#added drama for good measure

[sp0o0kylights]

Adopt a Jock Part One / Previous Part / Part 10.1 (you are here)

A03

Chapter 10 is complete and will be fully uploaded to A03 this weekend when I can get around holiday shenanigans. It's very long so tumblr gets it in parts. I'm sure I could make a Thanksgiving food pun there if I tried hard enough but alas I am not Steve nor Dustin.

Apparently, if you stumbled into supernatural shit, you were rewarded with a mountain of legal paperwork so absurdly thick that Gareth was almost positive it included a government-approved execution clause for anyone reckless enough to speak about things better left unsaid

So, here they were: barely a week past the lab incident, eating lunch, keeping their heads down, like their entire world hadn’t been turned upside down.

(He couldn’t even appreciate the pun.)

“She keeps looking over here.” Tiff’s pen tapped out a furious rhythm, her gaze fixed on one Nancy Wheeler, “And she’s been following us.”

“Well according to Steve she knows about--you know.” Gareth said, keeping things vague in hopes it would prevent any visits from men in black suits.

“I’m sure she just wants to talk.” Jeff said with a note of sympathy.

The fucking traitor.

“I’m sure we’re not allowed to talk.” Stewart muttered darkly, pushing his peas around his lunch tray with a fork.

“Only with people who don’t already know.” Grant tried to argue, and that rapidly dissolved into an argument regarding NDA’s and tricky legal language that Gareth tuned out in favor of his new found hobby--doing his level best not to think about anything beyond his lunch and what new D&D character he wanted to play.

His last one died in the prior game, and though Eddie had--weirdly and entirely out of character--offered to revive it, Gareth had waived him off.

They needed some normalcy right now, and if that came at the cost of Gareth’s beloved druid meeting her maker, then so be it.

Plus a new character was a great distraction.

(He was set on playing a noble elf known as ‘Gregg from Accounting’, but a second dwarf named Iron the Chef had been tempting…)

“She’s coming!” Tiffany hissed, slamming her pen down.

Mourning the loss of an easy, drama free lunch, Gareth sighed and prepared himself.

“Hi.” Nancy said, announcing her presence with quiet determination, books stacked in her arms and chin raised defiantly.

No one said a word back.

“Jonathan let me know what happened, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this.” She paused, clearly thinking her words over, before adding; “Steve, Jonathan, and I used to practice.”

Nancy stopped again, this time blatantly waiting for one of them to say something.

She got more stares in return.

“Given that things sound a little open ended, and that there were injuries, I thought it might be good to start up again. Steve suggested if we do, you all should come too.” She finished, bulldozing right through her own awkwardness.

“Practice what?” Grant asked, confused and trying to cover it with suspicion.

“Defensive measures.” Nancy answered.

Seeing their unchanged blank stares, she gathered her books in one arm, formed a finger gun with her free hand, and mimed shooting in such a deadpan manner that Gareth almost burst into disbelieving laughter.

While he was haunted by visions of Nancy Wheeler holding a gun, Tiff loudly picked her pen back up, making enough noise that all eyes went to her.

“You beat my score on Mrs. Click’s practice test by two points.”

“Uh--yes?” Nancy said, blinking at her.

Tiff's eyes narrowed. “I’m kicking your ass on the final.”

Another dumbfounded blink.

“Okay?”

“Tiff’s coping, as are we--no…defensive measures necessary.” Jeff said, in a desperate bid to soothe things over, “We appreciate the offer.”

She nodded, seemingly placated by his response. “Actually, where is Steve? I wanted to talk to him too.” Nancy asked, changing topics with ease. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Ah-ha.” Tiff muttered under her breath, as if catching out what Nancy really wanted.

Stewart kicked her ankle.

“He’s with Eddie.” Grant said, covering the sound of their resulting scuffle.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.” Nancy noted, in that same neutral tone the Feds spoke in. All fake nice without giving a single thing away.

It was a little terrifying.

“We all spend a lot of time with each other.” Tiffany shot back, hackles very much raised and not bothering to hide it. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

“Man, we are vicious today!”

“She’s really sore about that grade.” Stewart covered, offering a sympathetic pat to Tiffany’s shoulder (who looked an awful lot like she was going to bite his hand for it).

Did Nancy Wheeler even know about the weird academic rivalry Tiff had with her? Gareth took one look at Tiff’s gritted teeth, and thought better of it.

“I wouldn't be if I was able to properly finish that essay,” Tiff motioned to the now hopelessly crumpled paper underneath her pen, “ instead of rushing it because I had to pull someone out of a lab--”

“Nancy’s right.” Jeff cut in, in another desperate attempt to distract them all from eating each other. “I haven't seen much of Steve or Eddie today.”

He turned expectantly to his right. “Gary?”

Gareth frowned back at him.

“Why would I know where they are?”

“Oh,” Stewart said, far too innocently. “You haven’t realized you’re their assigned zookeeper?”

Wadding up his napkin was second nature. So was launching it at his friend's head, who expertly (and unfortunately) dodged.

“So you’re saying you don’t know?” Grant asked, a smile creeping across his face.

Gareth opened his jacket, fishing around for a moment as if he was searching for something, before pulling his hand back to show off his extended middle finger.

Pity he actually had the answer.

“They’re in the drama room. Steve sweettalked Mr. Barns into letting them set up early for Hellfire’s game.” He grumbled, ruining the entire effect.

“See?” Stewart said smugly.

With deliberate slowness, Gareth raised up his other middle finger before waving them both in a circle.

“Fuck you, fuck you--”

“Not in your lifetime.” Tiffany answered, to multiple chortles.

“Don’t bother them, Wheeler.” Gareth continued, ignoring the assholes he called friends to turn back to Nancy. “They’re setting up for the Hellfire’s last game of the year and Ed’s is a little…obsessive about it.”

As in he was known to be a complete and utter terror in the days leading up to his grand finales but Gareth wasn’t telling her that.

These games were a big deal for Hellfire as a whole. Precious things they looked forward to and the finale game was something they often worked several months, if not a solid year, to reach.

This year's game had more riding on it than any one prior. Hellfire’s shared sanity, for example, and a shining piece of normality they all found themselves desperately needing.

(Plus the problem of Eddie flunking again--and not telling anyone.

See--Eddie had been touchy the first time he hadn’t graduated and even with the appearance of monsters and government lackeys, Gareth expected this year to be even worse--but the Steve of it all added a rather explosive emotional element.

“You still have most of Hellfire.” Gareth had pointed out, when he’d hitched a ride home a few days prior and found the paper declaring Eddie’s super senior year a lost cause. “You know you’ll still have them after they graduate too, right?”

“Because they’re going to be looking forward to their old pal Eddie while in college, sure.” Had been the clipped response.

“They will.” Gareth said, with a level of assurance he hoped Eddie could feel. “And if that’s the concern, then you’ll definitely still have Steve.”

Who hadn’t gotten into college, and openly admitted to refusing to try now that monsters were back.

“I guess.” Eddie had said, looking like a deflated party balloon.

In typical Munson fashion, he seemed to realize he was giving away more “real feelings” than he’d intended too, and changed the subject with an energy that Gareth knew was fake.

He hadn’t called him out on it though, and equally, he had not called out the mania Eddie had slowly been succumbing to since that fateful day. He’d get over it--Gareth knew he’d get over it--if they could just make it past the point where Eddie’s own brain informed him the world was ending to prove it.)

All of them deserved a break, and a place to put aside all the stupid shit and simply have a good time, and heading off Steve’s nosey ex-girlfriend before she could cause problems would go a long way to help.

“I’m sure they can spare two minutes.” Nancy was saying, mid creation of the exact problem Gareth was hoping to avoid.

“No--uh,” He flailed about for a reason she couldn’t, and the longer she frowned at him the more his brain simply vanished all forms of higher thought. “Don’t?”

Nancy’s expression soured, mouth twisting in a line Gareth very much did not like. “I’m sure they--”

“Tell us what other things you practice. Besides, you know. The pews.” He interrupted frantically.

Under the table his foot struck out, and though he had no idea who he’d struck he hoped whoever it was understood what exactly he was trying to do.

“The pews?” Nancy echoed, after a painfully long moment.

“You know? Pews!” Gareth mimed a gun, and then made “pew” noises while firing it.

Besides him, Jeff gave a very Harrington-like sigh.

(He’d been doing that a lot lately, Gareth made a mental note to mock him for it.)

“You cannot tell me you guys only practice with guns.” Tiffany huffed. She had not been the kicked party, but thankfully, hadn’t needed the nudge to catch on. “What happens if you run out of bullets?”

Nancy gave her an odd, almost calculating look.

“We use whatever else we have on hand.” She said flatly.

Which just boded so fucking well for the rest of this conversation (and Gareth’s life, given he was uncomfortably aware of the things that went bump in the night.)

“Well, give us an example.” Tiff continued, and given the now increasingly concerned looks that the rest of Hellfire was darting between her and Nancy, Gareth knew the rest of his idiots hadn’t caught on.

On a piece of paper he scrawled--and the underlined twice, for good measure;

‘Go. Find. Byers!’

--and then chucked it at Grant’s head. Who thankfully opened it, even if he made a face while doing so, before proceeding to pass the note around as Tiff and Nancy traded increasingly pointed words about weapons training.

“When you’re in a situation, you use whatever you have on hand. I would assume you knew this, given what I heard happened the other day.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t it make more sense to train and carry with backup weapons rather than just hoping you find something on the way? What if the--what if we’d been in the woods?”

Gareth watched the note travel from person to person, until it was dropped back in front of him.

‘You go find him.’ Someone had scrawled, followed by multitudes of doodles, two of which featured army-hat wearing dicks driving tanks.

Then and there, he decided that perhaps his friends truly did deserve death should a similar situation arise in the future.

Useless. They were all useless.

“You’re welcome to make a suggestion, Tiffany.”

“I will. I’ll make a list even.”

“Good.” Nancy smiled, with all her teeth.

“Fine.” Tiff returned, looking half feral.

Was this some type of weird mating ritual between academic types? God, they were scary.

‘Well, that definitely won’t come back to bite us in the ass.’ Gareth thought wryly as Nancy stormed off in the opposite direction of the drama room, tapping the note against the table. He glanced at the rest of the group, who appeared to be attempting to tempt Tiff out of her snit by way of asking her what dramatic bullshit she thought Eddie would be pulling in the finale.

If nothing else, he decided, they’d prevented ruining Eddie’s day--and possibly, their entire night.

Nothing, save more fucking monsters or equally evil government lackeys could manage that.

(Pity that Gareth had forgotten the third most powerful force on the planet when it came to wrecking plans.

Middle schoolers.)

xXx

The day had dragged but they'd made it, and Eddie in turn, had made that wait worth their while.

The lights in the drama room were low.

The entire table had been set up with such care and drama that Gareth almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Goblets lined both sides, each filled with a dark red liquid Gareth knew damn well could not be wine.

Candles--real ones, had been lit, casting shadows across Eddie’s face as he lounged in his throne, a master in their element.

A castle, meticulously crafted out of wooden sticks and painted a dark, forbidding gray towered in front of Eddie down at the end, with the layout of the insides crawling down the table atop carefully gridded paper.

Monstrous figurines stood in a row off to the side, like little soldiers, planted right in front of a plain, if not comically large, cardboard box.

It was elaborate, meticulous, and half the items had clearly been stolen from Steve’s house, if not outright decorated by the man’s own hand.

“Welcome, my friends.” Eddie purred, breaking the spell that had fallen over Hellfire.

“Oh my God.” Grant breathed, jostling Gareth’s shoulder as he pushed inside.

“Dude, you outdid yourself!” Stewart added, voice awed as he took it all in.

“He had help.” Steve confirmed, materializing at Eddie’s shoulder. He leaned forward, adjusting something in front of Eddie, ignoring the immediate angry swat and hissed warnings about “ruining the moment, Steven!”

“Glad to see you putting your mom’s party planning skills to good use.” Jeff teased, but no one missed the way he ran a hand down the table, staring giddily at the spread.

Steve gave him a shrug, but even in the dim light Gareth could see how pleased he looked.

It was magical, and Gareth felt something come alive in his chest that he’d privately thought the manticore had killed.

A childish sort of excitement, bubbling up as he realized he was about to have a damn fine time.

This, of course, is when the actual children came in.

“I made a timeline.” Dustin announced, shouldering his way in between Jeff and Grant to slam down a massive piece of paper.

“Oh my God where did you come from!?” Stewart yelped, started as more and more children suddenly swarmed Hellfire’s table.

“The middle school is literally next door. We walked.” Max rolled her eyes as she took a seat next to Tiffany. “What idiot let you guys light candles in here?”

El fell in right next to her, stealing what was clearly intended to be Grant’s chair.

Who looked like he’s about to say something about it until he caught sight of her delighted face.

Gareth would have laughed at the obvious way Grant’s shoulders slumped as he accepted his fate, if his own chair hadn’t just been usurped by Michael Wheeler.

“A timeline?” Steve asked, before Eddie could surge to his feet and kick the brats out.

(They all watched him jerk anyway, like he’d intended to do just that and barely caught himself.)

“Uh, everything?” Dustin scoffed, waving a beat up folder in the air. “We took it all the way back to when we first met El.”

Next to him, Lucas had stepped up to the table, running a hand down it in much the same way Jeff had. “We decided it might help us figure out where the manticore came from.” He said absently.

A riot of emotion exploded over Steve’s face, made all the funnier by the fact that it was entirely at odds with the setup he’d so lovingly created.

“I’m sorry, did we not hear the Chief of Police? He’s investigating this, our involvement is over.” Steve made a slashing motion with his hand, as if that would hold them all off.

(Gareth, who once watched all of these children fight each other over an arcade score for three consecutive days, knew it was a lost cause.)

Dustin made yet another scoffing sound in return.

Given how often he seemed to make them, Gareth wondered if he had problems with a sore throat.

“I thought we all widely agreed Hop’s investigation skills are terrible.”

“Hello?” Stewart said irritably. “We were about to get started?”

Eddie swung himself into a sitting position and made like he was going to stand up, likely to pounce on the opening Stewart had just given.

Pity Steve once again, beat him there.

“Yes, but he’s not investigating, is he? We,” Hellfire’s jock made another motion, this one a circular twirl of the hand. Gareth was starting to wonder if the gestures are directly linked to his stress level. “already did that part. He can now do the part he’s good at, which is fixing it.”

“He’s not good at fixing it, look at what happened with the demodogs!”

It was at this moment Gareth made his fatal mistake. In hindsight, he should have known better than to ask out loud,

“Okay, can someone please explain what the hell’s a demodog?”

Several protests, groans, and pencils are flung his way for it.

(“Do you know how often that word has been thrown around!?” He’d defend much, much later. “You guys keep saying it but not what they are!”

“If you stopped eavesdropping all the time maybe you wouldn’t be wondering about such things.” Eddie had responded snidely.

“It’s not my fault you keep talking about this shit when I’m right there you asshat--”)

“What, you didn’t think there were actually feral dogs in Hawkins did you?” One of the kids asks incredulously, like he can’t possibly believe anyone is so stupid as to buy into it.

“They were like the manticore, but small and more, well, doggish.” Dustin dismissed, this time with a Harrington flavored hand waive of his own. “Ask Steve, he was there.”

