#and capturing seven accurately

[bromcommie]

the way I would kill for an M-rated howling commandos oneshot. she could’ve saved the mcu and this is 100% the hill I will die on

[archivegyu]

Heyyy

I just wanna know if that is Naeun going to have a younger sibling? If she will. Can I request like how Naeun life changes when she has a sibling or smth like that. THANKS 🤞😋

masterlist

The Princess and the Prince

Part 1: The Art of Being a Girl Dad

hope this gives justice @fwairychlo3 🤍🎀

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and new beginnings, but seven-year-old Choi Naeun was more concerned with the fact that her new baby brother looked suspiciously like a wrinkled potato.

“Appa,” she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to peer into the clear bassinet beside her mother’s bed, “are you sure they gave us the right baby? This one looks… unfinished.”

Seungcheol nearly choked on his coffee, earning a warning look from his exhausted wife. “What do you mean unfinished, princess?”

“Well,” Naeun said with the matter-of-fact tone she’d inherited directly from him, “he’s all red and squishy, and his fingers look like tiny hot dogs. Also, his eyes are closed but he’s not even sleeping properly because he keeps making those weird squeaky noises.”

“Those are normal baby sounds,” Seungcheol explained, though he had to admit his son did sound remarkably like a rusty door hinge.

“Are you sure? Because Kkuma makes better sounds than that, and she’s a dog.”

His wife laughed weakly from the hospital bed. “Naeunie, come here. Do you want to see your little brother up close?”

Naeun’s expression shifted from skeptical to intrigued. “Can I touch him? Will he break if I’m not careful?”

“He’s sturdier than he looks,” Seungcheol assured her, though privately he thought his daughter had a point about the potato resemblance. “But we need to be very gentle. Here, let me lift him so you can see him better.”

Seungcheol carefully picked up Minhyun from the bassinet, supporting his head with practiced ease. Naeun moved closer, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look at her brother’s face.

For a moment, the room was perfectly quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors and Minhyun’s occasional squeaks. Naeun stared down at her brother with intense concentration, her small finger gently tracing the air above his tiny hand, careful not to wake him.

“Appa,” she said finally, “I think he might actually be kind of cute. Like… ugly-cute. Like those dogs that are so ugly they’re adorable.”

“That’s… actually a pretty accurate description of newborns,” Seungcheol admitted.

“Can I teach him things? Like how to hold a tea cup properly and how to make Kkuma wear bows?”

“When he’s older, yes. Right now he mostly just eats and sleeps and makes those sounds you mentioned.”

Naeun considered this information seriously. “So he’s basically like Kkuma, but less useful because he can’t fetch.”

“Much less useful,” Seungcheol agreed solemnly. “At least for the first few months.”

“But he’ll get better at being a person, right? Like, eventually he’ll be able to play games and eat real food and help me with my evil plans?”

“Your what now?”

“My plans,” Naeun said innocently. “You know, like convincing Mama to let us have ice cream for breakfast and teaching Uncle Mingyu that vegetables are actually poisonous.”

Seungcheol made a mental note to have a conversation with his daughter about the difference between white lies and psychological warfare. “Yes, eventually he’ll be able to help with… age-appropriate mischief.”

Minhyun chose that moment to open his eyes for the first time since they’d been in the room, blinking owlishly up at the faces hovering above him. Naeun gasped dramatically.

“Appa! He’s looking at me! Does that mean he knows I’m his big sister?”

“I think it means he’s trying to figure out who you are,” Seungcheol said, pulling out his phone to capture the moment. “What do you think we should tell him?”

Naeun leaned down slightly, bringing her face closer to where Seungcheol held Minhyun. “Hello, little brother,” she said in a voice that was softer than Seungcheol had ever heard from her. “I’m Naeun, and I’m going to teach you everything important. Like how to make Appa make his funny face when he’s confused, and how to get Uncle Jeonghan to do anything you want just by looking sad, and how to convince Uncle Wonwoo to show you magic tricks even when he says he’s too tired.”

Minhyun blinked again, and one tiny hand somehow escaped from his swaddle to wave in the general direction of Naeun’s voice.

“He moved!” Naeun exclaimed. “That means he likes me, right?”

“That definitely means he likes you,” Seungcheol confirmed, though privately he thought it was more likely gas. “I think you’re going to be an excellent big sister.”

“I’m going to be the best big sister in the history of big sisters,” Naeun declared with characteristic confidence. “I’ve been practicing with Kkuma, but she’s not very good at taking directions. Minhyun looks more trainable.”

“You can’t train your brother like a dog, princess.”

“Why not? They’re both small and they both need to learn not to make messes in the house.”

Seungcheol decided to table that particular philosophical discussion for later. “How about we focus on just being kind to him for now?”

“I’m always kind,” Naeun protested. “Remember when I shared my cake with Uncle Seokmin even though he ate the piece with the most frosting?”

“That was very kind of you.”

“And remember when I didn’t tell Mama that you ate ice cream directly from the container while she was napping?”

“That was… also kind. And we agreed never to speak of that.”

“So I’m basically an expert at being kind. Minhyun is lucky to have me.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

A soft knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Mingyu’s head appeared in the doorway, followed by what appeared to be his friends in various states of excitement and concern.

“Are we allowed to come in?” Mingyu asked, though he was already halfway through the door. “We brought gifts and an unhealthy amount of enthusiasm.”

“Uncle Gyu!” Naeun called out, though she stayed close to where her father was holding Minhyun. “Come meet my little brother! His name is Minhyun and he looks like a potato but in a cute way!”

The room quickly filled with twelve grown men trying to get their first look at the newest addition to their extended family while maintaining an appropriate volume level. Jeonghan immediately pulled out his phone to document everything, while Wonwoo hung back slightly, observing the chaos with fond amusement.

“He’s so small,” Seokmin whispered with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences.

“All babies are small, hyung,” Chan pointed out with the wisdom of someone who was no longer the youngest member of any group.

“But he’s extra small,” Soonyoung added, leaning in for a closer look. “Like a tiny human.”

“That’s literally what a baby is,” Hansol said dryly.

“Uncle Jihoon,” Naeun called out, having spotted him trying to blend into the background, “do you want to see how good I am at being gentle? I can touch his tiny hands without waking him up!”

Jihoon approached with the careful steps of someone who had limited experience with small humans but unlimited respect for their fragility. “You’re being very careful,” he said seriously. “That’s proper big sister behavior.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

By the time visiting hours were over, Minhyun had been thoroughly introduced to his extended family, Naeun had established herself as the definitive expert on baby care supervision.

“We should probably head home soon,” he said as the room began to empty. “Kkuma is with your grandmother, but she’s probably wondering where everyone went.”

“Can we bring Minhyun home tomorrow?” Naeun asked, having positioned herself as close to the bassinet as possible without actually climbing into it.

“If the doctor says it’s okay,” his wife answered. “But he’ll need to stay in our room for a while, so he doesn’t wake you up at night.”

“That’s okay. I’m going to be too excited to sleep anyway. I have so many things to teach him!” Naeun’s eyes lit up with possibilities. “Like how to make that face you make when Uncle Jeonghan says something ridiculous, and how to get Uncle Jihoon to smile by doing something unexpectedly cute, and how to convince Uncle Joshua to tell us stories in English so we can practice understanding.”

