have an awesome transformation into a fungal vampire dragon, which is rad as hell. Also goddamn, her fashion sense is immaculate.

7. Hecate from Hellboy

"Hey, she's not a vampire! She's a goddess! That doesn't count!" Fuck you, my list, my rules. Hecate posits herself as the progenitor and mother of vampires, she drinks blood, and her main form in the comic is as a sicknasty lamia version of the iron maiden used by Elizabeth fucking Bathory, if she doesn't count as a vampire, nothing should. She is the concept of a vampire amped up to maximum capacity, a major mythological figure and an awesome villain.

...also I lowkey shipped her and Hellboy when I was a teenager. They could have made it work!

8 - 12. Carmilla and her girl squad from Castlevania

I suppose I could have counted Castlevania's Carmilla as an adaptation of Miss Karnstein - they're both basted out of Styria, both sapphic, and it's clear she's meant to be an adaptation of the former, just as the Dracula of this show is meant to be a take on Bram's famous vampire. But ultimately they're VERY different characters in the grand scheme of things - Castlevania's Carmilla has none of the tenderness and vulnerability of her literary counterpart, instead being full of barely restrained fury. She is an excellent villain, complex enough to be interesting but thoroughly despicable enough to make it VERY satisfying when she bites it.

I also love her girl posse... in concept, at least. They've all got great designs and the groundwork of interesting characters, but of the the three, only Lenore, the waifish redhead, gets to do much of note. The two on the edges kind of just show up for a few scenes and then bail before the plot catches up to them, doing very little of note - though at least the big hunky one gets one of the coolest fight scenes in the whole show.

youtube

Back to Lenore though - she gets a really nice character arc, and manages to become one of the few sympathetic vampires in the series (while still doing a lot of monstrous shit - she is not a defanged vampire by any stretch). I think her death scene is one of the most moving moments in the series finale.

13. Seras Victoria

A good female vampire has at least one non-vampire part of her personality, right? Ok, so, Seras is:

the muscle in almost every scene she is, which is to say, the one absolutely beating the shit out of people while her allies run for cover

the perky henchman/morality pet of one of history's greatest monsters

the sole ray of sunshine in cast of edgy, cigar-chomping grizzled mercnaries and antiheroes she's been pressganged into fighting alongside

the victim of some HIDEOUS trauma even before her vampirization

the protege of a wise master who gets a full hero's journey arc, taking up his mantle at the end of the series

Like, I love her. She's the secret protagonist of Hellsing. She's got layers like an onion. The scene where she killed Zora Blitz reminded me why I love anime.

youtube

(yeah it's the TFS version fuck you)

14. Youko Shiragami

My Monster Secret is not a horror manga. It is a romantic comedy about a bunch of idiots trying to keep painfully obvious secrets hidden and succeeding only because almost everyone around them is as dumb as they are, just in very different ways. It is a manga where an entire chapter can be summarized as "all the characters race to get the last McRib, using their various supernatural abilities to try and cheat their way to the front of the pack." It is one of the funniest and most heart-warming stories I have ever read, one of my favorite romances of all time, and an excellent piece of long form story-telling.

One of the two main characters is Youko Shiragami, a vampire girl who can't let anyone know she's a vampire or else her dad will pull her out of school. She desperately wants to have a normal life with friends and, like, school shenanigans, but her fear of people uncovering her secret and hating her is so immense that she's been isolating herself from everyone, accidentally torturing herself by being close to what she wants but unable to actually have it.

At least, until Kuromine, the other main character of the story, discovers her secret while trying to ask her out on a date. He ends up promising to keep her secret, and the two of them form a real friendship that blossoms into a very sweet romance, where Youko gets to display all her incongruous personality traits that go against what you'd expect of vampires - namely, that she's kind of a ditz, with an unrefined style of speech and a complete inability to be suave and seductive. She's a sweet, flaky goofball with a big heart, who just happens to drink blood and tan really quickly in the sunlight. There is no other vampire like her, and the world is richer for her being in it.

15. Marceline, the Vampire Queen

This list isn't ranked, but if it was, I'd put Marceline at the top. I think she is not only the most unique and deeply characterized lady vampire in fiction, but ranks right up there with Dracula in how she redefines the idea of what a vampire can be. Like, look at the forms she takes!

There are DOZENS of different monstrous shapes Marceline takes during Adventure Time's 9+ seasons of television, and any one of them would be a superb and memorable vampire on its own. And she's ALL of them. Just on a design standpoint, she is a standout. I think only Dracula himself could compete.

youtube

But she also explores what the concept of what a vampire is in ways no other vampire in fiction can, in part because of the unique nature of Adventure Time's setting. In a world where humans are an extreme minority and most people are weird monsters, a vampire isn't that odd, so we get to explore what being a vampire means divorced from the comparison to "normal" human beings. There's the expected tragedy to Marceline, of course - she's a 16 year old who has been stuck in that adolescent state for hundreds of years, and much of her character arc over the show (including the magnificent vampire-centric storyline, "Stakes") focuses on the horror of being stuck in that transitional state, not quite a child but not quite an adult. Marceline struggles to mature, to understand herself and others, and her vampirism both keeps her distant from reaching those goals but also gives her a lot of time to figure out how to approach them when the opportunity arirves. Marceline goes from one of the most immature and selfish characters in the show to perhaps the most emotionally intelligent, blossoming into a sensitive and thoughtful person she could never have been without first becoming a creature that seems so inherently opposed to ever having those traits.

And she did it all in a children's show where she was rarely if ever allowed to actually drink blood - a problem the writers got around by having her suck the red color out of things, which is right up there with the Joker Venom from BTAS in terms of genius ideas spawned by children's show censorship.

Marceline is the GOAT.

#Vampire Ladies #Youtube

181 notes · View notes

whokilledsamara · 12 days ago

Note

you should do a nsfw alphabet for dogday? :)

(but don’t tire yourself out, okay? ♡

you deserve a break every once in a while !!)

DOGDAY NSFW ALPHABET

a Dogday x reader list. {an: thank you sm for your kind words, i appreciate the support! happy to write for my fellow readers.}

warnings!: not too much for this one, dogday is a sweet boy. nsfw is a big one though! he is very vanilla, {ironic} and its just basic sex. this takes place BEFORE you and him escape. so yes, yall are still in the factory. {if you want me to do one from after the factory or something than send in the request and ill redo it} both amab and afab choices for reader!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

oh boy. this man goes OVERBOARD with aftercare. he does everything he can for being in an old warehouse. so dont expect to just walk off without him doing every possible thing he can.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves everything about you, so other than your face it would probably be your hips. doesnt matter the shape/size, he loves them.

on him it would be difficult to pick, being an anthropomorphic dog is kind of hard to deal with. if anything he likes his hands, big and strong.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

as expected due to the sheer size of his body, he cums a lot. depending on where you want it is where he will put it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

hes a very vanilla based guy {as said, ironic} and doesnt have many dark and deep fantasies. though he would like to be topped, so i guess thats one.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

buddy is clueless. even as human this poor dog had NO game. he's definitely surprised you even want to do it with him, which will make him try his absolute hardest to please you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

doggy style. self explanatory.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

hes serious but hes also very awkward at the beginning, though he gets more used to it after a while.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

hes covered in fur so there isnt much of a difference, but his groin area has more fur than usual {almost as a happy trail}, if that answers your question.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

very romantic guy. probably more romantic than sexual. he just loves you a lot.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

never has. and probably never will as long as he has you. his sex drive is almost none as he isnt made to do that. but you tend to spark some kind of reaction from him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

petplay, collars, dom and sub, maybe more depending on how far you guys go.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

not many options, so preferably secluded places that you wont be bothered.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you in general, but also his ears being scratched. i mean he is a dog after all.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

scat, vomit, or anything abuse related.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he has a big tongue surprisingly, so he does prefer to go down on you. wether that be eating you out or sucking you off {more like licking you off} then he is good. as for receiving, he loves it, but he feels bad watching you struggle. though a part of him is attracted to it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

depends, usually he is slow as to not hurt you, but if you ask him to go faster he will.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he doesnt HATE them, i mean, sex is sex and especially with you its amazing, but he prefers to take his time on you. he will never say no to a quickie tho.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

no. he doesnt want to risk hurting you, and therefore he will do everything to prevent it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

his stamina doesnt deflate due to his dog like nature, but he tends to stop after two rounds as to keep you safe.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he is a toy, so no.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he likes to jokingly tease, not really intentionally making you horny, but this poor boy CANNOT take you teasing him. he becomes a blubbering mess and pants heavily.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not loud, but he growls and grunts. not in an aggressive way of course.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he really likes dry humping. like yes go up to him and shush him while you hump his thigh, hell yea.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

goodness gracious. i guess being over 8 foot tall really helps you pack somewhere else. your poor hole(s) honestly, hes over 12 inches LONG and probably around 6 inches wide. hes a girthy boy.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

as said earlier, he wasnt made for sex, so its not very high. he happily obliges for you though. and you definitely get him going.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

hes a sun dog, and doesnt need sleep. but he does enjoy an occasional nap every now and then. that being said he loves sleeping with you.