Gareth turned to do just that, D&D campaign be damned (He would not apologize for wanting to know what else might be out to kill them all even if the finale was technically on, sue him) to find Steve had slipped right into mother hen mode.

“No.” He spat, charging forward as he flapped his arms around, like the children are a flock of birds he can scare away. “You are not sucking anyone into this, and we are not getting involved! You heard Hop!”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a coward, Steve.”

“I’m not a coward, I’m someone who doesn’t need another near death experience! There’s not a reward if you have five in a row, dickheads.”

Seething and not bothering to hide it, Eddie picked up the massive gold goblet in front of him and took an obnoxiously loud sip out of it.

“I’m also going to remind you that Henderson here,” Steve stopped behind Dustin to rattle his, “is going to camp in a few days? I believe the rest of you also have similar engagements.”

It was Mike’s turn to scoff.

“Lucas is only in summer school until 3 and camp doesn’t start for another two weeks. We have plenty of time!”

“It’s not summer school,” Lucas protested, eyes darting to Max and back as if she wasn’t aware the kid was a nerd. “It’s a creative writing program--”

“Yeah, well, the rest of us are busy.” Steve fired back. “So any theories you have, you can take and shove right up your ass.”

“Why is it always the ass with you Steve? Do you have an ass fixation?”

Gareth watched as Eddie immediately choked on the dyed Mountain Dew he had been chugging down, hacking so hard tears welled in his eyes.

Jeff shared a pained look with Gareth over the table as Grant pounded him on the back.

“I do not have an ass fixation, Henderson--”

“Okay.” Tiffany clapped her hands together, the sound ringing out throughout the drama room.

“Here’s the deal. Summer break is two days away. Steve is right--most of us here are working, if not preparing to go to college. No one needs to go snooping around where we aren’t wanted, and we definitely do not need anymore injuries. Kapeesh?”

Henderson immediately turned on her. “So we’re just gonna trust the guys who fucking started all this!?”

“Given they also have better ways of handling it, yes. We are. Hopper told them about Stewarts goo, they sent some suits in to kill the manticore, and thanks to El’s heads up we caught things ahead of time for once. Can’t we just enjoy that?” Steve was beyond worked up now, repeatedly running his hands through his hair, only to fix it, pick at it, and then repeat the process again. “For fucks sake Dustin, Eddie just stopped limping!”

“I don’t think it’s over.” Mike muttered angrily, pushing a finger against Tiffany’s water bottle.

She grabbed it before it toppled over, glaring at him.

“El, do you feel anything?” Steve spoke like he was invoking a god and not an undersocialized twelve year old.

“No.” She admitted, after a long almost uncomfortable pause. “I do not.”

Steve pointed at her victoriously. “There you go!”

“But--”

“No more buts!” Steve shrieked, before seemingly to realize he’d done so. He coughed, and then said; “I thought you dorks would be storming in here trying to get Eddie to DM for you, not harassing us about the Upside Down.”

“You guys are playing D&D?” Lucas asked, as if he hadn’t been salivating over the spread for the last five minutes.

“I really like your cleric.” Will said quietly to Jeff, having leaned over to look at his character sheet at some point during the argument.

“Will, aren’t you a Dungeon Boss?” Steve asked, to the horror of those around him. “Why don’t you go sit by Eddie, I’m sure you’d enjoy seeing how he does stuff.”

A wince rippled through the members of Hellfire.

There was simply no way Eddie Munson, a man known to be possessive at best, would ever allow any of them to even glance at his notebook, let alone his entire spread laid bare behind his screen.

Those were his secrets--the result of too many late nights and an easy contributor to his failing high school yet again--and this was the grand finale.

Steve sitting next to Eddie had been miraculous enough--and that was with Eddie actively demanding he sit there, in a vain attempt to drag Steve out of his issues.

Fearing the worst, Gareth snuck a glance at their glorious--and notoriously ridiculous--leader.

Eddie sucked on his teeth, the noise painfully loud in the abrupt silence, eyes on Byers the Younger before they drifted back to Steve.

Who clearly had no idea he’d put his foot in it.

Tiff looked ready to break a pencil, eyes glaring a hole in Eddie’s head as if daring him to disappoint the group's golden retriever while Grant, Jeff and Stewart had all magically found something else to look at.

Gareth himself hunkered down, waiting to see how this would play out.

One more painful, pulsing second and then Eddie seemed to come to a decision, rolling out his hand and gesturing Will closer.

“Indeed Baby Byers,” He dropped into one of his many DM voices, something deep but alluring. “come closer and learn from the master of masters. Perhaps you’ll find something here to take back to your own campaigns. Something truly…terrible.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Dustin as Will’s Party groaned, though none of them put up much of a fuss once they saw the sheer smile that overtook Will’s face.

With the unique combination of embarrassment and pride, Will took his place next to Eddie.

Steve beamed in the corner, clearly pleased with himself and it was not lost on Gareth (or anyone else in the know) that Eddie preened only after sneaking an obvious look at Steve’s face.

“God he has it bad.” Stewart muttered, only to hiss when Jeff not so subtly jabbed him with a pen.

Gareth just shook his head, and gave Eddie a grin that said he would absolutely be getting shit for this later.

“Stevie, be a dear and fetch more chairs would you?” Eddie drawled, as he settled back into his throne, baby Byers happily checking out the items he had laid out behind his DM screen.

Which Gareth supposed was Steve’s punishment for inviting the kids along, but then, Eddie may as well have been bossing the jock around all day regardless given the look of the place.

(He’d certainly taken advantage of doing just that while his leg had been healing.)

That was their mess though, and Gareth happily put all thoughts of monsters, murder, men in black and every other awful M word aside to inside pull out his luckiest D20 die.

“Hellfire,” Eddie boomed as the all finally settled, “It's time to show the kiddies how it's done. Let’s roll!”

“And Dustin bitches at me for my puns.” Steve loudly complained as he came back into the room with chairs.

Eddie shushed him again.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Off Track” ~ Pt 8 Franco x reader

WARNING: angst?

Note: sorry it took me so long! Finals was WAYYY more stressful than I expected! Hope you enjoy 💜

Summary: Y/N navigates the tension and heartbreak at the Vegas track, she’s more conflicted than ever. Seeking solace in Franco’s arms, she’s faced with balancing the pain she’s caused with the uncertain path ahead.

The Vegas night was electric, the hum of the crowd and the buzz of the track vibrating through the air. Lights glimmered off the sleek motorhomes and trailers, casting shadows that danced across the pavement. The sound of engines revving in the distance only added to the energy, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. My thoughts were louder than the chaos around me.

It had been 24 hours since Lewis and I last spoke—an eternity for us. Even in our worst arguments, we’d never gone this long without speaking. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I finally saw him. Would I get the cold, detached Lewis who could cut me down with a few harsh words? Or would he be the softer version, the one who’d make sure I was okay before sending me on my way for good?

Neither thought brought me comfort.

I was sitting in Franco’s hotel room earlier, scrolling through my phone as I tried to figure out what to do. Texts between us had been frequent, but his most recent one had left me feeling more conflicted than ever.

**Franco:** *You could come… but maybe you should do something else?*

**Me:** *I know, but I feel like I should support Lewis.*

**Franco:** *I don’t think so.*

I sighed in frustration, staring at the screen. Franco’s tone in text was as calm and measured as ever, but his words felt like a subtle warning. He didn’t want me at the track. Maybe he thought it would stir up more drama. Maybe he didn’t want to risk running into Lewis. Or maybe… maybe he didn’t want to share me.

I didn’t respond. Instead, like the idiot I am, I opened a new text to Lewis. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting over and over again.

*I’m sorry.* Delete.

*I shouldn’t have done what I did.* Delete.

*Are you okay?* Delete.

Nothing felt right. No words could bridge the canyon between us. And yet, I still found myself heading to the track, my credentials burning a hole in my pocket. I wasn’t sure who I was there for—Lewis or Franco—but something inside me said I needed to be there.

---

The Vegas track was as dazzling as the city itself, every corner lit up with neon and flashing lights. The air was crisp, almost biting, and I pulled my coat tighter around me as I moved through the hospitality area, keeping my head down. My heart was racing, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the anxiety of running into either of them. I texted Franco to let him know I was there, but his reply was short, almost dismissive: *Okay.*

I decided to find somewhere quieter, away from the crowds and the chaos. My feet led me to a spot Lewis had shown me once—behind the Haas motorhome, where it was quieter, less busy. I leaned against the wall, the noise of the crowd muffled by the distance. My thoughts raced as I stared at the ground, trying to make sense of why I’d come.

Was I here to support Lewis? To apologize? To make things right? Or was I here because I wanted to see Franco, to feel the way he made my heart race and forget all the guilt I carried?

I didn’t have an answer.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the sound of approaching footsteps until they were too close. When I looked up, my heart stopped. Lewis was standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable, his eyes locking onto mine like he’d been searching for me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The tension between us was thick, heavier than the chill in the air. I pushed off the wall, standing straighter as I tried to gather my thoughts.

“Lew—”

“You came—”

We both spoke at the same time, our words colliding awkwardly before falling into silence again. I swallowed hard, my nerves making it impossible to think straight.

“I didn’t know you were going to come,” he said, his voice low but steady.

“Well… I wasn’t sure if I should,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. “I just…”

I trailed off, unsure of how to explain myself without giving too much away. His eyes stayed on me, sharp and calculating, like he was trying to figure out what had changed about me in the last 24 hours.

“I saw you hadn’t left Vegas yet,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, more serious now.

I blinked, surprised. “You… you’ve been looking at my location?” My voice came out more accusatory than I’d planned.

He shrugged, his gaze hardening just a little. “Of course I have. What did you expect? You disappear into another hotel, don’t tell me where you are, and I’m just supposed to act like I don’t care?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

“Why didn’t you just get another room at my hotel? You didn’t have to go to another one,” he said, his voice sharp and edged with irritation.

I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “Well, I didn’t exactly know what to do because you kicked me out,” I shot back, sharper than I meant to. My frustration was bubbling to the surface, and I couldn’t hold it back.

His expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before it hardened again. “I didn’t kick you out, Y/N. I asked you to leave because I needed time to think. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, is there?” I retorted, my voice rising slightly. “Because it felt pretty clear to me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for just a moment. “I needed space, okay? I needed to figure out what the hell to do after… after what you told me.”

My heart ached at the pain in his voice, the way his words cracked slightly as he tried to keep his emotions in check. I wanted to apologize, to explain myself, but I didn’t know where to start. Everything I said would sound like an excuse, and he deserved more than that.

“I’m sorry, Lewis,” I said softly, my voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You didn’t mean for it to happen? That’s supposed to make me feel better?” His eyes met mine again, and I could see the hurt behind the anger. “Do you even understand what you did? You didn’t just hurt me, Y/N. You made me question everything.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I know I did,” I said, my voice breaking. “And I hate myself for it.”

For a moment, his expression softened, like he was on the verge of reaching out to me. But then his walls went back up, and he shook his head. “I can’t do this right now,” he said, his voice low. “I have a race to focus on.”

I nodded, my heart sinking. “I understand.”

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but instead, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there in the cold, feeling more alone than ever.

The Williams hospitality area was buzzing with activity. Engineers shuffled around, team members compared notes, and the media vultures were circling as usual. I slipped inside unnoticed, blending into the chaos as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. Being here felt safer—less fraught than hanging around Mercedes, where every glance or conversation might lead me back to Lewis. I needed a break from the tension, from the guilt. From everything.

As I lingered near a corner, scanning the room absentmindedly, I spotted him. Franco. His easy smile lit up his face as he charmed a group of media people, gesturing animatedly while they laughed at something he’d said. I couldn’t help but watch, drawn to the way he carried himself—so effortless, so magnetic.

Then his eyes found mine.

For a brief moment, everything else faded. His gaze softened, and his smile faltered, just slightly. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. When I dared to glance back, he was already excusing himself from the group, weaving through the crowd toward me.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm but laced with concern as he stopped in front of me. His hand reached out, brushing against my upper arm in a gesture that felt too intimate for the public space. His thumb rubbed gently, a reflexive move he seemed to forget wasn’t appropriate here.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched my face.

I forced a smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied me, clearly unconvinced. “Come with me,” he said softly, his hand lingering for a moment before he dropped it. He turned and led me toward the back of the hospitality area, weaving through the halls until we reached the door to his driver’s room. He opened it, motioning for me to step inside.

Once the door clicked shut behind us, the noise of the bustling hospitality melted away, leaving only the quiet hum of the air conditioning. I stood awkwardly in the center of the small room, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, while Franco leaned against the door, watching me.

“You’re not fine,” he said gently, his voice low. He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to pretend with me, hermosa.”

I sighed, my shoulders sagging as the weight of everything pressed down on me. “It’s just… it’s a lot.”

He nodded, stepping closer until we were only inches apart. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the small couch against the wall. I obeyed, sinking into the cushions while he knelt in front of me, his hands resting lightly on my knees.

“You talked to him, didn’t you?” Franco asked, his voice soft, almost coaxing.

I hesitated, looking down at my hands. “Yeah. I saw him. It wasn’t… bad, but it wasn’t good either.”

Franco’s fingers brushed against mine, a small, reassuring gesture. “What did he say?”

I looked up, meeting his expectant gaze. “He wasn’t angry. Not really. I mean, he asked why I didn’t stay at his hotel… but he’s hurt. And I can see it all over his face. I just… I feel awful, Franco. I need to make it right somehow. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

At that, Franco’s jaw tensed, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. He tried to hide it, but I noticed the slight clench of his teeth, the way his fingers gripped my knees a little tighter.

“You don’t owe him anything, Y/N,” he said, his tone even but firm. “You’ve already done what you could. Staying here, trying to reach out—it’s only going to make it harder for both of you.”

I frowned, unsure how to respond. “I can’t just… walk away, Franco. I hurt him. He loved me, and I—”

“And you’re not with him anymore,” Franco interrupted, his voice sharper than usual. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he tried to rein in his frustration. “He’s going to be fine. He’s Lewis Hamilton. He’ll survive. But you? You need to move on. You need to stop carrying this guilt around like it’s your responsibility to fix everything.”

I stared at him, my heart twisting at the intensity in his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he insisted, his voice softening. “You’re here with me now. That means something, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t know how to answer. I liked Franco—more than I wanted to admit—but the weight of everything I’d done, the wreckage I’d left behind, made it impossible to feel anything but guilt. I tried to smile, to lighten the mood. “You’re really jealous, huh?”

His eyes darkened slightly, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his hand moving to cup my cheek. “But can you blame me? He had you first. And now…” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “Now, I want you to be mine.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I nodded slightly, leaning into his touch, but the guilt gnawed at the edges of my mind. “I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” I whispered.

Franco smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then stop hurting yourself, hermosa. Let him go.”

——-

The start of the race crept closer, and the energy at the track shifted, growing more intense as the sun dipped lower in the sky. I stood in the grandstands, bundled in my coat as the cool desert air nipped at my skin. My heart pounded as the cars lined up on the grid, the roar of engines filling the air.

My eyes scanned the track, finding the familiar silver-and-neon yellow of Lewis’s Mercedes. My chest tightened as I thought about him, about the pain in his eyes when we’d spoken earlier. I wanted to run to him, to explain, to somehow make him understand that I never meant to hurt him. But I stayed rooted in place, watching as he climbed into his car, his helmet masking whatever emotions he was feeling.