“Maybe we should let him learn to walk before we start on advanced manipulation techniques,” Seungcheol suggested.

“Appa, you have to start early with these things. By the time he can walk, it might be too late to properly train the uncles.”

“Train the uncles?”

“Well, they’re going to spoil him just like they spoil me, right? But I’ve been working on them for seven years. Minhyun needs to learn the most effective strategies right away so he doesn’t waste time with inefficient methods.”

Seungcheol looked at his wife, who was trying very hard not to laugh. “Our daughter is terrifying.”

“Our daughter is brilliant,” his wife corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Can’t she be both?”

“She gets the brilliance from me and the terrifying part from you,” his wife said with a grin.

“I am not terrifying!”

“Appa,” Naeun said patiently, “you once made Uncle Chan apologize for eating the last piece of pizza just by looking at him. That’s definitely terrifying.”

“That’s leadership,” Seungcheol protested.

“Same thing, really.”

The drive home was unusually quiet, with Naeun alternating between excited chatter about her plans for Minhyun’s education and thoughtful silence as she processed the reality of having a little brother. Seungcheol found himself watching her in the rearview mirror, marveling at how mature she seemed compared to just that morning.

“Appa,” she said suddenly as they pulled into their apartment complex, “do you think Minhyun will like me as much as I like him?”

The question was asked with uncharacteristic uncertainty, and Seungcheol felt his heart clench. “Princess, he’s going to love you more than anyone else in the world except maybe Mama and me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re going to be the most important person in his life. You’re going to teach him everything he needs to know about being part of this family, and about how much fun it is to have uncles who bring cake and do magic tricks, and about how to be brave and kind and smart like you are.”

“And how to make you do your confused face?”

“Especially that. It’s a very important skill.”

Naeun seemed satisfied with this answer, and by the time they reached their apartment, she was back to planning Minhyun’s comprehensive education in the art of being a Choi.

Kkuma greeted them at the door with the enthusiasm of someone who had been personally offended by their extended absence. Naeun immediately swept her up in a hug, chattering about the new family member while Kkuma listened with the patience of long experience.

“Kkuma-ya, you’re going to love Minhyun! He’s like a tiny human puppy right now, but he’ll get more interesting as he grows up. And you can help me teach him important things, like how to be gentle with small creatures and how to give the best hugs.”

Seungcheol’s mother appeared from the kitchen, having obviously been waiting for a full report on the hospital visit. “How’s our new prince?” she asked, settling into her favorite armchair with the expectation of a detailed account.

“He’s perfect, Grandma,” Naeun announced, launching into a comprehensive description that included everything from Minhyun’s weight and length to the exact shade of his hair. “And I’m going to be the best big sister ever. I already have a whole plan.”

“Of course you do,” Seungcheol’s mother said with fond amusement.

The evening proceeded with the comfortable rhythm of family dinner and bedtime routines, though everything felt slightly different with the knowledge that tomorrow would bring a new addition to their household. Naeun was unusually cooperative during bath time, explaining that she needed to practice being responsible since she was going to be setting an example for Minhyun.

“Big sisters have to be role models,” she informed Seungcheol as he helped her into her pajamas. “That means I have to brush my teeth without being reminded, and put my toys away without complaining, and only have reasonable arguments with you about bedtime.”

“Reasonable arguments?”

“Like, I can’t ask to stay up until midnight anymore. Maybe just an extra half hour on weekends.”

“I see you’ve really thought this through.”

“I’m nothing if not thorough, Appa.”

As Seungcheol tucked her into bed, Naeun was unusually quiet, staring at the ceiling with the expression she wore when working through complex problems.

“What’s on your mind, princess?”

“Do you think things will be very different now? With Minhyun here?”

It was the question he’d been expecting, though he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask it quite so directly. “Some things will be different,” he said honestly. “Mama and I will be tired more often, and we’ll have to divide our attention between you and your brother. But the important things won’t change.”

“Like what?”

“Like how much we love you. Like our Saturday morning pancake tradition and our bedtime stories and the way you can always come to me when you need help with homework or friendship problems or anything else that’s bothering you.”

“And Uncle visits?”

“Definitely Uncle visits. If anything, there will probably be more Uncle visits because they’re all going to want to spoil Minhyun just like they spoil you.”

Naeun seemed to consider this carefully. “That’s okay then. I can share the uncles. There are enough of them to go around.”

“Very generous of you.”

“I’m a generous person, Appa. It’s one of my best qualities.”

“It definitely is,” Seungcheol agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, big sister.”

“Appa?”

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow, when we bring Minhyun home, can we have a welcome party? Nothing too big, just family. I want his first day here to be special.”

“I think that sounds perfect. We’ll make it a day he’ll always remember.”

“Even though he won’t actually remember it because babies don’t form memories until they’re older?”

“Even then. Sometimes the most important memories are the ones other people keep for us.”

Naeun smiled sleepily. “That’s very wise, Appa. You must get your wisdom from Grandma too.”

“I get my wisdom from you, princess. You teach me something new every day.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to teach you how to change diapers without making that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you look like you’re about to cry and throw up at the same time.”

Seungcheol laughed despite himself. “I’ll work on that.”

“Good. Minhyun is going to need you to be brave about diapers. It’s part of being a good appa.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You always do, Appa. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

As Seungcheol turned off the light and closed Naeun’s door, he felt the familiar mixture of pride and terror that came with parenting. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new joys, and undoubtedly new examples of his daughter’s remarkable ability to find wisdom in the most unexpected places.

His phone buzzed with a message from the group chat:

Mingyu: How’s our favorite big sister handling everything?

Seungcheol: She’s already planning Minhyun’s education in advanced uncle manipulation techniques.

Jeonghan: She gets that from you.

Wonwoo: I’m honored to be part of her curriculum.

Joshua: She’s going to rule the world someday.

Seungcheol: Probably. But at least she’ll do it with excellent tea party hosting skills.

He smiled as he put his phone away, already looking forward to tomorrow’s welcome party and whatever chaos his brilliant, terrifying, wonderful daughter would orchestrate in honor of her new little brother.

Some things never changed – like his certainty that life with Naeun would never be boring, and his gratitude for a family that chose to love each other through every beautiful, complicated moment.

The princess was ready for her prince, and Seungcheol couldn’t wait to see what they’d accomplish together.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the palace guards

kinktober, day seven

a/n: i am completely and utterly in love with this au.

warnings: poly!royal guards!marauders x princess!reader, smut, established relationship, secret relationship, kissing, penetrative sex, cockwarming, dirty talk, just a tender moment in the middle of a fourway

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

With a sweat-glazed forehead, you blinked up at the guard towering above your melted form in the tufted chair, his girth still snug inside of you as you clambered around him, a tender kiss to your flush cheek from one of the others at your side aided in speeding up your recovery from your second of many highs on your usual nightly visit from the castle’s uppermost security. 

Though as you laid there, panting to regain your breath, your right hand fluttered out to locate guard’s at your side, a solemn look washing over your blissed-out features. 

“What,” Remus placed a soft peck over your knuckles as he weaved his fingers with your own, “what is it, darling?”

Fuzzily tilting your head around to catch each of their eyes, you asked, “what if someone finds out?”