{ created by @whokilledsamara }

#smiling critters #dogday #dogday x reader #smut #alphabet #dogday x y/n #dogday x player

46 notes · View notes

everythingelseisextra · 1 year ago

Text

Horse To Water

Part Fourteen: Come Home (Tommy's POV)

I'm too lazy to write a description, have fun. Warnings: Kind of torture, kind of police brutality, talk of war, PTSD, language Word Count: 4535 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

You find yourself in handcuffs, sitting in an empty cement cell. Water drips slowly from the ceiling. A bucket in the corner fills the room with the rotten scent of excrement. The bar you sit on permeates cold through your jodhpurs and you shiver. When you exhale, your breath fogs in the frigid air.

You’re unsure of the details of how you got here. What you do recall is a blur of hands pressing you down or pushing you forwards, shouts of men discovering the bodies scattered through your property. The one who lasted longer must’ve called the police between the first man’s death and his. Confusion steeped through the officers, and you remember questions yelled at you, your voice failing you as usual, and your consequent incarceration.

They’ve asked you your name. They’ve asked you your birthday, your address, your affiliation, and you can give them nothing. All the words in your mind fail to move past your lips. And so you sit alone in an empty cell and every time you close your eyes you see blood. Every time you take a breath you feel the weight of life in your lungs and you wonder when it got so heavy.

There’s an ache left over from being young in you. This world isn’t quite what your soul expected. You went through childhood with a kind of awful surprise, like each repeated pain you felt was a new betrayal from God. Now, you’re trapped, hands tied, with nothing but your clothes between you and the world. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you look up to see a policeman peering through the hatch, hazel eyes cold. You suck in a breath and pull your body as far from him as possible, pressing your back against the wall.

After a moment, he enters, closing the door behind him. “So, you’re the mute.”

You stare up at him, halfway between defiant and fearful, your blood trying to boil and freeze at the same time.

“You killed two men. One was particularly brutal. Lure him into a trap and use blunt force trauma from a height? You’re fucked in the head.” He steps towards you, slowly taking a thick, heavy baton from his side and holding it up, eyes on the black metal. “I’ve been sent in here to make you talk. I’m known for my skills, right? I make people talk. I’m good at it. I’m good at making sure people don’t get knocked out when I hit them.”

There’s a smile on his lips. You straighten in your seat, jaw tightening, and smooth out your expression. You blink slowly at him. No way in hell you’re talking, not after a challenge like that.

“I start out gentle.” He holds the baton out, the end right below your chin. “Who are you?”

You close your eyes and breathe. When you were younger, you used to play a game with yourself, when men were particularly rough with your little body. You’d pretend that you were someone else, standing outside of your own body, watching from afar. You’d sink into the role of this person. You’d make up their story; their name, their age, why they were there. And you’d sit in their head and watch yourself be abused. It made the pain lessen. It made it go faster.

Now, as the baton cracks into your chin, you’re standing outside of yourself to the left of the man, considering him. You imagine yourself with a strong, large body, without the aches you always seem to have, and you slip into that form.

“I asked you who you are!” The policeman pulls the baton to the side, resting it above your ear. “I expect an answer!”

The baton hits hard into the side of your head. You fall to the side, but you don’t feel the pain. Your mind is elsewhere, hovering beside the policeman, watching his arm move the baton again, preparing for another strike. There’s hot blood rolling down the side of your head, and you’re aware of it, but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything.

You will win this game.

“Who are you?” He waits a few seconds before drawing back and striking you again with the baton. Something flickers in your off-centered mind, and your eyes slowly slide open.

He shouts something again, but you don’t hear it. You’re focused, existing inside and outside yourself, and you’re waiting for him to draw back. He winds up, aiming for your shoulder, and you know if he were to hit, it would break your bone. Seemingly in slow motion, the baton comes crashing down, and you lift your hands, and—

The baton lands on the chain between your cuffs and breaks the metal cleanly in half. Before he registers what has just happened, you’re on your feet. You kick him hard in the groin and make for the door as he falls to his knees, whimpering. You open it, knowing full well you’re about to be caught and put right back into your cell, and shoot out, thinking somehow, maybe, you’ll get past them.

You slam straight into someone, almost falling with the force of it, and back away, looking around wildly for some way to escape. You heave, not even trying to fend off the panic as your body trembles and your eyes search desperately for a way out.

“Easy now, love.” Tommy’s voice. You look up to see his clear blue eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “You didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

Your wide eyes blink to try to clear your vision, give yourself some kind of groundedness in the familiar shape of his face, but the world spins around you and a burning sensation rises in your chest as you lose your breath time and time again.

A hand reaches out for you and you jerk away, trying to catch the breath that runs chaotically away. You continue to back away, frantically seeking freedom.

“You’re not back there. You’re not trapped. Look around, you’re free as I am.”

There are eyes on you, pinning you to the ground, scorching your skin with their seeping gazes. You shake your head, brow furrowing, wishing you could get out from this cold, dark hallway, away from the eyes on you, away from the clattering of other prisoners.

“Look around. You’re alright. You’re alright.” He steps towards you and you try not to cower. “Come on, let’s go, eh? Hold your head up and let’s go.”

You take a gasping breath, then another, trying to get ahold of yourself. He reaches out a hand to you, letting it hover softly in the space between. After a moment, you look up, meeting his eyes with a kind of feral recognition that you’ve only ever seen in spooking horses being calmed. Slowly, you reach out a trembling hand to take his.

“You’re okay.” He gives your hand a slight tug and starts to walk. Your body, pumped with adrenaline, stumbles to move by his side, falling into step with him.

Down a cold cement hallway, with eyes seeking somewhere to land through the bars of cell doors, you walk with him. Behind you, officers watch in silence, your silhouettes slowly getting smaller in their vision. He knows his way through the maze-like building, knows how to navigate through the frigidity, and before you realize it, you’re out into fresh, equally cold night air. You stop and tilt your head up, searching the sky for stars and finding only the polluted gray of Birmingham. You continue to tremble, half from cold, half from the residual fear that skewers you, a slow, painful death.

Once you’re in his car, tires rumbling down the streets, he speaks again. “Fucking coppers wouldn’t tell me anything. Said they brought in a girl from a barn on the outskirts for double homicide. Even Moss kept his mouth shut.”

You close your eyes, pressing them together, then open them again. Your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. “That’s because they didn’t know anything.”

“They tried telling me that. Told them they needed to find out, then changed my mind.” He reaches out to gently brush the bloody side of your head and you flinch. He drops his hand, jaw tightening slightly. His voice raises. “Does anyone ever fucking listen to me?”

You hold back tears, voice breaking and pathetically small. “They were scared that you’d hurt them if they couldn’t tell you more.”

“What were you thinking, running off and killing two men?” His tone remains harsh and you suddenly realize you’re trapped, alone in a car with a very dangerous man.

“I obviously didn’t do it for fun, Tom.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a silent tear dripping down your cheek. “They found me. I don’t know how, but they did. One of them was an old client, the other… I don’t know. It was self defense. They would’ve taken me back.”

He’s quiet for a moment, blue eyes reflecting the lanterns lighting the streets, little embers in the iciness. “One man with a crushed skull, the other with his brains blown out the side of his head.”

“I had to protect myself.” Your words grow louder, hoarse. “What did you want me to do, just go with them? Is that what you think of me? Just some poor haunted girl, helpless? Is that who you want me to be?”

“No,” he says, and the word is final. “No. Everything you did, every choice you made, is exactly what I would’ve done. I don’t want you to follow down the path I did.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m not following any path, I’m just trying to survive.”

“In the morning, we’ll go to your house and pack your things. You’ll stay with me.”

Suddenly, the lump in your throat is gone, replaced with a kind of surprised rage that can’t fully be described. “You’re expecting me to put my life on hold, lose my independence, and move in with you, without even asking me first?”

He blinks, glancing over at you as if he hadn’t realized it might not be what you wanted. “You’ll be sa—”

“Safer? I protected myself just fine, Thomas.”

“Next time, there’ll be more men, more guns, and you’ll be alone.”

“Oh, yeah? Well then, why don’t you move in with me? Why don’t you upend your life and leave everything behind?” You turn your head to look at him, glaring. “How does that sound to you?”

“It’s not the same.”

“What, because you have money and I don’t? Because I have less to lose?”

“You won’t be losing anything.” His hands tighten around the wheel and he straightens. “We’ll bring your horses to my stables.”

Your jaw almost drops. “Tommy, do you have any idea what it means for a woman to move in with a man? Do you realize that I’d be losing my financial and physical independence? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He glances over at you. “There are no rules that say you must give up your independence. Doesn’t matter what everyone else does. We can do it differently.”

You look away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t rely on you for everything.”

“You can rely on me for protection.” He nods.