Then my gaze drifted to the Williams garage, where Franco was preparing for the race. He looked so focused, so determined, and I felt a flicker of pride watching him. But the pride was tinged with anxiety. Somehow, I’d gotten myself tangled between these two men, and no matter how much I wanted to believe I could fix everything, I knew it wasn’t possible.

As the lights went out and the cars roared to life, I clenched my fists, my heart racing as fast as the cars on the track. This wasn’t just a race—it was the beginning of whatever came next. For me, for Lewis, for Franco.

And I wasn’t ready for any of it.

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts XXII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

As the family gather for a wedding, Valaena and Alicent come to blows.

Warning(s): Four Year Time Skip, Angst, Drama, Language, Mild Violence/Threats, Arguements, Brother/Sister Incest, Wedding, Celebration, Alcohol Consumption, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 6929

A.N - Last Chapter!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx

The door creaked open slightly, and Valaena stood in the doorway , her violet eyes soft but bright with curiosity.

Inside, Jaehaerys stood in front of a tall mirror, his hands fumbling with the intricate embroidery on his sleeves.

His usually composed face was a mask of nerves, and the maids hovering nearby exchanged quiet glances, unsure whether to step in or retreat.

Valaena stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “You look like you’re going to throw up,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.

Jaehaerys turned to face her, his expression half-wrought with panic, half-exasperated. “I’ve never been so nervous in my life. What if I stutter? What if I say the wrong thing?” His hands twitched as though they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Valaena approached, her steps measured and deliberate. Her presence alone seemed to calm the room.

She placed a reassuring hand on his arm and smiled. “It’s natural to be nervous on your wedding day,” she said warmly.

He huffed a soft laugh. “What was your wedding to my uncle like?”

Valaena smile turned slightly mischievous. “Which one—the first or the second?”

Jaehaerys blinked, caught off guard. “You got married twice?”

“We did,” she confirmed with a playful tilt of her head. “The first was in the tradition of our house, though in a way that was very much our own. The second was in Qarth—a small affair, though no less meaningful.”

Jaehaerys seemed to relax, curiosity momentarily replacing his anxiety. “I never knew that” he said, then hesitated before adding, “I want to thank you—and Uncle Aemond, of course. If it weren’t for the two of you, and my mother and father, I wouldn’t be getting married today.”

“You are most welcome,” Valaena replied, her tone warm. Then, she tilted her head slightly. “Will your grandmother be in attendance?”

A shadow of sadness crossed Jaehaerys’ face. He shook his head. “I-I’m not sure, I don’t think she agrees with my choice of bride. Targaryen’s and our queer customs, she calls it.”

Valaena scoffed lightly. “Sometimes our blood calls to its own. It has always been this way.”

“She just doesn’t understand,” Jaehaerys murmured.

“No, she doesn’t,” Valaena agreed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But let’s not dwell on such things. Today is about happiness-”

“You’re right,” he said, straightening slightly as if to banish his lingering doubts.

“Good,” she said, her smile returning. “Now, while your mother tends to your bride, I brought you something.”

From the folds of her cloak, she produced a small, intricately carved box. She handed it to Jaehaerys, who opened it with careful hands.

His face lit up as he revealed a silver clasp shaped into two-headed dragons, their forms styled after Morghul and Shrykos, their heads entwined as if in eternal unity.

“Your bride has a matching one,” Valaena said, her voice soft.

Jaehaerys ran his fingers over the smooth silver and looked up at her. “Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “I shall treasure it always.”

Valaena took the clasp from him and stepped forward, pinning it to the front of his cloak with practiced ease.

She smoothed the fabric with a maternal touch, then stepped back to examine him. “Now, I think you’re ready,” she said with a smile of approval.

Jaehaerys took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Time to get married,” he said, his voice steadier now, though a flicker of nervous energy still remained.

“I’ll see you down there,” Valaena said, moving toward the door. But as her hand touched the handle, Jaehaerys called out to her.

“Wait!” he said, his brow furrowing. “Just how did you get the High Septon to agree to this?”

She paused, turning back with a sly smile. “Surely you know of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, set forth by Old King Jaehaerys?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod, “but I heard the High Septon was resistant to my marriage to Jaehaera despite the doctrine.”

Valaena's smile widened, her eyes glinting with amusement. “It was a joint effort between your mother and myself,” she said. “Best you don’t know the ins and outs, but let’s just say your mother found her inner dragon.”

Jaehaerys chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “I can imagine.”

Valaena inclined her head. “And now, you should focus on the task at hand. Your bride awaits.”

With that, she gave him one last encouraging smile and slipped out of the room, leaving Jaehaerys alone with his thoughts—and a heart full of hope.

Valaena moved briskly through the Red Keep, her gown whispering along the stone floors as she made her way to Alicent’s chambers.

When she entered, the atmosphere was subdued, the room aglow with the warm light of the fire.

Alicent sat in an armchair near the hearth, fiddling with the seven-pointed star pendant that hung around her neck, her expression distant.

“Are you seriously just going to sit in here,” Valaena asked, her tone sharp but not unkind, “while your grandchildren are getting married?”

Alicent took a deep breath, her fingers stilling on the necklace. “They are twins,” she said softly. “I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Valaena interrupted, stepping closer. “Agree with it?”

Alicent drew a deep breath, steadying herself. “I can’t stop thinking of Helaena and Aegon, and how unhappy they’ve both been in their marriage.”

“Oh, you mean the marriage you forced them into?” Valaena’s voice was laced with venom. “Because you didn’t want Helaena marrying Jace? Let’s not pretend you’re some tragic figure here, Alicent.”

“That’s not—” Alicent began, her voice faltering.

“Not true?” Valaena snapped. “Of course it is. You’ve spent your life hiding behind your so-called faith and duty, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a hypocrite.”

Alicent’s lips tightened, and her tone sharpened. “I did what I thought was right for my family. For the realm.”

“No,” Valaena shot back, her eyes blazing. “You did what was right for you. You enjoyed the power, didn’t you? Being the Queen, bending everyone to your will. You forced your own daughter into misery just to spite my mother.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her grip on the pendant tightening. “That is not true. I have always done my duty”

“Your duty?” Valaena sneered, stepping closer, her voice rising. “Is that what you call it? Forcing Helaena into marriage with that drunken whore of son you raised”

Alicent’s hand trembled as she pointed a finger at Valaena. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? but you have no idea the burden of duty I have carried—”

“Burden of duty?” Valaena cut her off, her voice a furious roar. “Don’t make me laugh! Your burden was sitting on a throne you were never meant to have, manipulating everyone around you with your simpering piety. You call it duty, but it was always about control. Your father taught you well, didn’t he?”

Alicent’s face twisted with rage. “You have no right to speak of my father!”

“I have every right!” Valaena snarled, stepping so close their faces were inches apart. “He used you like a pawn, and instead of breaking free, you became just like him. A schemer. A manipulator. Only you cloak your cruelty in the guise of virtue, hiding behind that ridiculous seven-pointed star like it absolves you of everything.”

Alicent stood abruptly, her eyes flashing with anger. “You know nothing about what I’ve endured!” she hissed. “You weren’t there when your mother flaunted every rule, every expectation, while I was trapped, doing what was expected of me!”

Valaena scoffed, her expression sharp as the edge of a blade. “-You and my mother were once friends, and you grew to resent her because you did what was expected of you, while she trampled all over duty with her pretty foot.”

Alicent’s breath hitched, and her eyes narrowed as the words struck a deeply buried chord.

For a fleeting moment, her composure faltered, and her mind was dragged back to that fateful night on Driftmark.

The firelight had flickered in the hall, casting shadows over the scene of chaos.

Aemond sat near the hearth, his face a grim mask of pain as the Maester stitched the torn flesh where his left eye had once been.

The memory burned like a fresh wound, but it was nothing compared to the fury that had surged through her veins when Viserys had risen from his seat—not to defend his maimed son, but to refuse her demand for justice.

His focus on the insult against Rhaenyra’s children, and preserving his delusion of peace, requesting apologise and gestures of good will to one another as though Aemond’s suffering was a mere inconvenience.

The dagger had felt heavy in her hand as she charged toward Lucerys, her vision red with rage, her heart pounding with the need to balance the scales.

There was a debt to be paid. But Rhaenyra had risen to meet her, a shield between Alicent and her intended target, and their struggle had been seared into Alicent’s memory.

“It’s truly exhausting, isn’t it?” Rhaenyra’s voice had cut through the chaos, her words as sharp as the blade they wrestled over. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness?”

The phrase echoed in her mind now, like a cruel spectre from the past, and Alicent’s grip on her seven-pointed star necklace tightened. She blinked rapidly, her lips pressed into a thin line, as she forced herself back to the present.

“Careful, Valaena,” Alicent said, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. “You speak of things you couldn’t possibly understand.”

Valaena’s lips curled into a smirk, her confidence unwavering. “Oh, I understand plenty,” she said

Alicent’s face flushed. “You have no idea what it’s like to sacrifice everything for the sake of others. To bear the weight of a crown you never asked for.”

Valaena leaned in, her voice low and cutting. “I know exactly what that’s like. But unlike you, I won’t let bitterness consume me, the point is that Jaehaerys and Jaehaera chose each other”

“They’re twins!” Alicent spat, her voice rising. “It’s unnatural!”

Valaena’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Unnatural? What’s unnatural is you sitting here, wallowing in self-pity, instead of being there for your grandchildren. You claim to care about them, yet all you’ve done is judge them for embracing the customs of their house. Customs you benefited from when it suited you.”

Alicent drew herself up, her tone icy. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Your arrogance is astounding.”

“And your self-righteousness is exhausting,” Valaena shot back. “You sit here pretending to be above it all, when all you’ve done is meddle and destroy. Admit it, Alicent—you’re jealous.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, her face paling slightly. “Jealous?” she whispered, her voice faltering.

“Yes,” Valaena pressed, her voice softer now but no less pointed. “Jealous of the freedom they have. The freedom you were never allowed”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the fire crackling in the hearth the only sound. Alicent’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “Perhaps I am.”

Valaena exhaled sharply, some of the tension leaving her frame. “Please don’t punish them for your regrets,” she said firmly. “Be there for them. Show them you care, even if you don’t understand.”

Alicent sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t know if I can.”

Valaena’s expression hardened again. “As future queen, I order you to attend that wedding. Because if you don’t, I swear to every single one of the Seven that I will make your life a living hell.”

Alicent blinked, then a faint smile tugged at her lips. “You truly are blood of the dragon. I can see why Aemond is so drawn to you.”

Valaena raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. “Not the response I was expecting.”

Alicent shrugged slightly. “Nothing else came to mind.”

“So,” Valaena said, folding her arms, “are you coming to the wedding?”

Alicent exhaled, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Not exactly,” Valaena said with a sly grin.

“Then I suppose I’ll be there,” Alicent said, her voice soft but sincere.

“Good,” Valaena said firmly, turning to leave.

As she reached the door, Alicent called out to her. “Valaena.”

She turned back, her expression questioning.

“Do you think my grandchildren will be happy?” Alicent asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Valaena smiled gently. “Like I said, they chose each other.”

Alicent nodded slowly, a faint smile crossing her lips. “I’m glad you chose Aemond.”

“So am I,” Valaena said with a soft smile, before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

The air in Aemond and Valaena’s chambers was bustling with activity as she stepped inside.

Aemond stood at the centre of the chaos, his sharp voice ringing out as he corralled their four-year-old twins, Vhalarr and Vaelarra.

“Behave,” he said firmly, his eye narrowing in warning. “And absolutely no mischief today, do you understand?”

Vhalarr looked suitably chastised, while Vaelarra giggled, her small hands clutching the hem of her father’s tunic as if testing his patience.

On the bed, Aemon sat quietly, fiddling with the clasp of his cloak, his small brows furrowed in concentration.

Nearby, Elaena sat cross-legged, her nimble fingers weaving Daenys’ dark hair into an intricate braid.

Rhaegar stood at the edge of the room, arms folded behind his back in his usual composed manner, watching Elaena braid with a small smile tugging at his lips.

Valaena clapped her hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention. “Right, are we ready?”

Aemond turned to her, his stern expression softening instantly as his gaze swept over her. “Ao jurnegon gevie ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his tone filled with admiration. (You look beautiful, wife.)

Valaena smiled, smoothing down her dress and stepping closer to him. “Hae gaomagon ao ñuha gēlenka zaldrīzes,” she replied, her voice equally tender. (As do you, my silver dragon.)

Aemond leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, a moment of calm amidst the bustling energy of their chambers.

A sharp knock interrupted them, and the door creaked open to reveal Lirri and Arro.

“Lirri, you look beautiful,” Valaena said warmly, her tone genuinely appreciative.

Lirri blushed deeper, glancing shyly at the ground. “Thank you, my lady.”

Aemond cleared his throat, his expression returning to its usual focus. “Right, we definitely need to get going.”

Valaena nodded, stepping over to Vhalarr and taking his small hand in hers. “Come, little one. And remember, behave.”

“Yes, Muña,” Vhalarr replied sweetly, though his mischievous twinkle persisted (Mother).

Aemond took Vaelarra’s hand, who offered him a mischievous smile but walked obediently beside him as they prepared to leave.

The family filed out of the chambers in a small procession, their footsteps echoing through the stone halls of the Red Keep.

The air was thick with anticipation and excitement as they approached the carriages waiting in the courtyard.

Once everyone was seated inside the carriage, the door opened unexpectedly and Alicent stepped in, her expression calm and composed, though her light blue dress betrayed a deliberate effort for the occasion.

“Room for one more?” Alicent asked, her smile warm.

Aemond blinked, clearly surprised, but quickly recovered. “Of course,” he said, gesturing to the empty spot beside him.

Alicent stepped in gracefully, settling herself next to her son.

As soon as she sat down, Vhalarr clambered onto her lap, his energy undiminished.

“Muñāzma!” he exclaimed happily, he launched into an eager stream of chatter, sharing his childlike excitement about the day ahead (Grandmother).

Alicent’s face softened as she listened attentively, her hand gently smoothing his dark hair.

Soon the carriage began to move, the younger children still talking excitedly throughout the journey to the Grand Sept.

The wedding of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera was a spectacle of beauty and love, filled with the grandeur and sacred traditions of House Targaryen and the Faith of the Seven.

The Great Sept was adorned with silken banners of red and black, each fluttering softly in the warm breeze that carried the scent of roses and dragon fire.

The aisle was strewn with petals, a blend of crimson and gold, leading to the altar where the High Septon awaited.

Jaehaerys stood tall, dressed in resplendent black and red, his cloak fastened with the two-headed dragon clasp gifted by Valaena.

When he glanced toward the crowd, his eyes widened in surprise. Sitting beside Aemond was Alicent.

She caught his gaze and offered a warm, smile, raising her hand in a wave. Jaehaerys smiled back, his heart swelling at her support.

Jaehaera was a vision in silver and pale violet, her gown embroidered with flowers, her hair adorned with delicate silver chains and pearls that shimmered in the light.

The ceremony commenced with solemn reverence. The High Septon’s voice rang clear as he bound their hands with a ribbon of gold and silver, weaving it in a slow, deliberate motion.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the High Septon proclaimed, his voice echoing in the stillness of the Sept.