Tilting his head, James reached out and caressed your left cheek, “your highness, I promise you with every bone in my body that they won’t,” the soft swipe of his broad thumb across your cheekbone assisted in your digestion of his unwavering promise. 

“We are the security in this palace,” Sirius gazed down at you with a gentle tilt to his head, “you’re safe with us.”

“But what about when I no longer live here?” you felt your bottom lip begin to quiver, “I’m a princess, I can’t keep stalling marriage forever…”

“Then we will come with you,” Remus found your weary gaze, enclosing his other hand around yours as well, “or if it comes down to it and you wanna get away, leave this life behind forever, then we may or may not have already made a plan or two,” he added with a hopeful smile. 

“Nothing is gonna happen…” eyes still firm on you, Sirius turned his head to peck your leg still resting on his sturdy shoulders, the usual playful glint swiftly returning to his eye, “except of course this,” you let out a gasp as he suddenly rolled his hips, gently kickstarting his movements once more, “that’s gonna happen as much as you will let us,” he smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. 

“Heavens,” a breathy moan rolled off your tongue as you soon watched James’ fingers reach down to rub lavish circles over your clit, “what have I gotten myself into with you guys….”

“Love,” Remus pointed out with an adoring smile, “that’s what,” one that you couldn’t help but mirror because of how accurate his doting statement was. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[poolofunidentifiedfluid]

Z’s Buddie fic recs

i read an ungodly amount of buddie fics and i felt the need to document them so these are my all time favs so far

ice cream before dinner | cloudydaisies | 58.5k | T

gerrard messes with the team's schedules and eddie 'i just drove my son to flee the state' diaz is the only option to watch mara and jee-yun after school on tuesdays, which, shouldn't be a problem at all, right?)

this one is so special to me i haven’t cried about a fic in a hot second

ripples all the way down | iriswests / @fcntasmas | 57.2k | M

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

no joke this may be one of my favorite fics ive ever read. just read it trust me

burn the straw house down | rarakiplin (gmontys) / @hoediaz | 40.2k | M

buck gets stuck in time, has a break down and then, relatedly, a break through

i had never read a timeloop au before so i was skeptical at first but this was beautiful and amazing and incredible no notes. i also am extremely attached to the oc in this :,) love this tremendously

Where the light enters | june_nights / @beecauseevan | 108k | M

Chris is 800 miles away, and Eddie's house feels emptier than ever. As always, Buck is right there, ready to have his back, to catch him without hesitation if he falls. This is familiar, this is normal, this is the way they've always been.This is fine, until it isn't.Until Eddie finds himself drawn to Buck in ways he never expected—ways that might not be so new at all.

i devoured this fic so quickly and i am a slow reader (if you have religious trauma definitely read the trigger warnings)

Leave the light on (I’ll be coming home) | HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania | 44.4k | M

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

love love love. any fic that brings the will into play i love since we havent gotten that in cannon :,)

upon reflection | jeremycarver / @louisdotmp3 | 24.8k | E

Buck and Eddie get into a friends with benefits situation that quickly spirals out of control.

they are stupid idiots and i love them dearly

if you leave the light on | cloudydaisies | 27.8k | G

the check engine light comes on in Buck's Jeep, Eddie volunteers to fix it and carpool with him in the meantime, and it all breaks down from there, literally and metaphorically

‘check engine light as an extended metaphor’ is a beautifully accurate tag

Half awake if our fake empire | HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania | 33.5k | T

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

buddie girl dads. you will see from the amount of buddie girl dads on this list and future lists that i have father issues but it makes for a great reading experience

The best lie is a truth (my best mask is my face) | letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels | 43.1k | E

The Buckleys are celebrating their 50th Anniversary, and Maddie and Buck are both expected to come. To take the heat off Maddie, Buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. Obviously, there's only one solution: bring Eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. No problem, except for the, uh. "Pretend" part. Oops.

captured the infuriating nature of the buckley parents perfectly

from the ground up | marviless / @marviless | 51.7k | T

the story of how buck discovers he has a six-year-old daughter, spirals a bit, becomes an astronaut in training, kisses the love of his life, makes lasagna, and learns that his heart might just be the perfect place to build a home, all in seven days.

once again girl dads have me in a chokehold

good pretender | likeshipsonthesea | 85k | E

an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need

therapy: expensive getting therapy through eddie diaz: free. demi eddie is so dear to me

[transboyswitchytales]

Blood In The Water (NSFW) - Part 2

Claire DeBella x Reader x Maya Mason -🔪 DARK FIC - DEAD DOVE🔪

WARNINGS: Sexual Assault / Manipulation / Stockholm Syndrome / Mommy Kink / Imprisionment / Kidnapping / Absuse / Knives and sharp object warning / Blood / Starvation Techniques / Sexual Humiliatino / Reward System is fucked / Grey Maya / Dead Dove Don't Eat / Claire is rich and crazy / Past Trauma Helps Claire Manipulate R / Fisting / Squirting / Mastubration Humiliation / Kink Shaming Kink / Mean Claire Kink / UNRELIABLE NARRATOR / Fetish Sexual Slavery / Claire is Smart Don't Forget it / Reader is in the midst of Stockholm Syndrome next chapter she fights more /Time is an Illustion Reader / VICTIM BLAMING NOT SANE

Part 1 (catch up on how we got captured)

Request by Anon:Reader is also smart so how about using the only tool she has, herself. Maybe Reader is trying to dismantle the alliance between Claire and Maya. Reader takes advantage of her moments alone with Maya to 'show' her affection and SLOWLY insinuate that it would be better if it was just the two of them (Maya and Reader). Knowing Maya's personality and the temptation of having Reader for herself; Reader convinces Maya to escape. Maya can arrange everything so that they flee without raising suspicions and go far away.

First, we must sink my friends.

I been trying not to go off the deep end I don't think you wanna give me a reason

To understand the ease in which you fell into Stockholm Syndrome, you must first understand the cage. 

Your cage was that of a five-million-dollar mansion somewhere in Connecticut. 

Doesn’t sound like a bad life, some might say.

You had a library fit for any Pintrest bitches vision board, the mansion was set with fourteen rooms, a four car garage, the master had a rain shower and a jet tub, fixed with a walk in closet bigger than any apartment you’d ever lived in. The oak floors were heated, and every appliance was smarter than a fifth grader.

The second floor theater room housed a thirty thousand dollar projector and surround sound, the game room homed a pool table, two offices had mahogany bar’s in the corners. These walls, if the could talk, could indict a politician and make the catholic church release a statement of apology. 

It was a velvet cage really. 

You had a fourty foot, heated pool with gorgeous lights, and a hot tub that should be used to shoot porn in. 

The backyard was a designers wet dream, outdoor fireplace, an outside TV, fully stocked bar, and kitchen. 

This big of a house of course had staff, as rich people tend to acquire. 

Money and power seemed to get you things, things everyday people didn’t think possible. 

It also bought silence, but more on that later. 

They came in every Tuesday between two pm and left before seven. 

They were like good little workers, the mice in Cinderella is an accurate way to describe this team. 

The house was cleaned pristine in that time, and food was restocked in the fridge. Pool didn’t have a single leaf, snacks stocked in Theater room. 

Not a spec of dust on any surface, books re-organized. 