“I’m not— I hope you realize, Tom, that I will never belong to you. I will never be owned by anyone. I need space. I can’t be so close to you that there’s no room to breathe. If you want another possession, another trophy, you need to find someone else.” Your voice grows steady, strong. “I’m tired of belonging to a man. I’m tired of being told that I can’t exist without being attached to someone. I can. I exist, despite it all, and I refuse to do it again.”

“I’m not asking you to belong to me.” He sighs, a subtle sign of frustration. “I’m asking you to keep yourself safe. Let me help you. Even just for until this is over.”

“I can protect myself.”

“You can. But even you can’t be so strong.” His eyes flick down to his hands on the wheel, then back up to the street. “Even you can’t do it alone.”

You let his words fade into the cool night air. You try to siphon through the conflicting thoughts that flit through your mind like hummingbirds. You want to be yourself, separate from everything around you. You want to be where he is, wherever that may be, a constant yearning for the companionship he brings. You want to learn who you are without being caught in someone else’s orbit, without being owned. You want to teach yourself how to love without the constant fear of loss, and there he is, asking for nothing in return. There he is, and he has never done anything to you that was not good, and he has never tried to lead you astray.

You lean your head back against the rest and stare out into the now clear night, the stars showing now that you’ve moved from the city. “You would take in all twelve of my horses… let me live with you… for nothing?”

A faint smile appears on his lips. “It’s a big house. Needs someone else to fill all the empty space.”

You manage a small, watery smile in return. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He turns into the driveway of Arrow House and slowly pulls up. He stops the car but doesn’t get out, simply stares down at his hands and lets them slowly fall from the wheel.

“What?” You shift hesitantly closer to him, trying to read his expression, trying to peer into those blue eyes and decipher the depths inside of them.

“I know you take care of yourself,” he says slowly. “I know you always will. I want you to let me help. With everything. I want us to take care of each other.”

You take in a small breath. This, you think, this is when I hurt him. This is when it ends, all the softness and care, all the pieces of each other shared back and forth.

“I don’t know how,” you say. “It’s always been me. I’ve never learned how to help and be helped.”

“You do know.” He looks over at you, eyes flicking over your face. “I’ve seen you do it. Care for the horses every day.”

“Then I don’t know how to let someone help me.” You reach up and touch the side of your head; you can feel it now, the throbbing, swollen pain pressing through your skull. “I don’t know how to give up that kind of control.”

He considers you, expression soft and quiet. “I know I’m not the man you imagined, but I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you to be ready, and I’ll wait for you to learn.”

You smile a little. “I didn’t imagine any man. You’re quite the plot twist, you know that?”

“Will you try?” His head tilts slightly, a faint, wordless acknowledgement to your statement. “Will you take the time to learn how to be helped?”

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. I’ll try.”

“Good.” He lucks up at the house, tone accomplished, as though he’s checked off another task on his to-do list. He slips out of the car and into the night, and you follow him. The cool wind batters at you, burns the broken skin at the side of your head, and you stop for a moment to watch him walk, head down, hands in his pockets, silhouetted in the grand light of Arrow House.

When you were younger, you made a promise to yourself that you’d live long enough to have your own place. You’d survive until you could create a home, where you weren’t alone but weren’t taken advantage of. Where no one yelled and threw things, where there was no such thing as saying something wrong, a sanctuary of warmth and light and quiet appreciation.

It was a child’s dream of paradise, and now, as an adult, you know that nothing is that simple. But, as he stops and turns, waiting for you to join him at the doorstep, you think that, maybe, you’re taking a step towards keeping that promise. Maybe you’re reaching out a hand to that young, desperate self, and showing her that there is kindness, and there is warmth, and there’s somewhere out there for her.

And that younger self smiles, knowing that though there are battles ahead, she has made it home.

Your eyes are closed as Tommy gently uses a washcloth to remove the blood from the side of your head. The pain throbs dully with each touch, but you somehow don’t mind it. There’s a raw, open gash underneath your hair that he drenched in alcohol a few minutes before. He’s quiet. You’re quiet. The bathroom you sit in is cool and the light is soft on your eyelids.

You’ve seen him dream at night. His closed eyes move with nightmares, his jaw clenches, his body tenses, trembles, sometimes jolts as though in pain. All this time, and you haven’t been brave enough to ask. All this time, and you haven’t known how to ask him to talk about that wound without reopening it. Now, though, as he cleans the blood from your neck, you think, maybe the air is stable enough. Maybe the softness is steady enough.

“You have nightmares,” you say quietly. “You never talk about them.”

“No. I don’t.” He doesn’t seem to want further questions, asking you to allow the conversation to end there.

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep. Did you know that?” You keep your eyes closed.

“Grace never told me.”

“You do. It’s always indistinct. I catch names, sometimes. Someone called Danny, or Freddie. Sometimes you count. You’re quiet, but I can hear it in your voice. You’re scared. I’m never sure if waking you up would help or not, so I stay quiet, let you ride it out.”

He doesn’t respond. You open your eyes to find his face a little paler than usual, his eyes covered in a momentary, hazy film that slowly melts away like ice. He blinks, and gives you a small nod.

“I’m not proud. It’s no treat to relive it.” He goes back to cleaning your blood, his hand steady, his voice the same. “I get stuck in the mud again.”

“I can help,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to let you get trapped in your own head because of me. I will never let you fall apart.”

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. “I’ll tell you. Only if you promise not to ask about it again.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes again, waiting, giving him the space to take his time.

“I was the sergeant major of the 179th Tunneling Brigade. I spent most of my time fighting underground. Won medals for surviving what others couldn’t.” His voice flattens out, low and even, emotionless. “What else do you want to know?”

“You were… underground?”

There’s a pause before he responds. “Yes. It was small. The cold bit our feet because shoes weren’t allowed and we couldn’t drain the water. The light came from candles that wouldn’t stay lit. Sometimes the air got thin. Sometimes the canaries and rats died before us.”

You stay as still as you can, as quiet as you can, unwilling to break the sacred silence around you as his words settle around you. “And the nightmares?”

“A cave-in. We could hear the Germans digging above us. They sent word to get underneath them and set up enough charge to stop them getting to our trenches. Maybe it was an accident or maybe they heard us. All I know is their mines went off before ours did. I felt it before I heard it and—” He pauses and clears his throat, then continues, tone a little softer, a little more worried. “Then the ground shook and fell to bury us in a grave we’d dug for ourselves. It scared me more to realize I was alive than thinking I was dead. I remember trying to get air, get some of the weight off me and thinking: Fuck. Alive. I have to keep going. I have to get out. Five of us found a space large enough to get some air. I never heard about the rest of them”

It seems he had holds it in, grappling with the memories that swirl around his mind, intoxicating and bewitching, and, once you ask, it’s all he can do to stop it from spilling out. There’s a weight on his shoulders that never lets up, and he stays quiet about it, never complaining, never even mentioning it. You squeeze your eyes, kaleidoscope patterns of color sparking on your eyelids, and think you should’ve asked him sooner.

“How did you get out?” You match his tone with a steady, quiet voice.

“We dug up for a day and a half till the fixed air took our consciousness. Even before then the five of us accepted we would never see the sun. Some men dug down and got three of us out. There was another still alive underneath. His legs had broken and tangled in the apparatus for clay kicking. One of my comrades stayed down with him. The roof collapsed. Their corpses will never be recovered.”

He sounds tired. The words he speaks seem to barely leave his throat, as though the low growl of them remains confined to his vocal cords. Finality rings from his voice like an order, or perhaps a plea. He seems to beg you, in his own silent way, not to ask for more. You can only be so selfish, so brazen in how much you push him to fake steadiness. Any further now and his façade would melt fully away. Thomas Shelby came home from war to test how many times he could ignore the broken parts of him till they shattered, and this conversation has forced him to see the cracks.

“That’s what you dream about. The cave in. The ones you left behind.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes the tunnel gets broken through and we have to fight and kill and leave the bodies to rot. Sometimes all it is is the sound of picks and shovels at the other end of the tunnel, coming towards us, and the only thing to do is wait.” His voice grows emptier, hollowed out, and you open your eyes to look up at him.

“Tommy,” you say quietly. “Look at me.”

He does as you ask, haunted blue eyes searching for something in you that you’re not sure you have.

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t hurt you.” You watch his hand as it shifts from steadiness to trembling, then back to steadiness again. “I can hear in your voice that you’re faking it to protect me. It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you if you’re hurt. I am, too. Remember our promise?”

He nods blankly. “Yes. I do.”

Like a horse to water, you try to coax him to step out of the darkness and bring the parts of him he hides into the light. You know he’ll refuse. You know he’ll consider it, over and over, and then back away. Or, maybe, you’ll get lucky, and some trust will glow like an ember, and you’ll see him lay himself down in front of you and show you who he is.

“You still feel like a soldier, don’t you?” Your tone is slightly sad.

He nods again, curtly, but his eyes are almost sleepy, exhausted by the task of remembering and acknowledging.