The crowd, a mix of lords, ladies, and family, watched with rapt attention as the High Septon declared, “Let it be known that Jaehaerys of House Targaryen and Jaehaera of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s voices joined in harmony as they recited, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.” The conviction in their tone resonated deeply, a testament to their love and dedication.

Jaehaerys then spoke, his voice steady and warm, “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Jaehaera followed, her voice soft but unwavering, “I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Finally, Jaehaerys declared, his violet eyes fixed on Jaehaera’s, “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” He leaned in, their foreheads brushing briefly before their lips met in a kiss filled with promise and devotion.

The gathered crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the sound reverberating through the Sept like the roar of dragons. The moment was one of pure joy, and even the gods seemed to smile down upon the union.

As they parted, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera beamed, their faces alight with happiness.

Hand in hand, they turned to face their family and friends. Valaena smiled warmly, her fingers intertwined with Aemond’s, while Aegon gave a hearty cheer from his seat beside Helaena, who dabbed at her tears with a silken kerchief.

As the bells of the Great Sept tolled in celebration, the newlyweds walked down the petal-strewn aisle, ready to face the future together.

The reception in the throne room was a glittering affair, filled with the warmth and grandeur befitting the union of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

The hall was resplendent with banners of black and red, shimmering in the golden candlelight, as laughter and music echoed against the high ceilings.

Lords and ladies mingled, their cups brimming with wine, the scent of roasted meats and honeyed treats wafting through the air.

Queen Rhaenyra stood proudly at the head of the room, her goblet raised high, her voice clear and commanding as she toasted the newlyweds. “To Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, my beloved niece and nephew. May your marriage be filled with love, strength, and the wisdom to overcome all that lies ahead. Let us all drink to their happiness and prosperity!”

The gathered lords and ladies lifted their cups in unison, echoing her words, “To Jaehaerys and Jaehaera!” The room erupted in a chorus of cheers and applause as the couple exchanged glowing smiles.

Rhaenyra then clapped her hands, summoning the musicians to play. The gentle strains of a harp began, followed by the melodic notes of a lute, filling the room with a soft, romantic tune.

Jaehaerys extended his hand to Jaehaera, who accepted with a shy yet radiant smile, and the newlyweds took to the centre of the throne room for their first dance.

Their movements were graceful and intimate, as though no one else existed in the room. The world fell away as they danced, their eyes locked, and their faces alight with love. The crowd watched, mesmerized, until the music shifted, and others joined in.

Rhaenyra and Daemon swept onto the floor; their bond palpable as they danced closely together.

Aemond, standing by the edge of the crowd, finished his cup of wine and extended his hand to Valaena. “Care for a dance, my love?”

Valaena looked up at him with a teasing smile. “You hate to dance.”

Aemond smirked, a glimmer of warmth in his eye. “I don’t mind dancing with you, ābrazȳrys” (Wife).

Valaena laughed softly, her cheeks tinged pink as she took his hand. Together, they stepped onto the floor, moving with surprising ease to the music.

Aemond rested his forehead against hers, his voice a low murmur, “Avy jorrāelan” (I love you).

Valaena cupped his face, her thumb brushing his scarred cheek, and kissed him softly. “Se avy jorrāelan, valzȳrys” (And I love you husband).

As they swayed gently to the music, Valaena placed her head against Aemond’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing her.

Aemond, his hand protectively on her waist, whispered, “How did you convince my mother to attend the wedding?”

Valaena tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “What makes you think it was anything to do with me?”

“Because I know you,” replied Aemond with a knowing look.

Valaena huffed a quiet laugh. “I might have had a few words with her.”

Aemond chuckled. “Well, whatever you said, it worked. I’m sure Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are thankful for it.”

Valaena’s gaze softened. “Mayhaps when given a choice, love has a chance to blossom more freely.”

Aemond nodded his head in agreement. “A notion our son and daughter seem to have taken to heart.”

Valaena turned and saw Rhaegar and Elaena dancing together. Their hands were clasped tightly, their eyes locked as though they were the only two people in the room.

Valaena smiled. “Ahhh young love.”

Aemond’s expression turned more serious. “I think I need to exchange a few words with our children. I do not wish to be a grandsire just yet.”

Valaena laughed. “Are you sure? I think you’d make a wonderful grandsire.”

Aemond chuckled, leaning closer. “Perhaps. But while my seed can still take root inside you, I think I’d like to wait a little longer before I’m granted the title.”

Valaena smirked. “What makes you think I want more children? We already have six. We’ve performed our duty, generously so.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed with amusement. “Don’t play coy with me, ñuha dōna. I know you’re with child again” (My sweet)

Valaena’s eyes widened slightly. “H-how?”

“Well, aside from the obvious lack of monthly bleeding, you have that mother’s glow about you,” Aemond said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “And you’ve been quite sensitive during our love-making”

Valaena’s lips curved into a soft smile. “I believe I am almost three moons gone.”

Aemond reached down, his palm resting gently against her stomach. “Another blessing to be cherished.”

“I just hope it’s not twins again,” Valaena muttered.

Aemond laughed heartily. “I agree. The twins we already have are quite the handful.”

As if on cue, a commotion drew their attention to Vhalarr and Vaelarra. The twins were giggling mischievously as they dropped a spider into a noble lady’s hair, causing her to scream in alarm.

Valaena sighed, exasperated. “You get Vaelarra, and I’ll get Vhalarr.”

Aemond smirked. “As you wish, ābrazȳrys.” (wife).

He strode off after his daughter, who squealed and darted away. Vhalarr, feigning innocence, waited until his mother approached before bolting in the opposite direction.

Valaena shook her head with a laugh, the chaos a perfect reminder of the love and life they had built together.

Later that night, the celebrations had drawn to a close, and the Red Keep was cloaked in the stillness of night.

The children were finally asleep, their youthful laughter and antics replaced by peaceful silence.

Valaena sat brushing her hair in front of the mirror when Aemond entered the room, his expression alight with mischief.

“I have a surprise for you,” he announced, stepping closer.

Valaena raised a brow. “At this hour?”

“Trust me” He extended his hand, and with a smile of curiosity, she took it.

Before long, Silverwing and Vhagar soared through the dark skies, their wings cutting through clouds that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

 The world below was silent, a tapestry of shadowed forests and rivers. Valaena followed Aemond’s lead, her excitement growing as they approached the familiar silhouette of their cabin by the sea.

As they landed, Vhagar and Silverwing settled nearby, their great forms creating gentle ripples in the sand. Aemond dismounted and helped Valaena down before guiding her toward the cabin.

“Aemond, what have you done?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

He grinned, covering her eyes with his hand. “No peeking.”

She allowed herself to be led, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The door creaked open, and Aemond guided her inside.

“Ready?” he murmured by her ear.

At her nod, he removed his hand.

Valaena gasped softly, her heart swelling at the sight. The cabin, which had fallen into disrepair over the years, now looked as it had in their happiest memories.

The wooden beams gleamed with fresh polish, the furniture was repaired and arranged with care, and thick furs and blankets adorned the bed and chairs. A warm, lived-in feeling filled the space.

“I’ve had men working on this for a good few months,” Aemond said, watching her reaction closely. “I wanted it ready for our anniversary. What do you think?”

She turned to him, her eyes shining. “It’s wonderful, Aemond. Truly.”

His lips curved into a satisfied smile. “While I get the fire going, why don’t you take off your riding leathers and get into bed? Relax for a bit.”

Valaena laughed softly. “I like the sound of that.”

Aemond pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving to the hearth. He crouched and began arranging kindling, but his task was repeatedly interrupted by his gaze wandering to Valaena.

She was unfastening her riding leathers, her movements unhurried. A soppy look crept onto Aemond’s face as he watched her, entirely enraptured.

By the time Valaena slid under the thick fur covers, she noticed Aemond still wrestling with the fire, his focus split. “Are you going to light that fire, or shall I?”

He chuckled and finally got the flames to catch. The fire crackled to life, bathing the cabin in a warm, golden glow.

Satisfied, he stood and began removing his sword and belt before pulling off his riding leathers.

Soon, he stood bare before the fire, his silver hair catching the flickering light.

As he moved to climb into bed, Valaena smirked. “Ah, you’re forgetting something.”

Aemond scoffed, shaking his head in amusement. Reaching up, he removed his eyepatch and set it on the bedside table. “Is that better, my love?”

“Much,” she said softly, her voice full of affection.

Aemond slid into bed, pulling Valaena close, her head against his chest, her hand splayed over his heart.

His fingers gently combed through her dark hair, and she sighed contentedly, the rhythm of his heartbeat soothing her.

“I had almost forgotten how peaceful it is here,” she murmured.

“I could never forget,” Aemond replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “This place holds a lot of memories.”

“Do you remember,” she began, her voice soft and distant, “how desperate we were when we conducted our own Valyrian wedding ceremony in front of that fireplace?”

Aemond’s hand, which had been idly stroking her silver hair, paused. His violet eye softened as he looked down at her. “I remember it vividly,” he said. “After Aegon had been crowned king, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I felt the same,” she replied, her voice tinged with lingering sorrow. “I thought we would be doomed to face one another in the skies, upon dragon back”

Aemond’s arms tightened around her instinctively, pulling her closer as if to shield her from even the memory of such a possibility. His voice was steady but filled with emotion. “I would have fallen on my own sword before allowing that to happen”

A tear slipped down Valaena’s cheek as she whispered, “Blessed we are then, that things didn’t end with fire and blood, and the dragons dancing.”

His grip on her became almost protective, his lips brushing her forehead. “All it took,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of dry humour and sincerity, “was us faking our deaths.”

Valaena huffed a small laugh, the sound bittersweet. “It was drastic, but it worked in the end.”

Aemond’s smirk returned, faint but genuine. “It sure did. The realm is at peace and you, my darling, are carrying our seventh child, and I’ve never been happier.”

Valaena let out a soft groan, burying her face in his chest. “Gods, are we crazy for having another?” she asked, though her voice was more amused than distressed.

“I don’t know,” Aemond replied, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I’ve always fancied us as the new Jaehaerys and Alysanne.”

Valaena pulled back slightly, her brows shooting up in mock horror. “Tell me you’re joking. They had thirteen children!”

Aemond’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “But my love,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper, “you know how much I enjoy knowing that my seed has taken root inside you.”

Valaena laughed, a genuine, melodic sound. “Oh yes,” she said dryly, “I’m well aware of how much you enjoy it.”

Aemond leaned down, nuzzling her neck with affection. His voice was a tender murmur against her skin. “Seeing your belly swell, knowing that a piece of me is growing inside you—it’s the greatest joy I’ve ever known.”

Her laughter faded, replaced by a deep, unspoken love in her eyes as she gazed up at him. He captured her lips in a kiss, one that was both passionate and tender, pouring every ounce of his devotion into it.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Aemond whispered, his voice rough with need. “I want you, Valaena. I need you.” His hands moved to her hips, guiding her closer to him, their bodies pressed together in a way that made his desire almost unbearable.

Valaena’s breath hitched as she felt the heat of his arousal against her, her own body responding to his touch. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervour, her heart racing with the anticipation of what was to come.

“Then take me, Aemond,” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with a mixture of love and desire.

Aemond gently covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Valaena moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Valaena as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

He paused at her breasts, his tongue taking turns to swirl around her rosy nipples.

“I can’t wait for these to fill with milk again-” groaned Aemond as he pressed his face into the soft pillowy mounds.

“Me either” replied Valaena softly, she knew Aemond enjoyed tasting her mother’s milk, but she enjoyed the closeness and also the relief he would give her, as nursing often left her full and sore.

“So beautiful” whispered Aemond as he lowered himself and pressed a series of gentle kisses to her stomach.

“T-t-tickles” laughed Valaena as the ends of Aemond’s long silver hair swept across her skin.

“Hmmm”

“Aemond” gasped Valaena as she felt him move lower.

“Such a pretty cunny " breathed Aemond spitting on her before he ran the flat of his tongue up Valaena’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Valaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Valaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Valaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Valaena. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Valaena; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Valaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Valaena’s body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” whispered Valaena as she writhed against him (Please my love).

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and sheathed his hard cock into Valaena’s soaked cunt causing her to shriek in surprise.

“That’s it, take all of me” moans Aemond as he begins to move.

Valaena can’t think of anything but the deep penetrating thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond wanted to fuck her hard, but he knows he can’t, he doesn’t want to harm the babe.

But she’s testing his restraint as he feels her clenching around him.

“YES! YES! AEMOND! I CAN TAKE IT. HARDER. PLEASE” screams Valaena.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond.

Aemond lifts Valaena’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock a little harder into her soaking wet cunny.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Valaena.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

His wife always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

“I love you-I fucking love you” groaned Aemond as he moved Valaena’s legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” begged Valaena, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the soft fur blankets.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Valaena.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Valaena as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside his wife, his other hand taking his cock and sheathing himself inside her once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Valaena arched her back and screamed as Aemond thrust into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed through the air.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aemond, his fingers still curling inside her.

“P-Please. Valzȳrys” whimpered Valaena (Husband).

Aemond removed his fingers and grasped hold of her hips, thrusting a little faster then he was before, his stomach muscles tensing.

He then took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers in the messy braid before he slowly pulled her backwards, her back colliding with his sweaty chest.

Aemond held Valaena tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me ñuha zaldrīzes” pleaded Valaena her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder (My dragon).

“Give me another-come for me again” whispered Aemond as he slid his hand over her stomach and used his long fingers to stroke her pearl.

“Oh-yes-oh” moaned Valaena as her peak suddenly erupted, her hands tangling in Aemond’s hair as she pulled him in for a messy kiss.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside her.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and laid on the blankets.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Valaena breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he manoeuvred Valaena on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Valaena as she rolled her hips against Aemond’s.

“That’s it ñuha nūmio, take it. Take all of me” (My pearl).

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Valaena dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Valaena as he moved his hands to her breasts, rolling her rosy nipples between his long fingers.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me again” exclaimed Aemond.

Valaena’s thighs began to burn, as she felt another climax approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Valaena.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed-”

“Y-yessss Aemond, I want it-I want you-” babbled Valaena as he moved her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he moved inside her, chasing his own end.

“God. I love you- I love you-” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed.

Aemond jolted awake, his hand instinctively reaching for the space beside him, only to find it empty.

Blinking groggily, he scanned the dimly lit cabin. The fire had died down to embers, and the bed was colder than it should have been.

“Valaena?” he called softly, his voice thick with sleep.

No answer.

He glanced toward the door and noticed it was slightly ajar, moonlight spilling through the gap.

Quickly, he swung his legs out of bed and tugged on his breeches, his concern growing with each passing second.

He stepped outside into the cool night air, the soft sand of the beach shifting beneath his feet.

The sight of her standing near the shoreline brought a wave of relief. Valaena was wrapped in a fur blanket, her dark hair glinting in the moonlight.

Both Silverwing and Vhagar hovered nearby, their massive forms looming protectively, their eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Aemond made his way to her, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore blending with the gentle rustle of the wind.

He slipped his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest. His chin came to rest on her shoulder, his warmth enveloping her.

“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” he murmured, his voice a mix of concern and tenderness.

Valaena leaned into his embrace, sighing softly. “I just felt a little nauseous,” she admitted. “I thought some fresh air might help.”

Aemond’s hand slid gently to her stomach, resting there with a protective warmth. “Is it the babe?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Yes,” she replied, her tone laced with a faint weariness. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine soon.”