Creepy really…

Anyone would love the sound of this house. 

But this was not a house, this was not your home.

This was your cage. 

Now, you are a smart person, both street smart and book smart. 

You had a high IQ. 

You had a fancy job in L.A, you made movies…at least you used to. 

You used to….well, do a lot of things. Like have big parties, a mansion, a fucking retirement plan and a life. 

That was before, all of that was before. 

Your grandmother had a bird when you went to boarding school, you stayed with her for a month before you left. And that damn bird never shut up, it clanged against it’s cage like it was insane. Life inside the cage was worse than anything out of it. 

The author of Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury, once said;

“Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.”

You understood now why that bird broke his neck on the bars of the cage. 

And you understood that you were smarter than that fucking bird. 

You had reached a new level of insanity, and it was maddening. 

But you were locked in.

The house was a cage, and you were fucking insane. 

Claire put cameras in every inch of the house. 

She put you in the basement for the first month. 

You screamed day and night for the first two days. You think it was two days, time was getting strange quickly.

You heard them cleaning upstairs, and they never even checked to what the sound of that poor bitch downstairs was. 

Money and power made the common people scared. 

Maya was instructed by Claire to not speak to you, and she listened for the first three weeks. 

Which was crazy, you’d never seen Maya be quiet. 

But she brought you food, and she locked the door. 

You threw things, you smashed mirrors and tried to make weapons. You tried to break the small window only to find it had bars on the outside. 

A large man with shades came in with Maya. 

He had a very rude electric friend. 

You learned from pain and violence what Maya and Claire wanted. 

Because Mr. Men in Black used a cattle prod to electrocute you into submission. 

You had a mean streak it turned out, and you tried to ignore the voltages running through your body. 

But as the first month came to a close. 

You fucking missed conversation. 

You hated to fucking admitt it. 

But you wanted to go upstairs so badly. 

And you started to look forward to seeing Maya bringing you food. 

They must have done their research on Stockhome Syndrome. 

Because you were having a hard time fighting now, a month and no one came for you. No police or FBI?  How was that possible? 

Your basement had a bed, a bathroom (with a broken mirror), one window that was now fixed and clouded over, and that was it. 

And you were so fucking bored. 

You’d thoguht they would come in and sexually assault you every day. 

You thought you’d get to bite and punch and fight. 

But Claire DeBella was smart, and she did exactly what she’d promised in the car that day. 

She was breaking you. 

You missed the conversation more than you thought possible. 

They’d given you no TV, nothing to write with, no books, nothing for stimulation. 

So it was on a regular boring ass day of you laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling that a click of the door made you jump. 

This wasn’t Maya’s normal time at all. 

And the giant guy with shades didn’t walk in. 

Governor Claire DeBella did, in her heels and nice dress pants and dress shirt. 

She smiled at you, and you thought about trying to hurt her. 

But you stopped, and that pissed you off so much. However, you’d learned through pain, through a caddle prod to the stomach and limbs over and over, that fighting would not work. 

So you needed to be a smarter bird. 

“Hi.” Your voice cracked, you’d only yelled at Maya and begged, pleaded, and cried. 

Conversation was new for you.

Claire stopped at the bottom of the stairs and eyed you curiously before she gestured to the spot at the end of your bed. 

You nodded and scooted to crisscross your legs on the mattress. Claire kicked off her heels under your bed and then sat on the mattress next to you.

You didn’t let your eyes travel down to the heels, you knew they could be used as a weapon, but you also knew you didn’t want to be alone another minute. 

Perhaps you were insane, now. 

This was Stockholm syndrome, and it only took a month, strange.

“You seem to be in good spirits today.” Claire mused at you not attacking her and not yelling. 

“You haven’t come to see me yet.” You decide on that instead. You wondered if they’d defanged you now. 

Claire smiles sadly for a second and then looks around your basement. 

“Would you have wanted me to?”

“I..I don’t know.” You can’t believe those words came out of your mouth. Claire thinks about your phrase, and she seems to be debating something. 

“Do you know where you are?” She says, and it doesn’t sound condescending like you thought it might. 

“Connecticut, your home?”

“That’s right,” Claire says, and she looks towards the stairs. “You know how long you’ve been in here?”

“A month.” You say, and you wonder if she’s doing some kind of cognitive test on you, to see if you are still with it. Claire shakes her head. 

“No, Honey, you’ve been in here for two months now.”

You try not to panic at that fact, and you wonder if she’s lying to freak you out. But you can’t figure out if a month or two months in here really matter in the grand scheme of things. You weren’t getting out, and no one was looking for you. So, what did time really matter now?

“Claire?” You ask and she waits for you. “Why am I down here?”

“I wanted you to get out all of your anger in here. But when you decided to accept your new life, I was going to start giving you things again.”

“Things?” You say, and it sounds more excited than you want it to, and Claire notices. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, if you can behave, no more mirror knives, escape attempts, and throwing food. We won’t need the cattle prod and quarantine. I’ll give you full use of the house, and you can swim and read. You can watch movies again.” Claire says, and her tone is gentle, and you perk up at the idea of movies. 

You think Claire and Maya must have spoken, she just hit your currency. You’d get to watch movies again. You looked down at your lap. 

“What would I need to do…to get those things?” You feel like a traitor to yourself, but you were ready to do anything to get some kind of mental stimulation. 

Claire turns her hand over and waits, but the message is clear: she wanted you to reach out to her. She wanted you to decide to touch her, and if you didn’t, you didn’t know what would happen. But you had bruises that made your guess of pain pretty clear. 

However, it was interesting that Claire was making you decide, like she wanted your surrender. 

And you hated her. 

And you hated yourself. 

Because you reached out slowly and put your hand in hers. Claire softly moved your palm up in her own and used her left hand to trace the new scars from the first week. From the broken glass and mirror in your hand. 

Her eyes were fixated on the scars, and you wondered what your monster was thinking. 

“If you can prove that you can be a good girl,” Claire says and you shiver, and her mouth twitches in enjoyment at your response. You don’t know why you shiver, but your body does it anyway. 

“How?” You press and you don’t know why Claire’s touch is so good. 

But you haven’t been touched in…two months was it? Was this you being touch starved?

What was happening?

“As of Today, I’ll start allowing you more things, and if you can follow the rules. If you can behave, I’ll give you more. Mommy wants you to succeed.” Claire says, and she guages you reaction. 

The memory of that night at the penthouse comes back in flashes now. 

“Mommy no!!” You bit your lip to stop the feeling of your pussy being a super soaker. But Claire found your cervix and used it like Rocky. It hurt, god it hurt, and you can’t stop cumming.

 Until she slows her movement and you are wheezing, you need your inhaler, almost that fucking type of wheezing. 

Your eyes glaze and you are in shock. But your mouth opens as Claire grabs your face hard. 

“What did you just call me? Oh this is perfect. You slut, did you say Mommy? You are fucked up. Is that what you said? You want me to be your Mama? Is that it? Wanna suck on my tits too? You needed this, you don’t want to make decisions anymore. You need Mommy to do it for you then? Oh sweetheart, you are precious.”

You want to pull your hand away now. 

But you don’t, you need to know what it will take to go upstairs. 

“I’ll be good.” You say even as your mouth feels dry and acidic. 