“Have you been trying to forget?”

Another nod. He looks like a boy, spooked late at night by some horror story spoken by his friend, eyes glassy and tired but, underneath, so, so afraid. The hand that holds the bloody cloth lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart, protective.

“You wanna know what I do? With the memories that are too big for my body?”

His eyes flick down to you, acknowledging, giving permission.

“I sort of… sit with them. I do it alone, and I give myself time. Sometimes I panic and can’t breathe, and sometimes I fall out of myself, like I’m not quite me, but not anyone else, either. But, always, after I think about it, after I let it take me over, I can call it back without having such a strong reaction.” Slowly, you stand from your seat and turn to face him. “It hurts. I’ll be the first to admit it. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever done, worse than when it happened the first time. But after… It's catharsis. It’s being reborn. And you’re exhausted, but you survived it, and you can do it again.”

His eyes latch onto yours, helpless, and you reach up to caress his cheek. Slowly, he caves to you, his eyes closing.

“And you just did it. You called back a ghost, faced it, and now, here you are.” You bring him closer to you, pressing your forehead against his. “You survived, Tommy. You survived, and I survived, and there’s something to that. There’s something to the fact that we never deserved what happened, and yet, we’re still alone, together. And now I know that I need to wake you when you have nightmares.”

He releases a slow breath. You close your eyes, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone.

“We’re gonna be okay. I think you’re right. I think we’re meant to take care of each other. You’ll teach me how to let you help me. I’ll teach you how to love again.”

He swallows hard, and you feel a faint tremble run through him, subtle, barely there. You reach up with your other hand and take the cloth from him, setting it down on the counter, and then take his hand. You feel your heart settle into your body, and you feel something you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

Hello love, your invincible, hopeful friend. For a moment, you forget where you are, and you squeeze his hand and start timing your breathing to his. You have so many words to speak, so much bubbling up in you, but you hold your cliches and just stand with him, waiting out the memories, holding him quietly. He squeezes back, and you smile faintly.

“There you are.” You drop your hand from his cheek, open your eyes, and step back.

He watches you, eyes soft, then looks away. “You were right.”

“I was?” You blink, surprised. “About what?”

“It’s better, after, if you… sit with it, like you said.” He lets go of your hand, picks up the cloth, and walks casually to the door. “Won’t be doing it alone. I need you with me.”

“Apparently I’ll be here.” You follow him. “I live here now.”

He shakes his head, and you catch a small smile on his lips. “Not yet. That could change.”

You chuckle. “You would never.”

“I would never,” he agrees.

#only the wild ones #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

363 notes · View notes

dmwrites · 1 year ago

Text

It was said that the Decked Out dungeon was alive.

The hermits, gathered in the halls and cubbyholes of Decked Out, talked about this factually. The dungeon was laced tradition and superstition.

The hermits said it ate people, that it craved blood. Some hermits had lucky cards or items, others touched parts of the dungeon before going in. They all joked about the dungeon having a crush on Etho.

Hypno thought this was all bullshit.

And while he wasn’t one to diss other people’s superstitions (at least not in a hurtful way), the way some of the hermits talked about the dungeon was… weird.

Hypno could only shake his head and stay quiet. “It’s chance! Chance and RNG and skill! The dungeon is a machine, not some beast in need of hermit butts to keep it satisfied!” He wanted to say. But he didn’t say anything, just stuck to the sidelines, quiet and thinking about his own runs, what he could explore next.

Regardless of differences, the hermits could all agree on one thing: decked out was addictive. Hypno had spent more hours then he cared to admit in the dungeon, just so he could be near the place, hear strategies. And he liked to play, had a bit of a knack for the dungeon itself. Phases one through three had been tons of fun, tons of exploration and death and success. But Phase four…

“Damn it!”

Hypno wondered if there was a death speedrun record yet for Decked Out, and if he’d just done it. Killed by Skill Issue almost as soon as he’d cleared the first room. The whole week had been like this, he hadn’t succeeded once.

“Too bad, man.” Hypno could hear Cub saying from beyond the door when he respawned.

“Appreciate it, man. Ugh!” Hypno hit the button to open the door and went to sit on the floor next to where Cub was leaning against a wall. “I’ve had such bad luck this week!”

“That sucks. Maybe the dungeon is just mad at you.” Cub suggested, looking down at Hypno.

Hypno put his hands to his face. “Cub, what?”

“Well, you know, I mean, of everyone here, I think you and I have penetrated the dungeon the deepest.”

“Don’t say it like that, please.”

“It’s the truth, though.” Cub continued. “You play that dungeon rough, and maybe it’s tired of you. Wants the annoying bug named Hypno to get out as fast as possible. And how to you get rid of something that’s annoying you? You smack it.”

“The dungeon isn’t alive, Cub.” Hypno said, looking up at him. “You do know that, right? It’s just a game.”

“I dunno, man…” Cub looked down at him. “I pay my respects to the dungeon… maybe you should consider it too.”

It dawned on Hypno, in that moment, just how much the sculk had spread across Cub’s skin, curling into his eyes and staining his skin an inky blue. Hypno shivered, and wondered just how Cub was “paying respects” to the dungeon.

——

Hypno went again as soon as the dungeon was ready. He and Cub hadn’t said another word since their brief conversation, and Hypno could feel Cub’s eyes on his back, watching him in silence. Those glittery, dark eyes. The door closed in between them, and Hypno tried to shake off the kind of damp, uncomfortable feeling on his skin.

“Right, hard mode, let’s do this.” Hypno murmured, pressing the correct button from the list and placing his shulker box. A minecart appeared, and down into the dungeon he went.

The problem was, with the minecart ride, was that it was far too long, with too much silence for thoughts to creep in. Of all people, Hypno hasn’t expected Cub to be one of the hermits treating the dungeon like a living thing. But then again, Hypno reasoned, was Cub really all Cub right now? But regardless of who was in charge of Cub’s form right now, Cub ran the dungeon great most of the time.

But he’s just good at the game, a little voice inside Hypno argued.

But so are you… another voice argued back.

The minecart ride ended, and Hypno was facing the doors of the dungeon. He took a deep, centering breath, tightened his bandanna. The dungeon isn’t mad at you, the dungeon doesn’t have feelings, it’s a building, Hypno assured himself.

He grabbed the compass- a simple level one- and snuck his way thought the icy rooms and halls. He had an ear out for ravengers, but something was different. It smelled different. Rather then the kind of cold that blocked out everything, the air smelled stale, but slightly metallic. Hypno smelled his shirt- it wasn’t him, although he was sweating like crazy. A ravenger suddenly roared, barreling around the corner, even though Hypno was out of sight. Hypno ran, jumping over the river of souls and into the crypt. He had half a mind where this compass location may be, and pounded down the stairs. He wasn’t sure what it was, Cub or just a feeling, but he didn’t want to be here too long.

He found the compass location and threw it in, getting his own bandana artifact. The second he picked it up, the dungeon groaned, metal against metal, ice against ice. He could hear ravengers bellowing, running towards him. Hypno looked around, but there was nothing that suggested this was all some kind of prank.

“What is happening?” Hypno asked himself. He tightened his bandana, took a deep breath, and ran back up the stairs, only interested in leaving this place.

The coffins around him were rattling, someone was pounding against the stone. He could hear vex screeching, even though he was nowhere near max clank yet. He kept running, sure of his way.

Ravengers lunged at him.The walls were contracting, shuddering violently as the dungeon screamed in his ears-

He fell onto the pressure plates that marked the exit, scrambled to the short chute that would send him to the end of the dungeon, and maybe he could get out and touch some grass or something. He jumped down into the hole, taking deep, gasping breaths as he fell. And he kept falling. Before he could really process that this was a far longer drop then any other time he’d finished the dungeon, he hit a puddle of water with a splash.

“Yeah, dungeon isn’t happy with you, man.”

Cubfan stood before him, like he’d been there the whole time. The room Hypno had landed in was caked in sculk, all shimmering and almost bulging outwards towards him.

“Where are we, Cub?” Hypno asked hesitantly, trying to steady his breathing, slowly moving to stand on solid ground. Every instinct the dungeon, and life in general had taught him was that something was very, very wrong.

“The Burning Dark, of course. You’re a smart guy, I bet you knew that already. The dungeon thinks you’re smart. Hates that you’re smart. Hates that you don’t fear it like you should.” Cub paused, and in that silence was the heartbeat of the dungeon. “Are you scared now, Hypno?”

In a place so void of information, with only sculk and the creeping realization that Cub was not here to save him, Hypno’s mind raced, but came to no conclusion.

“No.” He lied.

“The dungeon is hungry, Hypno. You die a lot, but you haven’t died for the dungeon yet.”

A sword was in Cub’s hand, and suddenly it wasn’t Cub and a creepy room, but a ravenger named “nothing, they survived decked out!”. But there was no button and door here, no pretend savior. Hypno was going to die, sacrificed to the dungeon by this person who wasn’t all Cub. Hypno straightened his bandana. Well, if this was going to be how this went down, he wouldn’t let the dungeon have the satisfaction of his fear.