Aemond hummed in response, closing his eye and allowing the sound of the waves to wash over them.

He felt the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, her body relaxing slightly against his as the peaceful moment stretched between them.

After a few minutes, Valaena turned in his arms, her fur blanket still draped around her shoulders.

Her violet eyes searched his face, shimmering in the moonlight. “Will you love me, Aemond, until the day I die?” she asked softly, her voice almost a whisper.

Aemond’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he cupped her face. “No,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “Much longer than that, Valaena. Much longer than that.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, tears glinting in her eyes as he leaned in, brushing her lips with his own.

The kiss was tender, timeless, and full of unspoken promises, as if it held the answer to every question the world might throw at them.

When they parted, Aemond pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.

Together, they turned to gaze out at the sea, their dragons at their side and the horizon stretching infinitely before them.

Whatever trials had come before, they had faced them together, and whatever lay ahead, they would face it the same way.

For in that moment, there was no animosity, no politics, no crown.

Just a man and a woman, their love as eternal as the stars that watched over them.

The End.

[mydaddywiki]

Carroll O'Connor

Physique: Average/Husky Build Height: 5′ 10½″ (1.79 m)

John Carroll O'Connor (August 2, 1924 – June 21, 2001; aged 76) was an American actor whose television career spanned over four decades. O'Connor found widespread fame as Archie Bunker (for which he won four Emmy Awards), the main character in the CBS television sitcoms All in the Family (1971–1979) and its continuation, Archie Bunker's Place (1979–1983). O'Connor later starred in the NBC/CBS television crime drama In the Heat of the Night (1988–1995), where he played the role of police chief William "Bill" Gillespie. In the late 1990s, he played Gus Stemple, the father of Jamie Buchman (Helen Hunt) on Mad About You. In 1996, O'Connor was ranked number 38 on TV Guide's 50 Greatest TV Stars of All Time. He won five Emmys and one Golden Globe Award.

Carroll was born in Manhattan and raised in Forest Hills, a borough of Queens, New York. After graduating from high school in 1942, O'Connor joined the Merchant Marines and worked on ships in the Atlantic. In 1946, he enrolled at the University of Montana to study English. While there, he became interested in theater. During one of the amateur productions, he met his future wife, Nancy Fields, whom he married in 1951. They would later adopted their only child while in Rome, Italy in 1962 while he filmed Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Cleopatra.

I first fell in lust with O'Connor for his role as crusty police chief William 'Bill' Gillespie on the crime drama "In the Heat of the Night." O'Connor captured my imagination so much that he still remains one of the key templates of what a daddy should be like to me. Chubby, grey hair, gentle features but with a hint 'I'll fuck you up if you cross me' added for good measure. But as hot as he looked on the show, he looked insanely gorgeous as Archie on reruns of "All in the Family." Yes a rarity for me. Liking a man when they were younger.

Even though O'Connor was nothing like his alter ego, Archie. Being shy, soft-spoken, introverted, intellectual and liberal. He had a charm that would have had me on my knees in minutes of speaking with him. Just sheer daddy perfection. He may not have been traditional-leading-man handsome, but I’ve always found Mr. O'Connor as nice looking. Listed as #20 on TV Land’s Top 50 TV Icons Countdown, but in the top five on my all time actors that I’d like to fuck senseless. O'Connor died at the age of 76 on June 21, 2001, in Culver City, California, from a heart attack brought on by complications from diabetes.

RECOMMENDATIONS: Return to Me (2000) In the Heat of the Night (TV Series 1988–1995) Archie Bunker's Place (TV Series 1979–1983) All in the Family (TV Series 1971–1979) Law and Disorder (1974) Kelly's Heroes (1970) Waterhole #3 (1967)

[schwanemannsland]

Bill Collins and Self Curruption

I've had this personal theory ever since the ninth episode of Urbanspook released that, in short, Bill Collins was willing to enter this lifestyle with Mona at the beginning. Of course, this relationship (both as killer and as lovers) was incredibly one-sided at the end with Mona taking full control of Bill's every thought and action, but I have a hard time believing Bill was forced into this at the very start.

Bill Collins is by all means an American Joe-Schmoe; he has an honorable career in his local police force, he has a wife, he has children, he has that white picket fence type dream that every man strives for. Yet, despite all that, there comes a major catch: predictability. No matter how one obtains this nuclear family life it all runs upon the same script. No matter what he has to implement himself in events like anniversaries, holidays, family, vacations, school related events, that obligatory family drama, and don't get me started about the added stress of having to focus on paying taxes, the mortgage, what will and what won't insurance will cover, what trouble his kids caused, how much a new car repair will cost, and so forth and so forth. This American dream becomes a living nightmare once you have to juggle money and family relations that, at the end of the day, will amount to nothing and will never end with your deeds being thanked.

It's a monotonous life that I can't see a person like Bill Collins enjoying. At most, he would have forced himself into a delusion of enjoyment due to societal pressures and the need to abide by normalcy. This is all something he could never control so, to go completely against such routine, is the ultimate form of freedom. To live his life vicariously through his primal id with the removal of social and familial obligations isn't that insane of a concept for a middle aged man to commit. Yet, we are swayed to believe that he could never commit such actions. We, the audience, are fed this idea of "honor" and "respect" despite the lack of evidence outside of his job title as a police officer. 

This goes into my next point: he became a police officer for purely selfish reasons that had no relation to protecting the community he works for. I know, shocker; a bad police officer. I won't baby feed anybody on how corrupt the police system in America is, so I'll just focus more on the specifics of Bill Collins' career. Despite the gritty reality, we are told this idea of the police. We are told that an officer of the law can't be just anyone, but someone dedicated to the people. Someone who will put their life on the line to bring peace and justice when the citizens couldn't. We are told that this title is something only morally correct people can obtain. Bill very much goes against this ideology. I have a hard time believing that someone that easily became a bloodthirsty hedonist was a good cop to begin with. In fact, I am inclined to believe his desires for violence poked its head while on the line. 

Maybe Bill found himself jumping to physical restraint and assaulting suspects with weapons much quicker than his colleagues. Maybe he even jumps to the most drastic measure for small incidents like speeding or running a red light. Hell, maybe he seriously injured a convict for "justifiable reasons". Whatever it may be, violent tendencies don't pop out of nowhere for a person and a man that's in an environment that not only allows physically harming suspects, but encourages it isn't too far fetched. This could even go deeper if true with his actions being easily covered up by the department due to either image, his attitude and charisma, him being able to get his job done no matter what or a mix of all three. With such a small town, it would be a disaster if one or more officers were openly tried for misconduct and assault so it would be better to look the other way. We can't have the perception of the "good, morally correct cop" being questioned. 

The final point I want to cover is how convenient everything went in his favor once he and his family got affected by Mona. Think about it: he is spared from being killed, has had major pieces of evidence that pointed towards him being involved was destroyed (his car being abandoned in the ocean) or cleaned away (there was no mention of fingerprints or further murders besides hi infant once his house was investigated), and how he of all people obtained the killer's self portrait right before his home invasion. It's hard to believe Mona spared him nor that she would easily overpower a man like him, even with a weapon on hand. I'm inclined to believe he jumped at the opportunity to execute his family with Mona perhaps due to a spur-of-the-moment decision or a premeditated one crafted beforehand. Either way, the actions following didn't seem to benefit Mona in the slightest. Why would she destroy and abandon Bill's car? She never seemed concerned about leaving her prints behind nor was it going to deter the police away from her scent due to its placement by the lighthouse. If anything, it hindered her since she had to go about abandoning a car without the plate being read nor noticed in such a small town. The only reason she would need to get rid of the vehicle is if she wanted to wash away and hide incriminating evidence against Bill. 

We can further inspect this theory by looking at Mona's first painting of Bill. The painting is incredibly interesting in how it depicts a supposed victim due it being one of the most simplistic portraits so far (even "Scream Maggy Scream" had deep violets and hints of pink) with it being only black and white with the face itself being a cartoonishly bland one with two small eyes and a tiny smile on an elongated face. It doesn't show him being tortured nor in any sort of distress. It doesn't even have a puny title alluding to his demise with it just being dubbed "Bill Collins" (of course there is no sign of her giving it an official name so even assuming its named after Bill would be a stretch). With a quick glimpse it has a lot of striking resemblance to how Mona appears: pale skin, very smooth features, sunken in eyes, and a very simple yet off putting representation of human emotions. The only major difference is that he's popularly shown smiling, before and after Mona's involvement. It's safe to assume Mona is trying to reveal how similar she sees Bill and herself, from either actions, personality, or a mix of both. 

Now, the series isn't finished so Mona's reasoning for attacking the Collins family can easily go against everything I said. Maybe it all was just a coincidence and Bill really was that sweet hearted Joe-Schmoe. Maybe the painting towards him was made just to poke fun at how he looks and nothing more. Only time will tell. But, all and all, I believe Bill had a much bigger involvement than we are led to believe and is no better than Mona when it comes to that lust for sadistic torture. 

[theconstellationprincess]

Day 17: Shivering

Winters had never grown easier the more of them Elrond lived through. He was more susceptible to the low temperatures, and illnesses, than the other elves, and he hated the looks he would get for bundling up, so he simply… stayed cold. Gil-galad takes issue with this.

-

Elrond groaned upon waking up, pulling his blanket tighter and curling up beneath it. His teeth chattered in his mouth as he slowly stood, keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he shuffled to his closet and pulled out some winter clothing. Maedhros would kill him if he saw how poorly dressed for the weather Elrond was- he can practically hear the scolding tone echoing in his head as he slowly got changed. Elros’s cloak was the last step of the outfit, and though it did little to comfort him from the pervasive cold, it did warm him inside.

Fine tremors shake his body as he makes his way to Gil-galad’s office for his instructions, pausing a couple times to stretch and warm up when his body grew too stiff. He kept his hands tucked away in his pockets, clenched into fists to have some semblance of warmth retained within them. Keeping his head down, Elrond pretended not to notice the curious looks he got walking down the hall. It was still early in the winter, so very few- if any- elves were dressed as warmly as he was, and even this was not enough for him.

He slipped into Gil-galad’s office silently, shivering as the room revealed itself to be even colder than the hall outside. He removed his hands from his pockets and pulled on his cloak, tucking it a little closer to his body, and waited for Gil-galad to acknowledge his presence. The High King seemed very focused on what he was writing, so Elrond took the moment of peace before his day began to attempt to warm up a bit. He bent and touched the ground, then righted himself and twisted from side to side. He rolled his ankles and wrists, and then neck for good measure, and then did other various small exercises in place that would not be too distracting, but kept him warm still.

“Elrond,” Gil-galad finally greeted after several minutes had passed. Elrond perks up, looking towards his High King with a forced smile that hurts his face. He feels frozen solid, and can only hope that the shivers that run through him are not too obvious. Shaking hands fidgeted with the cloak wrapped around his shoulder again, tugging it closer to his front and pulling away when they accidentally brushed against the frigid metal pin affixing it. Celebrimbor was a very talented smith, but Elrond doubts even he could make a pin that does not grow cold.

“High King,” Elrond greets, teeth clicking loudly in the quiet of the room. Lindon is not quite awake yet, the darkness drags on this morning and many elves will not be awake for some time still. Clenching his jaw, Elrond tries to avoid the narrowing gaze of Gil-galad's eyes by peeking at the writing he was doing, lips twitching up when he recognizes the name. He does hope he will be tasked with delivering the letter to Celebrimbor, it has been far too long since he was last able to view Eregion. Gil-galad’s eyes pierce into the side of his head as Elrond shifts from foot to foot, unable to help the shiver that runs all the way down from his head to his feet. 

“Are you ill?” Gil-galad asks, and Elrond risks a glance up at him and regrets it. Gil-galad’s brow is furrowed in concern, mouth twisted into a frown that has Elrond feeling guilty for not speaking up about being cold. Gil-galad stands and steps towards him, reaching out and placing his hand on Elrond’s forehead, a common enough song and dance between them that Elrond does not pull away from the touch, suffering it with a pout instead. He is not sick, simply cold- though by the look on Gil-galad’s face, Elrond will have a hard time convincing him such. Perhaps he should have added a few more layers to his outfit, and gloves, but there has hardly been any snow yet so it feels… Elrond knows that he is not being dramatic, that he feels cold because he is cold, but it feels over the top to dress so warmly when many elves are still in autumn wear. 

“I’m not ill, simply cold. I will get used to it in time, as I do every winter.” He explains away, shifting from foot to foot because remaining still meant getting even colder. Gil-galad clicked his tongue in disapproval, and Elrond widened his eyes when he began unclasping his own- very elaborate and quite beautiful- cloak. Elrond had hardly even noticed that Gil-galad was wearing one, it is rare to see him in something other than his robes, and now he wonders why the extra layer was added. “You do not need-” Elrond is interrupted by a sharp shushing noise from Gil-galad, and shuts his mouth obediently, allowing Gil-galad to drape the cloak over his shoulders and affix it with his pin- another one of Celebrimbor’s, Elrond can tell by the intricate jewel work. 

The cloak is warm with body heat, and Elrond tucks it around himself eagerly, appreciating the added warmth. It is a comfortable weight as well, though a bit long on him due to their height difference. He looks up at Gil-galad as he pulls away from the pin, lips twisting at the satisfied nod the High King gives himself. Elrond is certain he must look ridiculous, draped in the finery intended for the High King- the warm gold certainly does not match with the cold blues of Elrond’s outfit, but the cloak is warm, and it was a gift, so who is he to deny it? “Thank you,” Elrond says softly, teeth having stopped their senseless clattering and shivers having stopped. The cloak seems to retain heat as well, he does not feel like he is getting colder anymore.

“It is of no consequence. I need my herald to be healthy as he completes his tasks.” Gil-galad replies casually, waving off Elrond’s words as he turns back towards the desk and shuffles through the papers. Elrond allows himself a private grin as Gil-galad sorts through the mess, because he so often tells the High King he must be more organized with his papers, and Gil-galad never listens. As he waits, he inspects the cloak more thoroughly, tracing the intricate patterns with his eyes and amusing himself by attempting to find shapes within the lines. “Ah! Here it is.” Gil-galad exclaims, passing over a sheet of parchment to Elrond with a smile, “Much to do today, I’m afraid. Do let me know if you require assistance.” Elrond accepts the paper with a hum, looking over the list carefully and sighing fondly.

“Of course, High King.” Elrond replies, saying his goodbyes and taking his leave. It does not surprise him that, in Elrond’s distraction, Gil-galad had added an extra step to the bottom of the list (which truly was not too long, Gil-galad always seemed so dramatic when giving Elrond his instructions for the day) which read ‘Stay warm.’ Elrond chuckled to himself, and then set off to the library for some quiet to write today's speeches.

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 15th December ✨

I listened to so much audio drama this week and have so many thoughts!! 🫨

🌨️ @thewhitevault (15) First off all, PSA: someone has been leaving negative comments on Spotify instead of hitting pause and moving on with their life like a normal person would. I personally love the split focus between Goshawk and Cairo and really feel like we’re getting closer to finding out what is actually happening to the sites. Sure, it’s a different kind of tension, but if the show followed the same formula every season it wouldn’t be the best in the game, would it? If everyone could show some love to TWV this week, that would be good!!