________________

It started that week, you didn’t see Maya. 

Claire brought her work to the mansion you figured. Because she spent so much time with you. It started in the basement, Claire started small she brought you a book. 

You thanked her, until you saw what it was. 

She’d brought you a smutty romance book with stockholm syndrome, and a domme who spanks and sexually humilates the younger woman. 

You didn’t care, you just wanted to read. It felt good to read. So Claire sat with you in the basement. 

She ate meals with you. 

It was another two days later and she brought you a newspaper and you read that thing five times that day. It was just nice to know what was happening. 

But Claire DeBella fucking knew what she was doing. She was making you trust her, need her. She was the hand that fed you, and she could take all of it away. 

But you were careful with your words, you spoke to Claire and answered all her questions, but you made sure not to let your temper ever show. 

At the start of the second week Claire walked downstairs in her big plush robe and a cup of coffe and you all but drooled at the smell of the coffee. 

“Maya didn’t give you coffee huh baby?” Claire smirks at your face, it borderlines aroused at the drink. 

“Never, I used to get these Cinnamon Dolce Lattes.” 

You didn’t mean to tell her that, but you noticed that was happening more recently. You were hungry for conversation, and your captor was the only one here. 

“Hmm, you do have a sweet tooth. I’m more of an almond milk latte girl. Though I do love a shaken espresso. Before I was a politician, I’d have an espresso martini at a bar.” Claire mused, and you realized….she wanted to talk to you. What the fuck was this. 

“Do you have an espresso machine?” You bit your tongue, angry at yourself for asking. 

“I do, it’s upstairs. Would you like to try it?” Claire lays down the offer and waits, taking a sip of her drink. 

Like a person puts a mouse trap, she laid the cheese, and you, you stupid fucking rat. You walked right into it. 

You nodded, and Claire turned around and walked up the stairs, and you slowly stalked  behind her until you got to the steps and you stopped. 

You’d been shocked once for crowding Maya by the door, and now you were nervous for the possability of pain. Claire looks behind her like she was listening for your footsteps to stop.

“Darling, I’m inviting you upstairs. You don’t need to be afraid.” Governor tells you, and you wonder if she hears how hilarious that is. But you step up the stairs slowly and she keeps the basement door open for you. 

You were in shock for the first few hours of being upstairs. 

But you saw the cameras and you saw the giant fence outside, it had to be at least twelve feet along the property. And you even saw a man in the far distance, he had a machine gun strapped to his chest and a big vest. 

You weren’t free, just in a more plush cage. 

Claire came up behind you, and you froze, but she didn’t touch you. 

“How’s the coffee?” Claire says, and you wonder if what she’s really saying is: ‘do you see them? Do you see the guards? You wanna run? You want to go back down to the basement?’ 

Be smart prey damn it. 

“Really good, thank you, Claire.” You say and Claire humms like you’ve chosen right. You try not to let your hands shake as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth. 

The next two weeks Claire would make you sleep downstairs, but bring you up to spend the day and the evening upstairs. 

Until the third week when you were in the theater room, your favorite room of Claire’s. 

She’d let you choose the movie, which was interesting. You didn’t know psychologically if she just wanted to ease you in, make you forget that you were being held prisoner. 

But sometimes you noticed you weren’t afraid of Claire. 

That was wrong, that was stupid of you.

Stupid prey. 

But it happened, and you had to admit it to yourself at least. 

It wasn’t until you had picked Beauty and the Beast that you realized. 

You’d picked a story that had Stockholm syndrome in it. You picked it, not Claire, and she didn’t even say anything as you watched it. 

But Claire watched you, and you yawned and closed your eyes.

When you woke up, things changed. 

You don’t know how you ended up lying against Claire’s chest as she played with your hair. But you thought for a second you were sleeping on Maya, and you were back at your house in L.A. That was wrong, this was wrong, the perfume was different, and the feeling was different. 

And your eyes shot open and Claire was rolling her ankles on the sofa. She’d put on CNN now and you were snoozing against her body. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

This was wrong.

Run away, hide, fucking fight asshole.  

You were being fucking domestic. 

You were getting fucking domesticated by your abuser!

You jumped off of Claire in horror. 

And Claire didn’t even seem offended. 

“Oh sweetheart, you were doing so well too. You melted into me.”

“You are a fucking monster.”

Claire laughed and then mutted the TV, like this was way better than politics on the evening news. 

“Baby girl, you get to decide how this goes. Not me and not Daddy. So if you want to ruin tonight, that’s fine. But eventually, that little voice that tells you to hate me, you won’t hear it anymore.” The Governor’s voice was so condescending. 

You eyed the door and jumped over the sofa and threw it open and ran up the stairs. You ran up two floors until you got to where you’d remembered the front door. Your mind told you to stop, but the fight in you demanded this. 

Just as you got to the foyer. 

Mr. Cattle Prod came into view. Her was sitting on a chair with a long sub sandwich about to take a bite. 

“No! NO! NO! NO!” You shout louder and louder when you see him, he sighs like he doesn’t like this either. 

You spent the next two days downstairs, alone, no Claire, no Maya, no movies, no upstairs, no dirty book. 

You cried and cried and cried. You didn’t get food, and you didn’t really care about that. You missed Claire, and that was what made you so fucking angry. 

On the third day of being alone, around the afternoon Claire came back downstairs.

She was in home clothes, jeans and a button down white loose shirt, and she walked down slowly until she found you laying on the food. 

“Shall we try again? Do you think you can behave today for Mommy?” Claire asked and you nodded and wiped at your tears. Claire nodded towards the bed and you scrambled to sit on it. 

“What would you like to do today?” Claire asks and you bite your lip wondering if she’s being mean. 

But Claire hadn’t been unkind yet, in fact, she’d been downright gentle with you. The beatings only ever came from the man with his shades. Claire always granted you things. 

“Can….Can I have coffee?” You ask, having suffered a caffeine headache from the lack of coffee for the past two days. “And breakfast?”

“Those are two very easy things I can do. And I will, but think bigger baby.” Claire said and she cocked her head to the side. 

“Can I go…outside? To um..to swim?” You scrambled, you hadn’t been outside in so long. 

“You may, but you have to do something for me first.” Claire said and you didn’t even care what it was, you thought. 

So you waited for her to say it. 

“Take off your shirt honey.” Claire said and you hesitate and she smiles, and it’s dangerous. 

But you don’t want to be alone today. 

So you take off your baggy white t shirt. You didn’t get bra’s. You figured a long time ago it was because of the wire, aka a weapon. 

Claire eyed your breasts but didn’t touch, didn’t say anything. 

“Now the pants.” Claire said in an even tone, leaving no emotions for you to latch onto. 

You stand off the bed and drop your jeans and she eyes the underwear and arches an eyebrow. 

You take them off without her asking and she seems to like that. 

“Now let’s go upstairs baby.”

You spend the day naked, and you find you don’t fucking care like you thought you would. Like you once would have. Claire let’s you eat seconds and thirds of breakfast, and she opens the slider, and you get your first breath of fresh air in forever. 

Claire lays by the poolside and sits on her phone, with her designer sunglasses pulled on. 

And you swim, and you forget for a minute who she is and where you are. It feels so good to swim, you don’t care that you are naked. No one is around but Claire. 