“Do you know how sculk works, Hypno?” Cub was advancing, in slow, meaningful steps.

“No.” Hypno looked him down, didn’t move.

“The more you kill, the more it spreads.” The room was covered in the stuff. How many hermits had come here to die, be sacrificed to keep the dungeon happy?

“We could just leave, my guy. Touch some grass, talk to other hermits. You don’t have to do this.” Hypno said, but he knew his words only absorbed into the sculk. Cub was in front of him now, sword between them.

“Run. Maybe you can escape again.” Cub rasped.

“No.” Hypno replied. He didn’t move. Not even when the blade pierced his heart. He fell in place, sinking to the floor that would take his sacrifice. He could feel Cub kneel beside him, take the bandana off his head.

“You’re so annoying, Hypno. Can’t even die like everyone else.” It wasn’t Cub speaking.

——

Hypno woke up in the Decked Out bed. He gathered his stuff, his deck, and flew away as fast as he could. It wasn’t until the citadel was out of sight that he realized that his bandana hadn’t respawned with him. He shivered, not knowing what that really meant.

#hypnotizd #cubfan #decked out 2 #hc9 #long post

357 notes · View notes

felixora · 1 year ago

Text

Baldur's Gate 3 Companion!Tav Ask List by @paarthursass

Please check their List here, it's literally a top tier list

(contains major spoilers for the game, and for some dark urge runs as well)

Had to redo this, but finally I'm satisfied with the result. Here's my drow Soulknife Rogue (please oh please adapt this subclass for the game) Arnafein Rilynghym.

General

1.Where can your Tav be recruited? Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region? Or are they not recruitable until a later act?

He can be recruited not too far away from the Blighted Village area, in the forest outcropping.

He’ll be there with a pair of poorly equipped young tieflings and a group of goblins, trying to cool things down between the two and convince the goblins to leave the tieflings only to him. The player/party members might catch on some details in his facial expression that would be giving away a lie, as well as his attempts to place himself between tieflings and goblins.

As the player’s group comes closer, the player (and other companions, which is important) and Arno are connected through their tadpoles, though much more painfully than in other cases (the narrator might even comment on that). Arno would recognize in you another survivor that escaped the nautiloid and through pain would telepathically ask you to play along. After that with more demand addressing the goblins as “another True Soul came to look for them, so would they finally let them do their fucking job?” The player might choose the Deception/Persuasion route to play along with Arno, to simply attack the goblins (in which case both tieflings and Arno would help out) or attack Arno and tieflings under the guise of him “being the survivor, that Absolute cultists are looking for” (in this case tieflings would die and Arno will be captured and interrogated by Minthara).

2.Do the other companions have special comments or reactions upon recruiting your Tav?

Gale – A friendly drow! That’s a rarity in this place, as far as I can tell. Let’s hope this won’t be a double-crossing situation though.

Shadowheart – Arno seems well versed in dealing of these cultists. I just hope he won’t stick his nose in other’s thoughts – we have more than enough mind-probing as it is.

Astarion – Well that was a spectacle. I hope our newest addition won’t stop to help any stray or poor thing in need.

Wyll – It takes a lot of inner strength to stand by those in need, especially under the weight of your own troubles. Arno would be a good addition to our group.

Karlach – Well Arno seems to know some shit around here. Now we don’t need to blindly walk around in search of the bad guys place.

Lae’zel – The elf’s knowledge of this place seems useful. Can’t say the same of his handling of tadpole’s effects. We ought to be careful.

3.Does your Tav have any comments or advice when you recruit other companions?

Gale – Having a wizard around should improve our chances of survival. Though I’m sure as hell won’t be asking him about any teleportation.

Shadowheart – It’s good to have a helping cleric’s hand with us. However, the choice of name does bring a bit of ominous feel to this acquaintance.

Astarion – The whole knife play was a bit too on the nose for be, but I can understand his reaction. Let’s hope his bloody tendencies will be the problem of our enemies, and not ours.

Wyll – The Blade of Frontiers… Well, the name does sound grand, though cannot say I heard of it before.

Karlach – Karlach’s spirit sure will brighten up our company. I just hope we won’t wake up to the actual hellfire.

Lae’zel – The gith looks like a tough fighter. But don’t expect me to go on errands for her.

4. What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval?

Raise:

Empathy and Compassion towards weaker or struggling.

Supporting freedom, autonomy and choices that align with his desire to break free from societal expectations.

Sharing a sarcastic sense of humor can lead to a bond with him, as he appreciates this attitude. Engaging in witty banter and humor is a plus.

Illegal activities aimed at helping others.

Lower:

Disregarding or belittling others' struggles or doubts, particularly in moments of their vulnerability, resonating with his own past of self-doubt and anxiety.

Yielding to controlling individuals or behaving subserviently in the face of authority.

Aggression towards the weak.

5. Are there any instances where your Tav can permanently leave the party, depending on player character actions?

The first instance is tied to letting Minthara join a party (murdering of tieflings would significantly lower Arno’s approval, but letting Minthara join the party would be the point of conflict, in which Arno will go a separate path).

The second instance would be tied to possible betrayal, around end of Act 2 – a group of drow agents, which would represent the house Rilynghym (Arno’s family), will ambush the party. They are tasked with bringing Arno back home, as well as extracting Githyanki prism.

Depending on the level of approval, the player can persuade Arno to go about this peacefully (understand that there was more at stake and they needed the Gith’s prism), persuade Arno to attack the spies or Arno will turn his back on the group altogether.

6. Do they have any secrets that can be revealed? What are the prerequisites for this secret coming to light?

The Player would find out in Camp that Arno has partial amnesia, and remembers some parts of his childhood and his family, but not the last 3 months since he left home. As the adventure progresses, he’ll start to remember more and more, as well as start having a repeating blurry dream of his mother calling out to him, but he would understand any of her words.

As the game progresses, he would remember that his house (a drow house Rilynghym, that settled on the surface, in Neverwinter), that specializes in espionage and infiltration, sent their agents to infiltrate the cult of the Absolut and acquired information about some sort of artefact. The spies disappeared in Baldur's Gate, and as Nathiira received the news, Arno (who wanted to finally prove to his mother that he is worthy of her trust and can help the house on an equal footing with everyone else) suggested that he could investigate the matter. This provoked the conflict between mother and son, which ended in Arno being put in a cell. He escaped the imprisonment and ventured to Baldur’s Gate on his own.

In Baldur's Gate, Arno found out that the spies were supposed to steal a specific artefact for their house, but they were discovered by the cultists and taken as prisoners. All but one.

The spy, named Tsabran, a loyal servant of Matron Nathiira, managed to avoid the cultists and got in touch with Arno, telling him everything that happened. He explained that the spies, were trying to steal an artefact of incredible power created by the cultists. However, their hideout was discovered, and the cultists caught all the spies except Tsabran.

The artefact was supposed to have a power of a mini-version Elderbrain, allowing its wielder to enhance telepathic influence on intelligent creatures, and even subdue large groups of creatures to their will. It had to work in the hands of those who have psionic abilities, enhancing them tenfold. (Note: the artefact can unlock the ending, where instead of someone becoming an illithid, Arno will use the artefact and his own psychic skills to suppress Elderbrain) Together, Tsabran and Arno devised a plan to steal the artefact and bring it back to Matron Nathiira. They managed to get to the room with the artefact through secret tunnels. However, before Arno could check the artefact for traps, Tsabran lifted it off the pedestal and thus activated the alarm. The two had to flee, but Arno was wounded during the escape. He hoped for help from Tsabran, but the latter left him behind, running away with the artefact. That's how the cultists captured Arno.

7. Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game? Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

Arno’s personal quest would be focused on him slowly regaining his memories of past months, and in the process fighting the memories of emotional abuse and neglect from his mother, that led to his anxiety and feeling of never being enough. As he would regain memories he would have more and more doubts, if chasing after mother’s approval is really what he wants from life, especially if it goes against his moral code.

Player can help him find confidence in himself, support his attempts to make his own decisions in spite of what was drilled into his head for decades (and became part of his sub-conscious behavior; for example him having a sweet tooth but denying himself any sweet food due to previous prohibitions from his mother)

Alternatively, Player can insist on the notion, that Arno’s mother was right, that he wasn’t ready for any sort of adventure like this, and specifically his lack of skills, patience and knowledge were the reason of his troubles. That Arno’s mother only tried to protect him and their house, to give them a better life.

Toward the end of Act 2, MC with Arno is ambushed by members of House Rilynghym, who were sent by Nathiira to bring Arno home, as well as retrieve Gith's prism with him (when asked, the spies would answer that Nathiira found out about the prism and its influence through telepathic connection with Arno).

At that moment, Arno will remember the captured spies in Baldur's Gate and tell the newcomers that the situation has become much more important and dangerous than possessing some artefacts and gaining more power for their house.