🌲 @hellofromthehallowoods (177) damn, I’m sorry but I think Mx Wellman needs to teach action-writing because these scenes are so tense but also fluid and easy to follow! I guess we finally know who the quartet are? I think I had been hoping that it wasn’t going to be the people we knew a little as kids but . . . isn’t that just the way in life that people you knew as children grow up and join a corrupt system of oppression that allows them to perpetrate harm!! Shank remains such an interesting character, of course he’s going to go for the Sheriff’s dpt now, why not! And the actual pig memories made my heart hurt a little. 

🔎 @224bbaker (13) Had a relisten this week for the general release and, my god, there are too many banger lines in this ep to list them all but no context giggles include: “Push that down, James, it’s probably nothing.” & “balancing the egos of the hogs, you get it”. ALSO thank god for the transcript because tell me why I initially re-evaluated McMurphy as a character when I thought I was referring to his ex: “Joe Caster” 😭😂 Oops. I love Madge’s arc so far this season - so interesting to have a female lead who has some growing to do in the equality department. And a great gentle reminder for us all to stop appeasing the people holding us down xo 

🦋 @remnantspod (19) Another fantastic ep! That heart sinking feeling moments into meeting the teacher! Damn, that’s good writing!! Also, if we’re weighing in on whether someone should be judged on their own terms if they make those terms clear and exacting - I don’t think it is actually possible to judge someone without your own bias affecting your judgement. Now, the current almost-clean-slate of the Apprentice makes this interesting but immediately Sir asks him to compare Adelaide to Sid. Can one judge without comparison?? I don’t think so? Maybe the poor Apprentice was just relieved to have someone finally give some guidance on how to measure a soul. I also found it veryyyy interesting that the Apprentice chose to discard this remnant. It did come across a little bit churlish to me, as though he chose to do that to piss Sir off. But it did remind me of his reaction to Jonny in ep 2. Clearly murder is a touchy subject. . . 

🎙️WTNV (258 & 259) Listening to Night Vale is always such an easy little treat for me. Sounds like Steve is about to bite off a bit more than he can chew with a car company that’s literally called detour. 

🧋 @hinaypod (25&26) Ooough spooky dolls are spooky! My heart just about tied itself in knots hearing Donner and Mari reconnect and him realise she already had a Halloween Date. Then it froze hearing Mari sob 😭 she’s MY goodly witch and you need to stop making her cry!!! 

🗺 @tales-from-the-low-city (13) Absolutely gripping!! It might just be me, but I feel like this season is much darker in tone compared to last and this tale about a Fallen assassin fits right in. I adored the music, it added so much to the tension of the writing without being distracting. Loved it. 

🍾 @ameliapodcast (38) I love the fantastical eps as much as the plausible ones!! Truth serum, eh? I can’t wait to find out how this goes wrong 😂

🧳 Travelling Light @monstrousproductions (Q+A part 1) so lovely to hear Hero AND Matt answering the questions. The chat about working to deadlines and making peace with producing lots of work that is good but, most-importantly, finished is …. Really something to think about… I also definitely noticed when Óli disappeared from the polls 😂 it was fun to make the choices more mysterious!! 

Have a good week, everyone!!

[queers-gambit]

The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are OPEN where to watch: Disney+

Curiosity Killed The Cat

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

word count: 5.1k+

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🦋 modern AU 💸 mafia AU 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 brief depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🫠 description of self-destruction 🔏 barely edited

read here

The Last Will and Testament of James Barnes, Sr.

The Boss passes away, and at the reading of his Last Will and Testament, your lover, Bucky, is named successor - not his older (adopted) brother, John. tension breaks at the funeral.

word count: 4k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 not much hurt, not much comfort 💸 Mafia AU 🐍 toxic family ☠️ mention of deceased family member 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🔏 barely edited 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky

read here

Damage Done

The Winter Soldier is activated and Bucky's lover is unlucky enough to be in proximity.

word count: 5.4k+

🎭 drama 🧸 a little fluff for added measure 💔 small angst 🥰 small romance ❤️‍🩹hurt and comfort 🐑 filler 💣 relationship angst 💍 established relationship ⚠️ small spoilers 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🩸 depiction of blood and injury 🔫 mentions of guns 🧠 Winter Soldier / mental health

read here

Alpine

in an effort to help your boyfriend with his trauma, you rescue a furry feline together - a white cat named, Alpine - who rescues you both in return.

word count: 6.9k+

🧸 some fluff 🎭 bit of drama 💔 small angst 🥰 tiny romance ❤️‍🩹 mostly hurt and comfort 💍 established relationship ⚠️ small small small spoilers 🙊 general language warning ✝️ Lord's name in vain 🧠 mental health / trauma 🔏 not edited!

read here

Adore Her, Dior Her

what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?

word count: 4.3k+

💸 Mafia AU 🧸 fluff 🙊 general language warning 🔏 not edited

read here

Regular Cream and Sugar

being cast as the opposite lead to your bane in the next hottest romcom blockbuster comes with unforeseen outcums.

word count: 8.3k+

🍒 author's favorite 🦋 kinda modern AU (actor!AU) 🧸 fluff 🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥰 romance ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💦 some smut 🔥 mostly NSFW 💣 is this relationship angst? 🌶 enemies to lovers 🤬 depiction of verbal aggression 🐝 oneshot / stand-alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship ✝️ Lord's name in vain 🧠 depiction of mental health: anxiety and anxiety attacks 🤡 feelings are hard 🌤️ happy ending 👫 named background OCs 🔎 generic Google warning: movie production and premiers ✨ imagination required 🔏 barely edited

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[senditcolton]

I've Got the Good Side of Things

Recording their favorite show on the DVR because you know they’ll be in a little late tonight and miss it. And them being somewhat surprised that you didn’t watch it without them.

part of my Valentine's Day prompts requested by anon | word count: 0.8k | warnings: none!

The group chat you had with your friends was muted on Monday at 8pm sharp. A quick text, a small explanation, and then your phone was set to do not disturb.

Normally, you would be right there in that text thread, shooting off multiple messages, probably using too many capital letters, exclamation points, and rose emojis. That was the norm when you watched The Bachelor and when it came to the “Women Tell All” … the drama was increased by a thousand and so were the reactions they brought.

However, Mat was away on a long road trip and wouldn’t be able to watch it with you.

He told you before he left that he didn’t mind if you watched it without him – after all, you’ve watched previous episodes alone because consistent Monday nights off weren’t in the cards when Mat had to report to UBS Arena or hop on a plane more often than not.

But you knew that his favorite thing to do was sit on the couch next to you and watch the drama that came when a group of thirty-two women competed for the attention of one man. Which is why, in your mind, you absolutely could not watch the Women Tell All without him.

So, the group chat was muted and instead of Joey attempting to find love on your screen, the New York Islanders were attempting to get pucks into the Dallas Stars net. The small red light on your DVR indicated that The Bachelor was being recorded, ready to be watched when Mat came back home.

The game ends with an Islanders victory but you wait until that red light disappears before texting Mat.

‘Great game!’ you message him, adding blue and orange heart emojis at the end for good measure. It isn’t long until Mat replies.

‘Thanks babe. How was The Bachelor?’

‘Pretty entertaining,’ you type. Your response was a slight lie. You were sure that it was entertaining as hell but you didn’t have any proof to back up your statements. Thankfully, Mat didn’t ask for proof.

‘Can’t wait to watch it when I get back.’

You smile to yourself, looking around the apartment as you think forward four days. The image of you curled up into Mat’s side, a hefty glass of wine each appears easily in your mind but it is shortly followed by a different image. You look around, planning out the idea that had filled your mind.  

Why not make a night it?

~ four days later ~

It took time and effort but you were ready. Plates were filled with Mat’s favorite home-cooked meal and glasses were filled with red wine, waiting on the coffee table to be consumed. The Bachelor on the television, paused on the title card, and a frankly ridiculous number of roses were scattered around your apartment.

It is silly how giddy you are, standing near your front door and bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wait for Mat to arrive. He texted you, asking if it was still alright if he came over that evening and you couldn’t say yes fast enough. You couldn’t wait to see his face – both in general and to see his reaction to your crazy plan.

A knock echoes around the room and the sound hadn’t even dissipated before you’re swinging the door open, coming face to face with Mat. You watch as his crooked smile appears and he wastes no time sweeping you into a hug.

“I missed you,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

“I missed you too.” You pull away from him and hold your arms out. “Welcome back!” you say, watching as Mat gazes around the space, taking in the state of your studio apartment.

“What’s all this?” he asks, bewildered, his eyes returning to yours.

“I lied to you. I didn’t watch The Bachelor on Monday because I wanted to watch it with you,” you explain.

“You didn’t watch it?”

Your reply is a small nod of your head.

“You made my favorite meal and decorated the apartment just so we could watch it together?”

Another nod.

“And you blew off your friends group chat? Even when I told you it was okay to watch it without me?”

You nod again, although the action this time is a little timid, a sliver of doubt blooming in your chest at his cascade of questions. Was it too much? Was it too weird? The nerves remain until that stupidly infectious smile spreads across his face.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that, Mat!” you exclaim, swatting his chest, a laugh falling from both of you.

“I figured I’d get us in the mood. Create some drama, y’know?” he explains, grabbing your hand as he makes his way to couch with you in tow. You settle down next to him, picking up your wine and the remote before curling into his side.

“I think that this episode will have enough drama without your help,” you chirp, pressing play and hearing applause from the studio audience resonate from the speakers. Mat’s arm comes around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him in order to press a small kiss into your hair.

[serasfanfiction]

Cw for blood. No gore, tho. Cw in tags as well. Mostly Alastor being Alastor.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

If Lucifer didn't know any better, he would have sworn Alastor was going out of his way to make certain they ran into each other.

He seemed to be everywhere.

It didn't help that whatever he was doing, Alastor had seemingly decided to pull out all the stops. Horrifically enough, he was good at just being there, right as Lucifer would turn around, watching and waiting as if to see how long it would take the little king to notice him.

(And if he had damn near shrieked the first time it had happened? Well, no one else was around, so who would hold him to it?)

After a week of this, Lucifer was starting to feel twitchy. It was difficult to tell if he was actually sensing eyes on him like a second skin or if he was just being paranoid. The only place he felt any relief was in his own room, which he might have taken to hiding in when it all became too much.

It felt like being stalked. Like he was being hunted.

Lucifer growled to himself, frustrated he had been driven to such drastic measures. Yes, he could totally stand up for himself! He was significantly more powerful than that petty little sinner! He just really, really didn't want to deal with all of this. There was a reason he avoided senseless drama.

He groaned, throwing off his covers and forcing himself out of bed. Enough, he thought to himself. This had gone on far too long and it was past time he and a certain Radio Demon had a little chat.

He donned his suit, building up his armor like he was going to war. Which, he supposed, he sort of was. He settled his hat in place and grabbed his cane, aware he was doing all of this over a lowly sinner, Overlord or not, but he felt the uncontrollable urge to remind Alastor which of them was actually the King of Hell and which of them wasn't.

He was self aware enough to appreciate that if this really was just a matter of the Ruler of Hell putting a sinner in his place he wouldn't have needed to have put on his uniform, but Alastor had gotten under his skin and everyone already knew it.

There was no point in looking for Alastor. Based off of previous behavior, the red head would simply come to him.

Lucifer deliberately kept to public enough areas to invite company, while still being private enough that Alastor would be tempted to sneak up on him.

And Alastor did not disappoint.

Lucifer spotted him out of the corner of his eye while getting lunch. Triumphant, he spun around and pointed an accusing finger. "You!"

Alastor's ever present smile ticked ever-so-slightly wider, but it wasn't showing teeth yet. "And how can I help you today, your Majesty?"

"We need to talk," Lucifer stated, tone brokering no disagreements. Not that the other Hellion was protesting. "Now."

Alastor tilted his head to the side at just the right angle to be unnerving, hands folding behind his back. "Are you actually going to talk to me or are you going to run away again?"

Lucifer allowed himself a deep, calming breathe. Allowed Alastor to see it. The released exhale was hot enough for a whisp of smoke to escape.

There was still no teeth, but it seemed like it was only barely.

"We both know the only reason I've tolerated your behavior is because I promised not to fight with you."

Alastor raised on eyebrow, asking without verbalizing it as to if this wasn't a potential fight.

Lucifer crossed his arms to keep from wrapping his hands around that scrawny little neck. "And I want to keep my promise, but to do that, we need to get whatever you've been going through this last week out of your system."

Alastor laughed, false and mocking. "Ha! I assure you, I have no idea what you mean."

The blonde refused to rise to the bait. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we are doing this." He smiled, tone generous as he added, "I'll even be nice and let you chose if we're having this talk in your room or mine."

Alastor considered him, body language giving away nothing. "You'd give the familiar ground to a potential enemy?"

Lucifer waved a hand at the room in general. "One could argue anywhere in Hell is my territory." He hummed lightly. "But in all honesty, even if your room - the one I built for you - could be considered enemy ground," here he leaned in to make his point, "There's nothing you could do to seriously harm me if I don't let you."

There it was again: the flicker of the dials. It was written all over him that Alastor wanted nothing more than to take that as a challenge and to put that theory to the test.

Lucifer welcomed him to try if it meant they could move on from this - whatever this was. Because that statement wasn't a theory, it was a fact.

Alastor reigned himself back in until not even a hint remained of his control slipping. "My room, if you don't mind. Shall we go?" He held out a hand, gesturing for Lucifer to take the lead.

Which, nope. He was not turning his back on this guy at this point in the game.

With a snap of his fingers, red smoke wrapped itself around them. It was showy and unnecessary, but it was worth it for the way a brief spasm of panic tightened Alastor's smile at just how easily Lucifer could just straight up kidnap him if he wanted to.

Which was good. Let him chew on that tidbit for a while.

They reappeared in the Radio Demon's quarters. The basics had been done per what Vaggie (with a V!) had been able to remember, as she was the only member of the hotel who'd seen Alastor's room. They'd left his personal touches to him, but an honest effort had been put into rebuilding the structure of it.

Glancing off to his right, Lucifer could see that Alastor had rather impressively bent reality (like the elderich creature he was) to morph half of the room into what appeared to be a bayou. It gave the impression that the room was significantly larger than it was. The residue of the magic it took to pull off such a stunt made his teeth itch, the same kind of wrongness the original bar had had.

Various other personal effects had worked their ways around the room. Some of the more interesting ones were the array of trophy skulls, both human and animal, decorating the walls. He had little doubt that Alastor had hunted, skinned, and mounted every one of them himself. The only real question was if they were original to the room pre the hotel's destruction? Or were they... newer?

By the time he turned his attention back to the owner of the room, said owner had had more than enough time to regain his composure. Lucifer was a little sorry he'd allowed Alastor the break, but he did genuinely want to resolve whatever the hell was going on between them. Being stern when needed was fine, but he didn't want to push Alastor so hard he snapped unless he had to.

Lucifer tapped the fingers of his predominant hand against his arm, all weight on one foot and ready to start tapping the other if necessary. He gave Alastor an expectant look. "Well?"

Alastor was nothing if not up for a fight. He may have been knocked off balance, but he was clearly up to being ornery as pay back. With an air of boredom, he inspected his claws, as if looking for nonexistent dirt. "Well, what, my dear king?"

Lucifers fingers didn't pause. "Don't play coy, it doesn't look good on you." He was pleased with the narrowed eyes he got in response. "What has this last week been about? You've been acting weird." Lucfier waved a hand in Alastor's general direction. Added, "Well, weird for you."