The ring of her phone cuts through your gentle mind fog, and she answers it. 

And you think to yourself ‘scream and yell, tell them you are being held captive.’ But you remember your quarantine, your solitude, and you bite your lip. 

You keep quiet.

Silent for Mommy.  

You hate yourself for this. 

But you know Claire is watching you, fascinated, entertained even by your submission. You can’t see her eyes, but you feel them on you. 

You try to remember who you are. 

Who you were.

And that you were not on a holiday at the pool.

You were a prisoner.

You sink to the bottom of the pool and scream, knowing no one will hear you. 

_______________________________________________

You aren’t sure how long Claire keeps this up…Time is strange.. but you get to swim in the afternoon sun. She makes you big salads for lunch. 

You watch movies after dinner.

You go back to the basement for bed. 

You wake up in the morning to coffee agan. 

But now, you do all of this, very, very naked.

It is like you must give up something to earn a place at Claire’s table. 

And you don’t care about the clothes, so it doesn’t feel bad. 

But one day you are watching a movie and Claire is reading a book, and she reaches out and touches your head. 

You freeze, wondering if you are about to be hurt or abused further. 

But she plays your hair, scratches your scalp, and reads, like you are her house pet. 

You wonder if you are her pet now. 

That’s how it starts, months into captivity, Claire gently plays with your hair. 

And you get used to it quickly. 

You come to expect it even. 

One day you sit on the sofa and grab the remote to flick through her extensive movie collection and she doesn’t touch you.

You drop your arm with the remote and turn to Claire. Who is reading, or pretending to, you aren’t sure. 

“Claire?” You ask and she puts her finger on the page to mark where she was reading but looks up with her glasses and makes an acknowledging noise in her throat. 

“Did I break a rule?”

Claire looks confused, or she acts well, and she shuts the book now, you have her attention. You just can’t figure her out. 

“I don’t know, Honey, did you?” Claire challenges like she’s speaking to a wayward little thing. And you look around, no cattle prod, no clothes, still upstairs, what was wrong? Something is missing. 

“Did I do something wrong, or behave badly?” You ask and you feel strange, like your mind isn’t working like it used to. 

“Baby, what is wrong?” Claire tries again, and you wonder if she’s planned this, but you can’t stop mid-play, the show must go on. And you weren’t sure what part you were playing anymore. 

“You aren’t…” You realize now why you feel strange. 

Claire wasn’t touching you. 

How long had you been leaning into her touch? How long had she been doing this?

Now that you thought of it, it wasn’t just the TV times she’d touch you. No she combed your hair in the morning while you drank coffee. And she..she rubbed your back as she helped you climb into the basement at night. She tucked you into the covers…oh fuck she kissed your forehead as you fell asleep. 

When had this started? You thought it was just the sofa thing…But Claire went as far as hugging you as she wrapped the towel around you after the pool.

You hadn’t even said anything.

Where was your fight? 

You blinked at her now, feeling dumb. 

“Can you ask for what you need baby?” Claire said and you realized, you were in the ring with someone far more sophisticated than you’d given credit for. 

“No, I um..I think I don’t feel good.” You grip your stomach and lie, Claire takes a moment, a moment to silently communicate with you. She doesn’t buy it, but she waits a second, lets you sweat. Before she pretends with you. 

“Oh baby, you swam for a long time. All that time in the sun.” 

You remember her putting the sunblock on your skin now, she rubbed you everywhere to get it in. You didn’t even fight her. 

“Can I..I mean can I go lay down?” 

You need to hide. 

“Sure.” Claire nods and stands and you follow her, but she doesn’t turn towards the hall that leads to the basement. She turns instead to go up the stairs, and you are super confused but you follow. 

Claire leads you up multiple floors and then down another hall to the master bedroom.

You stop as she opens the door. 

It was beige and whites and looked like it was an expensive spa, weekend getaway, plush bedroom. 

This was Claire’s master bedroom.

Probably the one she’d shared with Devon, ya know, her dead husband. The one she killed. This god damn monster, a preditor. 

You stop before entering and Claire walks in like she has a zillion other times.

The governor goes to the bed and pulls back the plush comforter; she’s got a bunch of giant soft pillows, and the sheets probably cost more than you made in every job through college. 

You hold your breath as she makes a show of pulling back the side of the bed for you. 

You realize, she’s put you on the other side. Devon's side, actually if we wanted to bring up that guilt. The dead husband's guilt you carried, because this maniac killed people for you. 

Claire lets you stand there and decide how your night will go. 

She clicks the remote by her bedside and the shades drop. 

Now the room is completely dark. 

You wonder if this is how it feels to be prey in the woods at night, everything is cold, everything is still, and in the dark your nightmare waits. 

“Did you still want to lay down?” Claire asks and you do now. Because your knees feel like they may give. 

You pad over to the side of the bed she’s holding the blankets to. 

You crawl in and she doesn’t kiss your head, and you don’t know why that worries you. 

You figure this must happen in abusive situations. You fear the lack of kiss just like you’d fear the hit. But you also want the kiss, you want to know you are safe. That you won’t be electrocuted and thrown in solitude again. 

Claire walks around the bed and you are not sure this is real, she’s going to leave you alone in her room?

“Have a good sleep Sweetheart,” Claire says and closes the door, you wait to hear a lock click, and it doesn’t. 

What a beautiful trap she’s laid out. 

But you won’t fall into it. 

Now, when the bed feels cool, the sheets are so soft, and the pillow so inviting. 

You close your eyes and drift into dreams.

You visit your old life in dreams, a dream with Maya and the beach.  

_____________________________

When you wake you hear typing, and you open your eyes to see Claire with her hair up in a clip as she types on her laptop.

You blink a few times and Claire must have some strange link to you, because she notices immediately. 

“Morning sleepy head.”

“What time is it?” You yawn and stretch and feel more rested than you have in forever. 

“A little after two, you slept the morning away,” Claire says like you two are on vacation and she let her lover have a lie in. 

“You working?” You ask and you don’t know why but Claire doesn’t flinch at your comment at all. When had you been allowed to ask her things?

“Yeah, I’m trying to get people to listen to this new legislation, but your generation won’t even read it. Wanna help Mommy?” Claire offers and your eyes grow wide at the idea of a problem to solve. You get excited, and Claire easily gives you notes on her speech. 

After a while you feel like you are working again, it’s so nice. 

“Seems a little stiff.” You say as she hands you her coffee and you drink it. You don’t notice how it has cinnamon, your favorite in it now. 

“Should Mommy be offended?” Claire teases with a grin and you laugh. 

Claire can’t stop her surprise now, you actually laughed. You hadn’t done that in front of her since before she took you. 

But you laugh and it feels so fucking good. 

“Sorry, no, you shouldn’t. You should however, be using Twitter, or whatever they call it now. Because, as you blamed my generation for not listening, you should be making the effort to get my generation to listen to you. When I saw you on CNN, you were cut throat, that’s why I wanted you to be elected in the first place. Young women want to hear your opinion, but they don’t always want to find it. You have to make it more readily available.” You ramble and then sip the coffee, satisfied with the taste. 

Claire stares at you for a moment. 

You wonder if you are being too comfortable in her presence now, perhaps you should stop. Oh shit you were going to be in trouble again. 

Stupid little prey. 