Depending on the Player's actions and the level of approval with Arno, the situation will go in different directions:

Arno confidently tells the spies to go back home, because the existence of the cult threatens their house as well.

Arno and the Player fight the spies to keep the prism. Arno does not approve of this, but is persuaded by the Player to fight on their side.

Arno joins the spies, having more faith in his mother's judgment. He and the spies will die in the battle.

In 3rd act, as the group reaches the Baldur's Gate, during one of the nights, Arno’s mother will get in touch with him via telepathic projection – all of the companions infected with the tadpole will see and hear her as well, as part of their shared connection. She will say that she is very disappointed that he did not return with the spies when he had the opportunity.

Nathiira says “I've been very patient, considering your completely stupid and irresponsible behavior. Go back home, now.” Аrno exhaled, nervously gesturing towards his mother “Can't you listen to me for once? I'm trying to explain, that what's happening in Baldur's Gate is a threat to the entire region. And our family, too.” There is a tense pause. As Nathiira looks at him with her familiar calculating look, Arno looks down, slightly lowering his head as well “Just, listen. I can't just leave, not with this... thing in my head. So I can look for Tsabran and the artifact. Show you that I can do this.” Nathiira is silent for a few moments, closely looking at her son before finally exhaling: “You won't just drop this, would you? Fine. This is your task now. The last time Tsabran sent us a message, he mentioned that he was hiding somewhere deep and wet.” Arno breathes a sigh of relief and Nathiira speaks again: “Arnafein” there is a long pause, where she considers what to say before finally settling on her choice “Don't let me down.”

The group will go in search of Tsabran in the underground part of the city.

When the group finds Tsabran, it turns out that the artifact has begun to negatively affect his mind, making him more neurotic, full of paranoia and hallucinations. Because he was not a psionist himself, the artifact could not find enough power in his mind and his brain literally began to melt from it.

At that moment, Tsabran was obsessed only with the idea that he was the one who had to deliver the artifact to Matrona and receive her recognition and gratitude. The group had fight to get the artifact. In battle with Tsabran, he’ll have control over some civilians and creatures from sewers, all while screaming about how he will prove the Matron his loyalty and usefulness. Arno will recognize some of the civilians from the 1st day they entered Baldur’s Gate.

As Arno defeats Tsabran and takes the artifact, the telepathic projection of Nathiira appears, noting that she felt the artifact’s power through their connection.

The projection of Nathiira comes closer, with fascination looking at the artifact “Incredible isn’t it? Imagine how much influence we might gain with this in our hands. No-one will ever dare to even think of harming our house ever again.” Arno shakes his head “Mother this artifact won’t bring us any good. It breaks people, strips them of their will, it’s not-” Nathiira interrupts him “It’s exactly what we need to survive, Arnafein. This will finally give us the protection we needed. Any politician, any noble, any rival of ours now can be brought under our control. They won’t be harmed, they just won’t think about harming us” Arno exclaims “It will harm them, mother, this is exactly what taking away freedom of their mind is!” Nathiira huffs and waving him away with a hand “Oh, don’t be such a child, they will be fine! It’s better than getting rid of them all-together.” After a moment, she adds, more steel in her voice “You wanted to prove yourself to me. This is your chance. Do as I say - bring us the artifact.”

Depending on Players choice, Arnafein either will agree to bring the artefact home or will say that he’ll give the artifact to the Harpers for protection.

Choice “Arnafein agreed to bring the artefact home”

Arno closed his eyes, battling with his own doubts in his head. But moments later his shoulder sagged down, and he bows his head and finally said “As you say, Matron.” Nathiira looks pleased, relaxed. “Good. I’m glad you saw reason. Now, our agents should be nearby...” Arnafein raises his head slightly, looking at his mother with confusion “What? I... I thought you sent only me.” Nathiira patiently sighs “They were here just in case, to assure that the mission was successful. Don’t think too much about it - it was still all you. And our people will know it as such.” After a pause she continues “Now, I won’t take anymore of your time, the faster the artifact will be brought here, the better. Go.” With a slight pause, Arnafein bows, and Nathiira calls for him one last time. “And Arnafein. I’m proud of you, son.” As the group exits the chamber where they battled Tsabran, the spies meet them right at the exit. One of the agents steps forward “Sir, we’ve just received the message from Matron - we’re at your service. If you’ll need our assistance in upcoming battle, you can count on us ” Arno absentmindedly nods “Good. Make sure that the artifact is delivered as fast as possible to Neverwinter” and he gives the artifact to the agents before adding with more presence “As for everything else - I will call if you are needed.”

Choice “Arnafein refused to bring the artefact back home”

Arno closed his eyes, frowning, battling with his own doubts in his head. But moments later he takes a deep breath and looks up at his mother. “I’m sorry, I won’t do this. This is not our way. I will give the artifact to Harpers and they’ll make sure no-one gets harmed anymore because of it” Nathiira looks at him for a long moment, her jaws clenched, her eyes hard and cold. “Just as I thought. You would pass on a golden opportunity to put our house out danger forever, just so you can play a hero.” She steps forward, her telepathic projection getting right in the face of Arno, before she sneers. “You are not a hero. You’re just an arrogant, naive child, who thinks he knows better than everyone else.” She continues looking at him, as Arno meets her stare with his own sudden resolution. Nathiira spits out “Well you don’t.” She takes a step back, turning away from Arnafein and adding, “We'll have a long talk about it when you get home” Arnafein let’s a moment pass, before, with deep sadness saying “No. I don’t think we will” As Nathiira stops and turns back to him, Arno raises his hand and her eyes widen in understanding and shock. Arno sliced the air with his hand and permanently severed their family telepathic connection. As the group exits the chamber where they battled Tsabran, the spies meet them right at the exit. Arno, not expecting to see them, will take a step back before asking “What- What are you doing here?” One of the agents steps forward, slightly bowing his head. “Sir. The Matron ordered us to keep an eye on you and intervene in case of imminent danger to your life” Arno dumbly looks at him, repeating his words “Keep an eye? Aha. Hahaha” He bitterly laughs, rubbing his hand over his face “she didn’t even... Of course she didn’t.” As Arno says with utter betrayal and disappointment he once again turns to bewildered agent, and says “Well, as you see I’m fine and dandy, so you can return home and report as such” The agents exchange glances, before with a doubt in a voice one of them says “Sir, we were also told to retrieve the artifact” Player can choose what to do - “Let Arno handle this” - (Deception) The artifact was destroyed by Tsabran in the battle. - (Intimidation) The artifact stays with us, want it or not. In case of failure or letting Arno handle this, Arno will say: “There was... a change of plans. Matron knows of this, so you’re in the clear. Return home, agents”

8. What do they say when the Player Character asks them to stay in camp? How about when the Player Character asks them to come adventuring again?

Stay in camp – “You sure? I might hear the danger coming from miles away. Well, the thoughts of danger, more precise.” And after confirmation “Well, suit yourself.”

Come adventuring again – “Knew you’d come around”

9. Does your Tav have any escalating conflicts with one of the other companions, like Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s knife-fight?

No.

10. Are there any unique NPCs associated with your Tav that can show up during the course of the game?

In act 3 in Elfsong Tavern the group can meet Arno’s older sister Maliara, which would be trying to draw as little attention as possible. She’ll tell Arno that she and their uncle went behind mothers back and their uncle made a deal with Lorroakan to open a portal from Neverwinter to Baldur’s Gate and allow Maliara passage to the city. Maliara will try to persuade Arno to return home with her (depending on the previous encounter with the spies Arno’s reaction to this would differ, but he will say that he can’t return yet – not with the danger of Absolute cult behind their backs). Maliara would be gentle with her words, but also vocal about her worries for her brother, even going as far as offering her help in this whole quest, despite Arno’s own worry for her. If the Player invites her to join Camp, she’ll become a permanent addition to it, as an Artificer (trading different alchemical supplies).

11. Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner)

In Moonrise Towers, while looking at some of the battle and floor plans of Shadowcursed lands, Arno will recognize them. “We’ve had this floor plans for months before the spies went missing...” “My house knew about the inner dealing of the cult. And told no-one. How many people we could have saved if we just warned, I don’t know, the Harpers or the city governments. Instead we were chasing after some stupid artifacts.”

In act 2, when meeting gnolls and other creatures mind-controlled by the other cultists, Arno will express his genuine disgust for this, saying that no-one should go through such violation of autonomy. He might recall going through the same thing, when he was still little and some slavers tried to abduct him and his sister, and how terrified he was over losing control of his body.

Story Specific

1.How does your Tav advise the player character when it comes to the Dream Visitor?

“I can see the advantage we’ll have with these powers, but you always have to pay the piper. And our friend does sound like a skilled musician. Let’s just be careful with the help they are providing.”

2. How do they advise the player character on Raphael?

“One blink – and there goes your freedom in those clawed hands. Not even one story has a happy-ending when it comes to deals with the devil. I don’t think we’ll be the exception to the rule, so let’s not gamble with our lives more than we already do.”