Alastor's irritation smoothed out at the implication that Lucifer paid enough attention to him to have come to some conclusion about what might constitute as 'weird behavior.' He hummed lightly, the noise oddly soothing in a way. "Very well, if you must insist. Just don't get angery if you don't like the answer."

Lucifer frowned. Angry? About what?

All thoughts were cut off as Alastor melted away into his shadows (and when the heck had his shadow gotten that close? He hadn't even seen it move). The thought crossed Lucifer's mind that he should have warded the room to keep the sinner from leaving, but ultimately, he needn't have worried.

Well, about Alastor trying to run away.

Because he really should have known better.

He realized where Alastor had gone, just as he could hear the unmistakable sound of someone taking a deep breathe right in his ear.

Lucifer could feel every single one of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as that breathe was exhaled against his neck, sweat breaking out across his skin as a shiver ran through his body. The only reason he didn't yelp was because he was too busy choking on his own tongue.

Dignity be damned, the King of Hell nearly teleported across the room, hand slapping up against his neck. Eyes widen in horror, he brandished his cane like a rod. "Wha-- what in the seven rings of Hell was that!?"

Alastor watched him like a cat watches a mouse it's having fun playing with. "You asked what had gotten into me." He folded his hands behind his back, as if he hadn't just been sniffing the Devil himself. "That was... curiosity."

Lucifer stared at him incredulously. "Curiosity?" He laughed, a little forced as he tried to reign in his too-fast heartbeat. "If you were curious how I smelled, you could have just asked."

Alastor raised an eyebrow to that and Lucifer belatedly realized he'd just implied all someone potentially had to do was ask to smell him and he might let them do it.

Lucifer flushed but refused to correct his statement.

"Hm, how quaint." Alastor leaned in eye so slightly, just to see Lucifer unconsciously lean back. "Rest assured, it isn't quite so simple."

A pause lulled between them as the blond waited for the rest of the explanation. When he failed to receive one, he waved a hand impatiently for the red head to get on with it.

Alastor turned enough he could look out into his bayou without completely losing track of his guest. The motion drew Lucifer's attention to the area, although he didn't dare take his eyes off the serial killer.

"Has anyone told you what my dish of choice is?"

The question confused Lucifer and his impatience made him feel irritated by what felt like a non-sequitur in the conversation. He'd heard Alastor was a cannibal, so he assumed it was other sinners. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Alastor rolled his eyes, gesturing out into the bayou.

As if on cue, a tree branch snapped closer to the edge of the trees in the distance. Lucifers eyes snapped to whatever had made the noise, making eye contact with ...a deer?

Lucifer stared, that feeling of being hunted roiling over him as it dawned on him what had happened. He didn't have to look at the Radio Demon to know he was watching him like a predator watches his prey.

Lucifer swallowed, hard. "I... I don't know what you..."

There was no mercy, no quarter in Alastor's eyes as he near stalked over to the Devil. His smile was all teeth as he ran a finger along the brim of Lucifer's hat. "When I saw those ears, I was curious if you would still taste like an angel or if you might taste like something more to my ...preferences."

Lucifer was fairly certain his brain was short circuiting. Some wire must have gotten crossed, because what came out of his mouth wasn't 'you're a freak,' it was:

"If you got your taste, you'll back off?"

The two stared at each other, Lucifer unsure who was more surprised by the question.

Alastor's grin was every inch as wicked as everyone only thought the actual Devil was but really wasn't. "Are you offering a deal?" The hand he'd used to near caress Lucifer's hat fell into the offer of a hand shake.

It was Lucifer's turn to roll his eyes. He shook his head vigorously. "Nope! No deals!" He glared, slapping the hand aside. "You'll likely find some wiggle room no sane person would think to look for and I am not interested in being on the menu indefinitely."

Alastor didn't even bother to look contrite. He simply looked disappointed. Since the offer wasn't on the table, he withdrew his hand and straightened his posture. "Then what are you proposing?"

Yes, self, Lucifer thought, what are we proposing? He felt like he'd lost all direction in this conversation because he had no clue how his day had gone from 'put Alastor in his place' to 'let's let an actual cannibal bite us.'

Lucifer grasped for the last shreds of his dignity, realizing that he might have finally found something that ranked high enough to be added to the Top 5 Insane Things I've Done For My Kid list. It didn't stop the ever-so-slight tremor from creeping in, even as he tried for stern, as he offered, "I'll bring back the deer attributes, you get to satify your curiosity, and then we go back to whatever our usual is."

Alastor's eyes narrowed. "To be clear: I get to draw blood and you won't retaliate?"

There was no official deal, but it still felt like they were making one. "Yeah." Lucifer shifted, trying to shake off the last of his nerves and at least seem like he was confident. He was still absolutely sure Alastor couldn't deal him damage faster that he could heal from it, but his nerves didn't want to settle. "You get a freebie, no punishment or retaliation, in exchange for returning to the status quo."

Alastor's teeth sharpened visibly, the room growing darker around them.

"Deal."

Still feeling like this was going to come back and bite him in the ass - or, well, neck or arm, if one was being literal - at some point in the future, Lucifer made his way over to one of the chairs near the room's fireplace. He set his hat down on the seat, before pulling off his coat. He had a feeling this was going to be messy. Neck wounds often were, and he had a feeling Alastor wouldn't be satisfied with being offered anything else. He regretted the amount of layers he'd dressed in, even as he used untying his bow tie and unbuttoning the first several buttons of his shirt as a desperately needed delay tactic to simply breathe through what he was about to do.

Judging by the indulgence he could almost hear coming from Alastor's spot in the room, he held no such disillusions as to if the red head knew that he was stalling.

Taking a deep, steadying breathe, he pulled the shift over himself, falling deeper into it than he had during the trust exercise. Blond ears flicked into existence around small antlers on his head. Goat hooves morphed subtly into deer ones. A fluffy, equally blond tail twitched slightly at the base of his spine, in mirror of his anxiety.

Burrowing it all down, down, down, Lucifer gripped the edge of his shirt, yanking it down as he spun around, finally allowing a grin fit for his reputation to spread across his face from ear to ear. Tilting his head to the side in invitation, he asked, "Well, Alastor? What are you waiting for?"

Alastor control snapped with an audible static screech. Moving across the room with a speed that had kept him alive during his fight with Adam, Alastor near pounced onto his prize. The force of their collision sent them toppling to the floor, Lucifer's head just barely missing the seat of the chair. The impact with the ground drove the air from his lungs, and Lucifer didn't have the chance to even attempt to recover as he felt razor-sharp teeth sink into the tender flesh of his throat.

Lucifer's body spasmed as it attempted to draw in air, lungs needing a second to remember how to work and he was startled by the pain of attack despite knowing it was coming. He was finally able to draw a desperately needed gasp in as those teeth withdrew. Lucifer could feel it even without seeing the damage that of course Alastor had gone deep. It was definitely going to take him a hot second for it to heal, but heal it already was.

The Radio Demon, seeming to realize this, sunk his teeth in again. Lucifer's hands flew up to grab onto Alastor's arms at the new wave of agony coursed through him, squirming as he resisted the urge to shove the larger figure off of him. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood himself as he braced himself for Alastor taking his pound of flesh.

There was a creak, like bone grating against each other. Alastor shifted, teeth unmoving as he moved. As he made himself more comfortable, Lucifer realized as the shock of it finally began to abate and adrenaline flooded his system in response to the trauma. He had to swallow down the urge to laugh, knowing it would be more hysterics than actual humor.

He grunted as those teeth withdrew, surprisingly without taking a chunk of his neck with it. He was confused until he felt a warm, wet tongue slide over the wounds, chasing blood the color of gold regardless of what form the seraphim donned. Without meaning to, Lucifer flinched at the odd sensation. It was not quite pain, but not quite soothing.

As the pain began to recede, Alastor seemingly merely content to fill himself up with one of the rarest delicacies in Hell, Lucifer was able to take stock of his body. The bruises along his back from his fall were already healing almost as fast as they appeared. The deer tail, smaller and thicker than his normal, whip cord one, protested being squished the way it was. His ears twitched as they followed every noise Alastor made, the sensation odd.

Since this appeared it was going to take a moment, unless Alastor decided to go for his throat with his teeth again, he decided to try and relieve his poor tail to distract himself from the fact that it felt like there was a tongue digging into one of the still open wounds.

Alastor's own ears twitched as the shifting of Lucifer's hips caused the sound of clothes rustling to sound through the room like a shot. Lucifer was tempted to reach up and pet one, but that would have moved all of this into territory far too close to something intimate, which this very much wasn't, thank you very much.

When the pain finally disapaited, the lapping of that insidious tongue moving from stinging to something far too close to ticklish for comfort, Lucifer decided he'd had enough. "Alright, I think you've had enough."

He was far too proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake.

Much.

His fingers dug into red sleeves as he could feel Alastor's smile brush up against the base of his ear.

"And if I haven't satisfied my curiosity?"

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

"Nope, you're done." Lucifer bucked, shoving off the grinning asshole, who went with all the grace of someone who'd gotten thier cake and ate it, too. Lucifer sat up, glaring as Alastor looked barely rumbled while he knew he himself looked like a mess.

"There, you've gotten your taste. Agreement upheld." Lucifer pulled back up his shirt, wincing at how much blood had soaked into it.

"Hmm, perhaps." Alastor placed a finger to his lips, eyes half lidded.

Something about the way it was said raised Lucifer's hackles.

Alastor merely stared back, not adding anything to his comment.

Right. Okay. Whatever.

Lucifer stood slowly in an attempt to hide the way his legs trembled. Once he felt stable, he began putting his facade back together. Buttons all buttoned up. Blood vanished with a mere wave of his hand (to Alastor's obvious disappointment).

He was slipping on his coat when Alastor rose to his own feet. Lucifer felt it was massively unfair that all it took was some minor adjustments, and the Radio Demon looked as put together as normal.

(Almost, an insidious voice whispered in the back of Lucifer's mind. Look closer, and he could see the little ways in which Alastor was affected. The slight flush to his cheeks of a successful hunt. Unhinged smile replaced with something more peaceful. The satiated hint of hunger quenched for the first time since they'd met.

This way lays trouble.)

But Lucifer shook it off, just like he shook off the foreboding feeling of Alastor holding the Crown of Hell.

He was already in too deep.

He slipped his hat on, letting the deer attributes he'd donned finally disappear. "Well, see you around, I guess."

Alastor hummed in agreement. For his own sanity, Lucifer refused to read into it any deeper.

And if his portalling out of the room was straight up turning tail and running?

Well, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd done it that month.

Tbc

Part 4

[cherryrohan]

thth season 3 spoilers

the new app is out which means i've finally been able to dig into the game files. surprisingly, they've added all of the upcoming episode descriptions from the jump this time unlike last season.

please don't ask me for sprite assets bc the game doesn't run on the same engine as litg so it's pretty much impossible.

anyway, major episode and character spoilers are under the cut and if you share elsewhere please give credit!

Episode Descriptions

EP 4 - Hearts on Fire

You caught Jirayu and Carmen whispering secrets! Are they plotting something, or is it just a harmless conversation?

EP5 - Desperate Measures

Poppy seems very interested in your business. Will she back off, or is there about to be trouble on the horizon?

EP6 - Stolen Moments

Your suite stay gets interrupted by an uninvited guest. Can you enjoy your night, or is Bad Lana about to ruin it?

EP7 - Betrayal

Lana’s fed up with your horniness. Is her plan going to help you, or tempt you even more?

EP8 - Rules Begone!

The secret is out — Poppy is a Spy! Suddenly, her behavior makes perfect sense… but can she be forgiven?

EP9 - The Love’s Gambit

Giselle is eliminating Sean! Is the drama over, or are there more surprises?

EP10 - Paradise Exile

You’re being banished! Are you about to leave the retreat for good… or does Lana have something else planned for you?

EP11 - Second Chances

You’re back from the Banishment Room, and everyone is excited to greet you! Well… almost everyone.

EP12 - A Lovers’ Goodbye

Carmen and Jirayu have been keeping secrets, but what was their motive?

EP13 - Unexpected Turnabout

Victoria’s announcement shakes things up. Are you prepared to handle what comes next?

EP14 - Secret Confessions

Can you save Giselle on time, or has this retreat taken a turn for the worst?

EP15 - Until We Meet Again…

It's your final night at the retreat, and Lana is ready to announce the finalists. Who will walk away richer, in both money and love?

Love Interests

Beatriz, 22 from Brazil

In a world full of followers, Beatriz is a shining star. Her spontaneous spirit craves fun, adventure… and a partner who can keep up with her rhythm. Even if you stumble, she’ll be there to catch you in her warm embrace.

Carmen, 23 from Puerto Rico

Fiercely independent and ambitious, Carmen is a seductive force that turns heads and breaks hearts. Her outgoing nature and irresistible charm are as captivating as her art. This bold soul can't be easily tamed, and only the bravest would even dare to try…

Isla, 25 from Canada

Independent, authentic, and a joy to be around, Isla is ready to find love that's as lasting as her carpentry projects. Her magnetic personality will draw you in, but her playfulness and kindness will make you stay. Her guide dog Bear is ready to make a new friend as well!

Jirayu, 24 from USA

If you like fun facts, you’re in luck - Jirayu never runs out of them! Sharp-minded and well-read, he’s always ready to engage in stimulating banter. Although he’d never admit that, this pilot finds navigating relationships harder than the skies…

Mattias, 25 from USA

Confident yet caring, Mattias is the guy who will always have your back - and while he loves the game, he’s more into baking than playing the field. If you date him, you’ll become his biggest flex… even though being an NFL Quarterback is a close second!

Taz, 26 from Germany

Taz is a chef with a sharp tongue but a tender heart. Assertive both in the kitchen and the bedroom, he always exceeds the highest expectations. Once you peel away his layers, he might trust you with his heart… and even some of his secret recipes!

Zayn, 28 from USA

Zayn has taken some time off to heal his broken heart, and he’s ready to tackle dating again. Trustworthy and kind, he's a catch who promises cozy nights in and fun gaming sessions. Now if only he could use cheat codes in his dating life…

Friends

Giselle, 26 from France

A foodie with a creative flair, Giselle is beloved in all of her circles. Her ability to find joy in simple things is unmatched. She might not be a problem solver, but she’ll definitely be your biggest cheerleader.

Julian, 28 from Canada

Julian’s a musician who’s looking for someone to tune in to his beat. Practical and down to earth, he knows just what to say to break the tension… and it’s usually a joke that’s going to leave you in stitches!

Victoria, 27 from UK

An accountant by day, an activist by heart, and a rule breaker by nature, Victoria is on a mission - and she’s not about to let anyone stand in her way. She thrives on her own, but if you’re able to meet her at the top, she might just let you in on the view…

Sean, 23 from Ireland

Sean sees his receptionist title as merely a stepping stone to greatness, using his charm and fit body to get what he wants. Although he seems outgoing and talkative, he’s not the biggest team player - and he seems to value his dog more than his partners…

Friends to Love Interests

(these characters start off as friends but can be romanced at some point later in the game similar to santiago)

Avi, 23 from Ireland

Avi mastered the game of love just like he mastered chess, always staying three moves ahead. With a charm that disarms even the toughest exterior, he is the perfect partner in crime… unless he’s too busy solving one!