“I pay my staff a great deal of money, and no one has even mentioned this to me. You may have just upped my ratings.” Claire gives you the compliment and it makes your insides shine; you feel it all over. “And don’t do that,” Claire sternly adds and your smile drops and you are confused again. 

“I’m sorry what did-”

“No, don’t apologize for your ideas. Don’t apologize for laughing or having fun. You don’t need to apologize here.” Claire isn’t looking at you and she slips her glasses back on and opens up her email to talk to her so called ‘media team.’ 

You sit amazed that Claire is feeling so…much like a….partner, or even a friend?

Stockholm Syndrome, you remind yourself. 

Not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not our fault. 

But after that day, you sleep next to Claire. 

In fact you hadn’t been down in the basement in a while now. 

You walk around the house freely, you are still terrified of the man with the shades but he nods his version of ‘good morning’ to you. And you do the same. 

Claire works with her laptop, and you stop thinking about how to steal it to get a message out. 

You don’t notice the cameras that follow your every movement as you walk the mansion to get to the library alone. You just grab a book and head back to Claire’s office to sit on her chair. 

You don’t remember the last time you wore clothes and you don’t remember caring. 

It feels….normal now?

So one night you get into bed and fall asleep as Claire reads, and you easily fall asleep. Just like so many nights now beside her. 

And you dream;

You dream of the night. With Miles Bron on a rooftop. 

Except this time it’s different. 

You are in the bedroom this time, and Claire touches your face. 

“You want to cum for Mommy baby?” Claire asks and you nodd and she pulls you down onto her strap on. And you moan and beg her. 

“Please Mommy, I need it so bad. Mommy please, Claire fuck I need you inside of me.” You pant and beg. 

You wake up with a jolt. 

Claire turns on the side lamp, and she grabs your arms to help calm you. 

“Honey?” She asks, confused at how you are losing your mind. 

“I had a dream..I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You panic even more now.

Unsure what is worse, the dream, or your reality.  

“It’s ok, I heard you calling my name. You sure you are ok?” Claire asks, and she pushes your hair out of your face and you lean into her now. You put your head on her shoulder and you rest it there and she rubs the back of your arms up and down lightly. Not moving for more, and not moving for less. 

“Why don’t you touch me?” You ask, and you don’t know if you are still dreaming. Why are you doing this? Why are you shaking?

“I’m touching you right now pudd’n what do you mean?” Claire says and her voice is deep with sleep and it sounds like when she was aroused and fisting you. 

You pull back, and you feel frustration clear through your whole body. 

“You said that day in the car…You said..” You felt tears falling and Claire’s face changed. 

She looked dangerous now. Different than before by so much. 

“Say it, what did Mommy say that day in the car, can you remember?” Claire brushed your tears away from your face. 

“You said…You said you’d fuck that independent streak out of me…”

Claire nodded and it was such a weird contrast to the sweet woman she’d been to you. 

“What else did Mommy say? Can you remember for me?”

Claire acts like you are stupid. 

You sob now and hiccup and you remember. But you can’t say it and you shake your head. Claire cups your face and brushes stray tears away like it’s her job. 

“I told you i’d give you a good dose of Stockholm Syndrome for your system. You worked so hard, you fought so hard in the beginning. But it weighs on you, that kind of loneliness. I know, because you did that to me. You did all of this. You made me do this baby. So you needed to be punished, you were alone, but Mommy was watching from those cameras. I waited, and I was so patient. But you needed me to be patient, and I will be. But that’s all before, what happened tonight. You broke your streak, baby girl, tell Mama why?”

Claire looks excited, like she used to look on the news before she told some stupid Republican they were wrong. 

You look down at your lap and you feel no fear at her words. It was just the truth, so why weren’t you mad. 

“Focus baby, answer my question. You were thrashing back and forth in your sleep. You said my name, can you remember what your dream was honey?” Claire asked and your face turned beat red. 

You were moaning Claire..You were moaning ‘Mommy.’ Claire seemed to be satisfied that you figured it out, because she’d been watching the whole thing, she knew. 

God she was really something else, the manipulation on top of manipulation. You couldn’t figure her out, not even for a second. 

“You made a little mess on my sheets huh, sweetie, you’ve been here six months now. Just like I guessed it, huh? And you haven’t touched yourself once. That’s a long time to ignore the need, isn’t it?” Claire’s voice was doing things to you, and you nodded and licked your lips. 

This was so fucked up.

Fight, run, fucking hide! 

“You were moaning Claire and Mommy. You say it so pretty baby. You were surprised when I didn’t fuck you. But I played the long game, see I don’t want you as some sex toy in my basement. I want you as a wife. I want you to stand on the podium next to me. And the only way that’s gonna happen, is if Mommy is patient.”

Claire lays out the first part of her plan like she’s talking to some lower life form, like you are stupid and she is the teacher. 

You gasp and hiccup and cry like a dumb child. A child who stuck their hand in the aquarium and got bit, and then all the adults thought the kid was stupid. You were being so stupid. Your instincts told you to stop, but your mind was no longer your own. Claire had tattooed your skull with her initials, and now you were no longer in control. 

“Claire, this is wrong.” You whimper and her thumb brushes against your cheekbone and you lean further into it. Her hold is everything to you. 

“I know you say that, but your body likes this. You practically purr when I touch you now. And even in your dreams, you want this. So why don’t you ask? Have I not been fair, have I not given you choices?” The Governor starts to get a little heated. Like you were the problem. 

You were prey, you were shark food. You were the dumb bird, fuck FUCK! 

Be smarter than this. You begged yourself to be smarter than this. 

“Claire this is wrong, I can’t do this.” You say, but your voice sounds sad and Claire sighs and releases you.

Like you ruined it, like you ruined her fun. 

“Ok.” She looks disappointed but releases you. 

“Ok?” You say completely confused and she moves to the light and flicks it off. 

“Then let’s get some sleep.” Claire says and you lay back down and she does the same. Not touching you at all. 

You sit there in the silence, and your thighs press together and you wonder how the fuck you got here. 

How did you get here?

If there was a god, did she hate you?

Your body wouldn’t let you sleep now, you had to cum. You needed to masturbate. But Claire would for sure feel the bed move, and you knew you were never quiet when you came. 

You shifted until you lay on your stomach. 

You bit your lip to not moan at the feeling of your clit throbbing as you pressed yourself tighter. 

Claire’s voice slices through the night, like the fear you have in your bones. 

“I’ve found that lying on my stomach never helped settle the ache, is it the same for you dear?” Claire asked, and you whimper at her words. 

Her mothering, comanding, powerful voice shatters your resolve to not lightly hump the bed. 

Something about her stupid voice just turned you on. Call it your shitty upbringing or your need for older women to be cruel to you. You’d begged Maya to slap you in bed. You taught your women how you liked to be demeaned humiliated. 

Claire didn’t need you to teach her, and that was horrible. 

 And you just remembered the rooftop with her fist and you were so empty now. 

“Claire, I need to…can I…” You knew she wouldn’t let you run to the bathroom and fix this, and you weren’t sure what to ask for. 

“You need to masturbate, is that it?” Claire’s voice was mocking. 

“Yes please.” You whisper like you are trying to get one over on yourself, maybe you won’t hear it. 