3. How do they react to Astarion biting the Player Character?

“Huh, well that explains all those thought-wishing about having a taste…” “I have no problem with him staying, as long as he remembers his manners”

4. How do they react to the Player Character letting Abdirak whip them?

“That’s um… An interesting… View. Right”

5. How do they react to the Player Character taking their first tadpole power?

“You know, when I said “be careful but curious” I really had more emphasis on the careful part. Although, you seem alright… at least for now. Just give me some heads up next time, I might prepare the knife just in case.”

6. Will they stay with the Player Character regardless of siding with the goblins or the tieflings, or is it possible for them to leave the party permanently?

Arno will stay with Player if they side with Goblins, but he’ll strongly disapprove of this.

7. What can they be found doing at the tiefling/goblin party?

On tiefling’s party: He’ll be staying near Mol, bouncing back and forth with her ideas regarding how to get the most profit from drunk adults (“They leave a lot of their belongings unattended, who’s to say you won’t be the one to find them and be oh-so-kind to return them for a small price for such lost-and-found services.”). The reason for that is partially due Arno wanting to be a bit far away from so many drunk people, as his head starts to be in huge pain from all of their thoughts.

On goblin’s party: He’ll be staying very far away from any possible party participants, possibly in the shade of the trees, closed off and gloomy. When approached, he’ll say that he hopes the lives of all those innocents were worth this “blast of a party” and that this arrangement better pay off with finding the cure. If questioned by the Player further, Arno would admit that there is someone back home who came up in his memories – two small tiefling kids with dark skin, his sister’s kids. He’ll lament that he can’t stop imagining all those slayed kids in the grove as his nephews.

8. Do they have comments on who the Player Character chooses to spend the night with?

Gale – I see you have your hands full of our local wizard. I’m sure you’ll sleep soundly after his lectures.

Shadowheart – Hopefully we won’t find your cold and lifeless body somewhere in the ditch tomorrow. Jokes aside – do have a wonderful night, I’m sure Shadowheart will leave her poisons for more desirable targets.

Astarion – Astarion is… A spicy choice. I honestly hope I will be far enough to enjoy a quiet night without playing a witness to any… lewd thoughts. Or bloody ones, pick your poison.

Wyll – Seems like our local monster hunter already took your attention.

Karlach – Well someone’s in for a warm night. I just hope you’ll be responsible and all of that stuff and won’t burn our camp in flames of accidental passion.

Lae’zel – You sure do have interesting taste in company. Hopefully, we’ll see you in one piece tomorrow – otherwise, don’t expect me trying to avenge you.

9. Do they have unique dialogue if the Player Character lets them die when they steal the Blood of Lathander?

10. How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

1st time. No. No-no-no, stop thinking that, stop.

2nd time. Oh for gods sake… Is it only the “Underdark knowledge” to not lick the damn spiders?

11. What do they say if the PC tries to force them to go up on stage with Dribbles the Clown?

1st time “Ha-ha, what a wonderful idea (telepathically “don’t you fucking dare”)”

2nd time “Right, on stage. Dreamed of this all my life (telepathically “you better sleep with your eyes open from now on”)”

12. Is it possible for your Tav to be kidnapped and replaced by Orin? How is Orin's deception revealed?

13. How do they react to the PC either allowing Astarion to ascend or convincing him to spare the 7000 spawn?

Astarion ascends – “So… He did it. Looks quite pleased too. I don’t know why, but it makes so … angry. He did break from his Masters control, found his ultimate freedom but it all feels so wrong… I just hope this finally brought him the life he desired”

Astarion remains a spawn and spares the 7000 spawn – “I don’t think I saw Astarion that sincerely happy and relaxed, like, ever. It suits him. Do you think he would appreciate congratulations? Or am I “biting off” too much with it? Oh yes, that one is perfect for teasing.”

14. How does Tav react to the PC becoming a mind flayer? Can they offer to become one themselves? Does their reaction change if they’re romanced?

If not romanced – Arno would be saddened, but thankful towards the Player, accepting this as a necessary sacrifice.

If romanced – still saddened, but determined that he’ll stay by your side no matter what, as you were there for him, and he’ll do the same for you.

He will not offer to become a mindflayer.

15. How do they react when the Dark Urge first reveals their amnesia and murderous thoughts to them?

“Huh. Well I can calm you down a bit, as amnesia seems to be something the two of us share. Can’t say the same about a bit of… murder? Anyway, I’m sure there will be plenty of enemies to release your murderous tendencies on.”

16. How do they react to the Dark Urge killing Alfira?

“Now. I don’t even need to be a mind reader to figure out what happened. Another question is why? And you better start explaining now.”

After explanation.

“Well. Let’s pretend we’re friends again – but from further distance.”

17. If romanced, how do they react to the Dark Urge trying to kill them in Act 2?

When woken up – “Hm? Someone’s in mood for a cuddle?” “Although I do sense a bit more tension in you, than usual, love. Are you alright?”

After confessing to what’s happening – “Oh dear, I knew we should have tried reading your memories… Hey, look at me, it will be alright. Whatever it is, you’re so much stronger”

Trying to help the bounded Player “Focus, dear, listen to my voice – (telepathically) “you can overcome this. I won’t let you fall””

“Save the gratitude and focus. I’ll have your back no matter what.”

Romance

1.Is your Tav a romanceable character? Are there any specific requirements to romancing them?

Yes.

2. Does your Tav need to be flirted with to start the romance, or will they approach the PC themselves if approval is high enough?

Arno needs to be flirted with to start a romance.

3. Are they a polyamorous or a monogamous option?

Can go Poly

4. Do they have a special romance scene at the tiefling/goblin party?

Yes (note: romance scene would be only on tiefling party). Arno would ask the Player to join him after party for “little rendezvous”. After everyone goes to sleep, they’ll meet on deserted part of the river shore, where Arno prepared a small place for them with blanket, wine remains and some light food. As Player comes closer to Arno, who is using his much more controlled than before telekinesis to skipping stones across the water, Arno would turn to them:

“Much quieter here, isn’t it?”. He’ll throw another stone without his telekinesis.

Player either can

Try throwing a stone themselves (success / fail) – “You’re full of hidden talents / Not as easy as fighting, yeah?”

Comment that they preferred the lively atmosphere of the party – “Oh nooo, we have a party-goer among us. Horrific.”

Simply agree with Arno. – “A kindred spirit”

Afterwards Arno invites them to sit. As they sit, Arno starts talking:

“I “borrowed” some wine from Mol – thought I’d indulge myself, but then thought better of it. Don’t want to create another telepathic mess with so many drunk bodies around.”

Player could try to persuade Arno to share a drink with them, drink themselves or ask about him if that was his reason to stay away from the party (“Well yes and no. It’s good to be part of celebration, but I generally enjoy not being in the spotlight”)

Arno’ll continue:

“When I found this place, I remembered how when I would be overwhelmed I would leave our family house and spend some time near water, just skipping stones. Helped me focus quite a bit. Silly, but I thought I’d help me remember something from past months. Some name, or a place or… something. But there is nothing”

Player can

Ask them about what they actually remember - (and Arno will suggest to share images from his past, where he stays in large room, near a table covered in maps and plans, listening to some women (his mother) giving orders regarding something), and afterwards comment - “Huh. Not as painful this time”

Reassure them it will come back with time - “Perhaps. Never been good with waiting, but I suppose I don’t have a choice”

Say they might never come back. - “True. Can’t say it brings me any comfort”

“I don’t know what will awaits us in the future. But right now, I’m glad to have “this” in my memories.” And then he would hastily add “I mean, this, your general company. And others of course”

Player say to shut up and enjoy the moment, or that the sentiment is mutual, in which case Arno will nervously laugh, saying “Yup, ok, good, I’m shutting up”

After which they’ll spent the quiet night observing the river water.

5. Does the romance have different branching paths, or just one route to take?

There are a few different paths, depending on how his personal quest will progress.

6. How do they react to the player character breaking up with them, or choosing another character over them?

He’ll let a small “Oh” and take a step back, as if slapped, lost for words for a couple of seconds. After which, he’ll try to start talking, with a bit of cheer to his tone at the beginning “Well that was…expected. Though I thought we had more time.” After a pause “Can I ask if there was any specific reason?”

As Player confirms, Arno will say “Well. I will cherish our memories together all the same. Thank you, for giving it to me”.

7. What questions can Zethino ask the PC about Tav in the Love Test?

What brings Arno the most comfort?

What future does he see for himself?

What brings his heart the most pain?

8. If they’re poly, do they have a reaction to the PC engaging in a relationship with Halsin?

“Well that’s definitely one of the times when I’m glad I wasn’t snooping around in someone’s thoughts.” He’ll laugh, but with some discomfort and turn his sight downwards. “I mean, if this is really something you’re interested in… Halsin is definitely a catch, with all that gigantic wall of muscle and natures passion. Can’t judge you for desiring that.” And after a pause. “Although I must ask – does it have anything to do with us?... with me, more specifically? Did I do… or didn’t do something?” After assurance from Player that everything was alright. “Ok, ok, good to hear” “Well, in that case go right ahead. Just please return to me in one piece after all that throwing around and riding and … Ok I’m shutting up.”