Poppy, 25 from UK

Poppy sizes everyone up the minute she enters the room. Flirty yet fiercely clever, she’s not just playing the field - she’s redesigning it. Behind her architectural brilliance and smirks lies a gentle, yet elusive heart… but do you dare capture it?

[tikitania]

Reading the Mariinsky Playbill Tea Leaves...

Now that the 242nd season of the Mariinsky has started under a new Artistic Director, Andrian Fadeev, I've been trying to glean clues as to what changes we can expect moving forward. Here are a few thoughts: The Good: The playbill with casting is released much earlier than before. (Yay!) The Interesting: Perhaps I'm reading in-between the lines, but I sense that the first month's casting signals a return to standards of emploi, and giving the primas instead of the first soloists prime evenings, which did not happen last season. For instance, Tereshkina gets the first Swan Lake, Skorik the second, and Iliushkina the third in a matinee. Those three are certainly the theater's current, most swan-like dancers whose lines exude lyricism. While Iliushkina is not a prima (yet) her casting in a matinee suggests that 1st soloists are relegated to matinees. Shakirova and Bateova are conspicuously not cast in either one...at least for now. This casting tracks with the very Russian balletomane critique that neither dancer is a swan, it's beyond their emploi. I'd place money that Shakirova is not given Odette-Odile for a long time. The Intriguing: Lopatkina's back after a notable absence since her retirement, allegedly lured by the new AD. As is Leonid Sarafanov. Having these two stars as coaches could be a real game-changer.

The Worrisome: I'm worried about their lack of repertoire and the creative void left behind after losing so many licenses. Creating home-grown masterpieces doesn't happen overnight. The Mariinsky sometimes feels like endless cycle of Swan Lake - Don Quixote and 40 Nutcrackers thrown in for good measure. If an audience is bored with this, think how the dancers must feel night after night.

The Drama: For a few months, I nervously wondered if Khoreva would ever appear on the playbill. I had imagined a Diva scenario where she refused to dance if she felt "downgraded" for being cast in the Prince's Friend's PDT and it lead to a battle with management. That concern took up a lot of free rent in my brain, so I'm pleasantly surprised to see her in Giselle on 10/17 paired with Konovalov. I cannot recall if they've danced together before. We'll see if there' any chemistry, which is noticeably absent from Khoreva's partnerships. I'm still one of the "yes, her technique is fire, but her dancing leaves me cold" factions of the balletomane world. In videos, she seems like a determined technician, but the poetry is not there…yet?

The Hopes: I'm hoping to see more men who have been stagnating in the corps given a chance to prove themselves. I've already noticed a few names that I hadn't seen before. I want to see Savalieva promoted after dancing more solo parts. I want more exciting debuts from Bulanova, Khiteeva, Bespalova, Chernavskaya, Kuznetsova, and Anushenkova. Here's to hoping…and wondering what other surprises might jump out this season.

[north-pole-picture-co]

The best-advertised man in all the world!

Do you want to see more Fred Cook movie ads? Of course you do! Unless otherwise noted, these ads were all published in the trade magazine Moving Picture World in 1911.

[vol. 8, no. 8, 25 February 1911]

You heard the man! This picture “has set New York agog.” Who needs scientific data to back up their wild claims when you have the magic of cinema? I mean, the movie shows him taking measurements. That’s just as good as the real thing, right? Right?

[vol. 8 no. 10, 11 March 1911]

“Greatest success in the annals of picturedom.” I’m not so sure about that. “The world’s biggest conspiracy.” If you say so. Still, I suppose playing to packed crowds at the Manhattan Opera House is no small feat. Look at the size of the place! Even after 113 years and many modifications, it remains an impressive venue.

[vol. 8, no. 12, 25 March 1911]

“A film which both friends and enemies of the explorer will flock to see.” Any publicity is good publicity!

I’d love to see some of the “elegant line of lithographs, window cards, heralds, cuts and lobby photos” mentioned.

[vol. 8, no. 13, 1 April 1911]

Fred and Wilbert Melville (director of the movie and manager of their little “production company”) tailored the act for different theaters and audiences, with Melville stepping in to deliver some of the lectures.

“BEWARE of tricksters offering spurious Dr. Cook films.” Did Cook have to contend with movie piracy, in addition to attacks on his honor as an explorer? Piracy was actually pretty common in the early days of the movies, because the copyright status of motion pictures was (at the time) up in the air.

Another reference to counterfeit Cook films appears in The Nickelodeon, vol. 5, no. 12, 25 March 1911:

Now we return to Moving Picture World:

[vol. 8, no. 16, 22 April 1911]

States rights are going fast, so get your bids in now! The way film distribution worked back then, the production company would sell the film to a distributor who would sell it to theaters in their state or territory. Local theaters played the print over and over again until the film fell apart, squeezing as much use (and as much profit) out of it as possible.

This last one is my favorite for sheer drama. From Motography, vol. 5 no. 4, April 1911:

“The nation wants to know who lied!”

“The best loved—most hated—best advertised man in all the world, Dr. Frederick A. Cook”

Great reels, wonder-slides, and masterful lectures, oh my! It’s no wonder distributors were snapping up the rights in advance. Or at least they were if we believe Cook and Melville.

“Has Cook had fair play?” You decide!

[naurimastaur]

A prank a day keeps Severus Snape away!

Summary: in which Fred and George introduce y/n to her very first prank, and Snape into a life of eternal regret.

Pairing: slightly Fred x fem!reader

Note: the twins might be a little ooc as I haven’t read much of them in a while!

Warning: this probably needs heavily edited but I’m lazy so!

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

Y/n peacefully walked down the corridor before a twin appeared at each side, linking an arm with hers.

“ Do you know what day it is?” Fred questioned. She shook her head in confusion. It was astounding if Fred remembered what year they were living in never mind what day it was. This could only mean one thing; a weasley scheme.

“should I know, or is it just something you’ve made up to entertain yourself?” She mocked.

“ It’s only the most important day of your life,” George piped in, face moving uncomfortably closer to hers. A Cheshire cats smile overcoming his features.

“ If this is another product of yours you want to test on me, do you mind getting me a lawyer first?” She groaned. “Or a legal contract that promises if I turn into an actual test Guinea pig, that you’ll buy me a pink sparkly cage to rot in?” She said batting her eyelashes at them both.

“Of course not, you know if that happened we’d stuff you down Percy’s trousers.” Fred replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What a twit,” George replied, unhelpful.

“Besides, today you are the grand master behind the prank rather than, well being the prank.” Fred replied, believing this to be a flattering position to bestow upon someone.

“Wow! Upgrades! How lucky am I?” She exclaimed.

George choosing to ignore this, immediately jumped into the plan. “We need you to tell moaning myrtle that Snape’s caught a fancy for her.”

“You want me to tell the ghost of a fourteen year old that a grown man is in love with her?”

“Precisely! See George, I told you she’d get on board in no time!” Fred beamed.

George continued, “And while you girly talk with mytrle we’ll cause a distraction forcing Snape into the bathroom and into his phantom lover’s hands.” He smiled accomplished.

“ If only you two put this much thought into school, imagine the outcome.”

“ To end up as greasy and alone as Snape?” Fred replied, grinning.

“ Letting your emo haircut from adolescence follow you twenty years into adulthood?” George added.

“ Having your only friends be your empty chemistry beakers?” Fred continued.

“ The last and only interaction with a woman being your own mother?” George added, for good measure.

Y/n shook her head in plain disappointment, knowing that the real shame was coming from her eagerness to agree with the plan. To join in on the fun for once.

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

“Oh wow I seemed to have dropped this strange unfolded note from Professor Snape’s diary.” Y/n called out, pacing the girl’s bathroom. “It would be really such a shame if anyone were to read it!”

“Professor Snape has a diary?” Myrtle said suspiciously, popping out of one of the near toilets. Is that still unhygienic even if she’s a ghost and technically doesn’t touch anything?

“Hey don’t judge we all have our own coping mechanisms.” Y/n replied with a hand on her heart and a solemn look on her face. “Look I’d really appreciate if you gave that note back before I get in trouble,” she said, adding a slight quiver to her lip.

Myrtle, forever the drama seeking ghost teen took it into her grip, ignoring y/n’s pleas and gleefully giggling at her misfortune. However, all her giddiness was ceased the moment she read the note.

“Professor Snape, likes… me?” She questioned, unsure of herself and even more unsure of the paper before her.

“Well,” y/n replied hesitantly, “ I really wasn’t supposed to say.” She mustered the most shame filled look she could imagine, it wasn’t difficult as it naturally seemed to appear whenever the twins were around. “But you didn’t hear it from me!”

She was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps and panicked shouts from the corridor. “HIDE!”

“Sorry got to go!” She ran, following the familiar voice of Fred, leaving myrtle in a more petrified state than the basilisk attack fifty years ago.

“Into the closet quickly!” Fred urged shoving her in. Wasn’t chivalry just alive and thriving amongst young men today? Peeking out of the slight crack in the doors frame they saw Snape approach, his raggedy cloak cascading behind him, before his path was blocked by a semi- transparent creature.

“Why hello handsome.”

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

“How does Myrtle of All people have a better love life than me?” Y/n moaned, throwing her head back against Fred’s chest in despair, forced into his embrace due to the lack of space.

Fred smiled to himself looking down at her, letting out a lighthearted chuckle.

“Are you teasing me?” She questioned, humour laced in her tone paired with a scolding look in her eyes.

“Course not, wouldn’t imagine it love.” Fred held up his hands in mock surrender. “Besides,” he continued on, wrapping his arms around her frame, “I think you’re just looking at the wrong people is all.”

Y/n froze, catching the suggestion in his tone. Before she could fully process however, the door of their hidden sanctuary was thrown open, a steaming Snape stood in front of them.

Well shit.

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

A/n: Hello I’m unsure if this’ll get any attention but my first post did well so I’m back again! Lmk if I should stick to x fem!reader or nb!reader.

@thescrunkler just for you babes xx (if you hate it close your eyes).

[matt0044]

So... where are we precisely on Vivziepop?

I don't want to make... assumptions of anybody's specific intent but the recent rumblings of discontent seems to follow certain patterns that I've become... a touch too familiar with.

Thing becomes popular to an unprecedented degree. Fanart, fan edits, maybe even full on fan music videos. Might be because the creator had made a name for themselves or they just got lucky right out the gate. Either or.

Thing grows in popularity in ways listed above and has its praises sung for a variety of reasons. Many of which may pertain to how certain social demographics are portrayed compared to elsewhere or whatever came before.

Thing had continuous installments that built on and craft a narrative for the characters portrayed with revelations galore. Certain aspects are revealed to be more... complicated.

Said aspects intrigue fans by having more than meets the eye while... souring others due to their first impressions, feeling their initial takes were "retconned" at best or "deficated upon" at worst.

This... disenchantment as it were results in alienated fans becoming more critical of the story and characters. Some of this revolves around certain types of characters being scrutinized in how they don't measure up to who the story appears to be focusing on most.

Something like queer representation is called into question when the female cast feels... off in retrospect.

The setting may be established as a less than morally conscious place to be and have the residing characters be hot messes as a result. However, some actions and choices of words may come across as a step too far lest it be a reflection of the writer/creator's beliefs.

This coalition of criticism may be met with pushback from those who dispute much of their points. Sometimes it's well worded and brings up new perspectives. Sometimes... it's largely could be just "Aw, shaddap!" on repeat.

Unfortunately, neither side (oh boy...) has a monopoly on assholes that put their emotions first and pleasantries second. The critical side will cite the stans as the reason why they exist and that "it's okay to be critical of the things you love." But some of the more overzealous members of that side may make you wonder, "So... where's the love?"

These overzealous members in question may often voice their discontent with various blanket statements and take counterpoints to that as being from stans who can’t take criticism. This often exhibits a mentality that because they’re calling out “the bad thing” and “the bad creator,” it’s end of discussion.

The creator may feel prodded to throw their hat into the ring not just over their creation but over what people try to construe them as purely based on their art. Sometimes they can come across as overtly defensive and averse to criticism themselves but with how much bile seem to be slung their way, it's never as clean cut.

Among the detractors who do care and want to approach in good faith, you have outrage merchants and outrage addicts that do in fact only want to stir up drama. Rather than help solve anything at all, the former wants to sell these stories TMZ style while the latter wants something to be angry at to feel in control of... anything. These muddy the waters for whomever might be hoping for a more productive discussion.

Adding fuel to this fire nobody actually asked for at those who have always disliked the creator be it for past works or as of recently due to word of mouth. Because a lot of their art revolving around what point number seven goes over, there's a very Anti-Shipper mentality of hating the "bad thing" on principle. Especially when the work is purposefully incorporating tasteless elements that this circle of "fans" feel should be avoided period.

I could go on and on but the point is that I've seen this dance routine more than a few times before where Popular Thing(TM) needs to be "taken down a peg and nobody can stop trying one up the other before it escalates.

Now more than ever with smaller indie projects like for animation. It's so hard to take certain people at their word at times because they either operate with a limited perspective or are willfully ignoring other points of view to feed their feeling of betrayal.

They comes of as jilted ex-partners who despise that the one that broke their heart's been able to move on. There's a sense of, "If I can't like it anymore, nobody can."

[randomthefox]

Half-funny half-expected, in light of more people actually agreeing that Movie!Sonic is negatively impacting the general discourse about the series, I'm also seeing more people now openly saying that the movies actually saved the series and "made the IP the healthiest it's been since the 90s" and most importantly, all the "drama around characterization" will never matter because only the money made by specific entries do.

In short, water is wet, more news at 11.

It really speaks to how they don't actually give a shit about the franchise, and honestly don't even like the movies themselves either, when their argument in their favor beginning and end is "yeah well lots of people liked the movies. they made money."

They don't try and argue that the movies aren't actually hurting the franchise in the way that people complain that they do because Sonic Team isn't basing their development decisions about new video games to make them more in line with the movies. They don't try and argue that the movies function as a gateway to keep new people into the series who otherwise wouldn't be interested because they're not gamers. They don't try to argue that the movies should be taken on their own merits and not be compared to the video games. Which would at least be comprehensible arguments that a human being with cognitive functionality would be forced to acknowledge.

No, they don't bother addressing the complaints NOR defending the quality of the films whatsoever. Their entire argument start and end is "they're popular, so shut up." These movies portray every single Sonic character as OOC? "Shut up, they're popular." The movies shamelessly rip shallow aesthetic elements from the games and present them as cheap purposeless and nonsensical fan service? "Shut up, they're popular." The plots of these films are systemically broken full of more holes than swiss cheese and fall apart under a literal single second of scrutiny? "Shut up, they're popular."

The people who say that shit about the movies do not actually like the movies. If they enjoyed the movies, then how popular or financially successful they are shouldn't matter to them. But in truth, their popularity (as measured by their financial success) is the ONLY thing that matters to them. Because they're not espousing their enjoyment of the movies because they think they're good products of entertainment. They just want to be part of the "in crowd." They want to be hip with what's It at the moment. They want to follow the herd. That's why their only argument against criticisms against the movie basically boils down to "L+ratio."

"The movies made money, lots of people like them" AS IF THAT FUCKING MATTERS AT ALL? Why don't you try being a HUMAN BEING and have an actual indepedent opinion instead of just resorting to Argumentum ad populum? Fucking sheep marching off a cliff. Nothing they say or think matters.