9. How do they react if the PC has sex with Mizora? The Emperor? Haarlep?

Mizora – carefully curious, might ask to share the memories with him via link.

The Emperor – disgusted, when he tries to connect with you telepathically he winces and says “let’s just never speak of it. Never”

Haarlep – Arno would check up on Player, ask is they are alright and if they just need silent company and support – he’ll be there for them.

10. Will they join in with the PC and the Drow Twins, or no?

No. Arno will be feeling very uncomfortable in the brothel, due to remembering that his mother had to work in a brothel in Amn in the past just to provide him and his sister with some roof over their heads, and was treated poorly by the customers.

11. What are Tav’s plans for the future? Do they propose to the PC, or is marriage not something they’re interested in?

Depending on how his personal quest developed, Arno would:

Travel back to Neverwinter to become a spy on a permanent basis, always under his mother's control (no matter how many unacceptable things he had to do), helping her take direct control of minds of the nobility and small gangs of the Neverwinter region.

Travel back to Neverwinter and agree with his mother’s plan for him to settle down for a quiet, though unhappy, aristocratic life. He’ll become the public face of the house Rilynghym, but will always feel out of place.

Travel the world and build his own name by helping those in need and captivity.

Stay in Baldur's Gate, help rebuild the city and become the city's protector.

Organize his own web of spies that investigated and sabotaged authoritarian regimes and tyrants.

12. Free space! Share anything from your companion!Tav au!

Arno has nearly perfect visual memory, that helped him memories many maps and images (such as his family tattoos, that he tattooed his skin with after leaving home)

He’ll occasionally would lose control of his psychic powers (that are going sideways due to tadpoles influence) when heavily focusing on something which would lead to him extending his telepathy on others and accidentally sharing his thought with them, or start telekinetically levitate things or even small/medium creatures around him.

In 2nd scene of the romance he’ll suggest to the Player to use their psychic connection and would strengthen it to the point, where they both would clearly feel each other’s emotions and touches as if they were their own.

He would joke to hide his nervousness or uncertainty.

During conversation with MC, Arno will recall good moments from his childhood. How he was raised most of the time by his older sister Maliara and sometimes by his uncle (a psychic wizard). He will recall how, as a child, when all the adults would leave them and go out to find them food/any money, Arno and Malia would sit on the roofs of houses together, watching the sunrise or sunset and getting used to the burning sensation it left on their eyes.

If questioned, Arno will tell about his family, how all of them are psionists, with special gifts in telepathy and telekinesis. He’ll tell about his uncle, a Neverwinter wizard who could raise a whole house with only his thought. His sister, who is a talented artificer, working on different kinds of living blobs and explosive concoctions. And about his mother, who learned how to influence others and even bend them to her will, though temporarily.

Arno tells there were very little privacy in their house, as their mother wanted to know everything that was going on. If the MC says that’s messed up, he’ll say “Yeah? I never really thought about it that way, I mean - it was typical for us. We kinda were used to it.” He’ll apologize for snooping in others thoughts, as it comes easier to him than to others. Growing up in a household where your every thought was scrutinized and corrected by his mother did give him an impression, that it was alright with everyone else.

If questioned, Arno will tell that he actually has a sweet tooth, but he was forbidden to eat any sweets or sweet fruits at home. He’ll jokingly recall one scene from his childhood:

"I was really upset over some argument with my mom and as always, when I was like this, my sister Malia, came around and brought a whole basket of peaches. I have no idea where she found them, but we spent the whole evening munching on them until we were sick. Then mom returned home, and we kinda missed that. So when we heard her going upstairs to our room, we panicked and hid al peach pits in the plant pot we had in the room.” He laughs. “It took my mom years, before she noticed a peach tree in the room. She was really pissed.”

Despite his difficult and emotionally charged relationships with mother, he really cares for her and genuinely loves her, his older sister and uncle, feeling deep connection to them, that extends even over their telepathic abilities. Arno often finds it difficult to go directly against someone's opinion and generally tries to please others (unless it is in strong conflict with his moral principles of freedom and helping others). He often doubts if his own decisions, but is sincerely grateful when asked about his opinion or help.

The final scene for their personal quest, depending on the outcomes:

If Arno declined to bring artefact home:

Arnafein is sitting on the roof of the inn. The sky is slowly brightening, preparing for the dawn. MC comes closer behind him, and Arno slightly turns his head to their side, nodding his head towards free space near him with a small smile. MC sits; there is a moment of silence.

Player:

*Stay silent.* - Arno sighs "I thought this would be easier..."

"Are you alright?" - Arno "Yes. Just been thinking."

"Cozy place" - Arno smiles "Good for clearing head after messy day"

Arno continues "I breathe more freely than I did in decades. Actually feel like I can go anywhere and there won't be even a fleeting feeling of a leash around my throat. I'm happy." He pauses, his smile turning sour. "I just hoped mom would be happy for me too."

Player:

"Maybe she'll come around" - Arno "You sound like Malia. Maybe you both are right."

"She made her choice, you made yours" - Arno "True. I suppose I wasn't expecting the consequences of my choice to sting so much."

"Seems like she only wanted to control you" - Arno "I think there was love too. Just, her own version of it."

"It's just. We had bad days. But we had good too. I hoped... that good ones mattered more. That deep down she trusted me and was happy for me to find my own path. But she never planned to, has she?"

Player:

"I'm sorry" - Arno "Don't be. You showed me there is more to life than chasing after someone's approval."

*Hug him* - Arno let’s himself be embraces "Thank you. For everything."

"She might have want to, but was too afraid to lose you" - Arno "Perhaps. But I can't sit and wait for her understanding anymore"

"I found my path. With my choices. And my damned consequences."

(If romanced)

He turns to MC, laying hand on their hand.

"There will be bad days. But there will be good days too. And I hope I'll meet them with you - with all of the terrible choices and consequences that entails."

Player:

"Terrible choices, huh?" - Arno smiles "Absolutely wicked"

"Likewise" - Arno smiles "Good to hear we're on the same page"

He kisses the MC, laying hand on their cheek. Kiss will be meek at first, turning more passionate by the second, before they break from each other, grasping for air. Both brightly smiling, and gently grasping each others hand.

"Maybe that's a bit too early to say" - Arno "Well, we have all the time in the world to think on it. And make our own, considered choices."

And as so, the sun starts to rise, basking them in the dawn light.

If Arno agreed to give artefact to agents and bring to mother:

Arno sits on the bench in the outdoor alcove, shielded from the night and people. As MC comes closer they can see, that Arno uses his psionic powers to fully control rats before him.

Arno absentmindedly says "These ones easy to control. It won't be as easy with smarter creatures..."

Player:

"With more time you’ll get a hand of it." - Arno wryly smiled "Yeah, practice is the base of mastery."

"You ok with bending creatures to your will now?" - Arno "My mother wants me to. She thinks it will be useful, back at home."

"You seem troubled." - Arno "This... Is not the most pleasant thing for me. But I’ll get used to it."

"We have a saying back at home... Ilharess zhaun alurl. Matron knows best. For so long I've been trying to get her approval, to make her see me as an adult, not a child. Yet I continued to behave like one."

He makes the rats stand still, in attention. "But I know better now. I know to trust in my mother's judgment."

Player:

"And you'll be content with that?" - Arno "I have to. I will be."

"She seems to know what she's doing" - Arno "She always did, I was just too stubborn to see that myself."

"And what if she'll be wrong?" - Arno "No-one is perfect. But to survive, one needs to trust and obey their leader."

"Ahh look at me, overthinking stuff again."

He let's go of the rats, making then scatter around. "I didn't actually want to... burden you with my stupid troubles."

Player:

"It wasn't an issue at all." - Arno "But it was. It wasn't your problem to solve."

"Yeah, too late for that." - Arno laughs "True, and yet..."

"You were quite whiny sometimes." - Arno "And I apologize for that, as I’ve said it wasn’t your troubles to deal with, so I’ve been unfair."

"What I'm trying to say is... Thank you. To be of use to my house and mother. To be worthy of being her son. I have it - all thanks to you."

(if romanced) He'll lean his head against the MC, trying to kiss them but then will flinch and nervously laugh.

"Well, ok, she, uh... Seems like that will have to wait for later times."

Player:

"Is your mother still in connection with you?" - Arno "Comes with growing up in family of telepaths."

"Wait, what, who?" - Arno "My mother. Still checking in on me and not really approving something... intimate. Ruins the mood a bit."

"Well that's awkward..." - Arno nervously laughs "Yeah, you tell me"

"We can just. Stay here then. Together."

And they stay sitting there in the night.

#bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate tav #drow #bg3 oc #bg3 #arnafein #oc

250 notes · View notes