“Then do it.” Claire says, and you can’t believe it, but you don’t ask questions. 

In the dark of her white room, your hands go under your body and you put your face in the pillow and moan as your fingers meet wetness. You grind down on your fingers for a few minutes in the silence.

Except the sound of the wet noises, they fill the air. 

“Claire…” You whimper after a few moments, realizing you can’t cum like this. 

“Say it.” Claire's voice is venomou,s and you should be afraid but you aren’t. 

“Mommy….can I have your help?” You say, and Claire turns and flicks on the light and throws the blanket back. She sits on her heels now. 

“Lay back, open your legs nice and wide,” Claire tells you and you flip onto your butt now and put your legs open for her to watch. 

Like she’s the director and you are the porn star. 

“Small circles, we aren’t in a rush. It’s just you and me gorgeous.” Claire tells you and you start slower, as if you’ve never touched yourself before. Like this body Claire knew, and you didn’t. Because she was playing you like an instrument and you were tone deaf it seemed. 

Claire watched your face and body move like she was starving for every moment of it. 

“You got this wet from a dream, baby? That’s so embarrassing. Your pussy is so wet, so swollen from the dream. You needy little thing.” It’s not even as mean as she’s been. But you get wetter anyway. 

You whimper and nod, but you need more. And Claire knows that. 

“You liked me being sweet these last few months don’t you?

You nodd and rub your clit harder and Claire tut’s you and you slow. 

“But you don’t like nice in bed do you?”

The silent voice is louder now, Claire’s not safe, Claire’s not consensual, Claire’s not sane. This is not a place for your fetishes and desires to be knowkn. Claire is poision and you could not do this. 

You shake your head, no you don’t. 

Claire tilts her head to the side and some of her hair falls. 

She’s a goddess. 

“You like it mean, just like Mommy.” The white of your captor’s eyes shine in the dark room. She’s crazy. You were insane for playing with her. 

“I do, just like Mommy.” You moan at the end as you give her back the nickname. The secret kink you didn’t want to share. 

“So, how mean do you need me tonight? You want that fake sweet governor? You want the domestic cunt who sits and plays with your hair?”

Her face doesn’t emote. 

You think Claire must be a psychopath; she must be, to have such different reactions. Looks and moods you could never track, no matter how you tried. 

But you’d give this woman all she wanted, if you could just cum. 

You shake your head, you don’t want nice or sweet. 

“No, thats right you need the woman who assaulted you on the rooftop don’t you? It’s been so freaky for you, seeing me so nice. And you were waiting for me to make good on my promise. You were waiting for me to fuck you this whole tme.” 

Claire’s voice is dark, deep, but steady. Like she could say the worst most deprived thing to you and not blink, blush, or feel any sort of shame.

Claire was sick.

She could play whatever part and role she wanted. And you were powerless to figure her out, to say the right thing, to do the right things. 

You were just along for your Governor’s ride.  

You nod and whimper as you touch yourself. Your pussy is desperate and you are too wet to get the right traction.

Your abuser's voice got darker, a little richer in her anger.   

“And you are wet and needy, your slick is ruining my fucking sheets. And I’m not even touching you. I haven’t fucking touched you, do you realize that? And ths is how you act. Like a fucked bitch in heat in front of me.  You know I used to masturbate to you lying there in that basement, and now here you are masturbating in my bed. The big, bad, scary kidnapper, the one who stole you from your perfect little life. The one who killed for you. And you are a whimpering mess for me.”

You humped your hand trying to chase your orgasm. 

You can barely see her face in the night lamp glow illuminating her from behind, but she’s having fun. You blink a few times to focus on her face, try to see Claire.  

She’s sick, she’s getting pleasure from you breaking. 

“Stick your tongue out. Do you remember when I spit on you? You fucking liked it. You liked my fist. Do you remember my fist? Of course you do, because your hole is gaping open for me, trying to get anything. But I still haven’t touched you. Do you realize how mine you are, if you do this you have to give up this facade that you don’t want me. That you don’t need Mama’s touch.”

Each word hits your skin like a million little needles. 

You hate how you moan and chase each word like it’s a drug, and you need a high.  

You sob and stick your tongue out, and try to finger yourself but Claire stops you. 

“No, that’s not for you to touch. Now I want you to tell me the truth. That sex tape, why did you like it?”

You were worried about this, this was something you had hoped she wouldn’t bring up. 

“Please, Claire…..no.” 

You didn’t have a safe word, and it seemed she liked you saying ‘no.’ If only for a moment.  

“It’s just you and me, and perhaps my own video footage of this moment for Maya. But Daddy already knows, I want you to say it to Mommy. Because you are gonna be Mommy's girl, not Daddy’s, after all.”

You hope Maya isn’t watching, but the idea that she is makes you gasp and your hips pick up. 

You secretly missed Maya. You were so angry at her for doing this. But you missed how she fucked you, how she humiliated you. You missed date nights and talking about work. Fuck that woman. But Maya knew this secret, and you wondered if she’d told Claire. Or if Claire could just sniff out secrets. Perhaps that’s why she was such a good politician. 

“I can’t. Please don’t make me say it.” You whimper lamely. 

Claire sighs loudly, like you are getting on her nerves. Perhaps she didn’t like a brat after all.  

“You don’t say it, you don’t get to cum. And it’s been so long hasn’t it?”

Fuck it, you were already dead. No one was coming to save you. You were here to bargain with the devil herself. What was the harm anymore?

So you let it go:

“I liked it because I didn’t have a say. I liked the horrible things they called me. It made me wet. I don’t want control.” You shout it into the night, into the millionaire's, well billionaires' (after getting Miles' money) bedroom.  

Claire laughs at you and you hate how much you like being made fun of. You ache for more. 

“That's my sweet girl. That's why you belong to Mommy. Why I picked you. You don’t want control. You don’t even know how long you’ve stayed here anymore. You crawled into my bed like a little kitten. Now you are fucking yourself in front of me like a good girl.” 

You moan louder and Claire smiles.

Something about her owning you made you feel safe. How wrong was that? That you felt like nothing bad could happen as long as Claire held you. You tried to remember that you weren’t her lover. You were her prisoner.

DeBella’s canines shine in the light.

She keeps speaking, like she’s enchanting you, like she’s a snake tamer. And you don’t know why, but you can’t fight it.   

“You love that, you love being a good girl. Well if you were a good girl. You would admit it to me now.”

You feel a game coming on, a new one for Claire. You understand now, and you say it. Your nails dig into your soft, intimate flesh. It hurts, it all hurts.  

“I want you to be mean to me.” You admit it, your voice is raw and cracks. 

Claire doesn’t seem satisfied anymore. So she continues.  

“You like this life. The one I made for you.” She challenges. 

“I like this life.” You don’t know who is speaking inside of you, but it comes out your mouth. 

“You like being mine.” Claire doesn’t blink. 

“I do.” You gasp, and you aren’t sure if it’s from masturbating. 

You wonder if this is what hypnosis was like. 

“You don’t even notice you are naked in a dirty politicians bed, begging to be fucked like a fucking whore. You missed me, baby.” Claire tells you these things like facts. And your clit pulses at her voice. You have no self respect.   

“I did MAMA PLEASE LET ME CUM!” You shout and angrily hump your hand for no release. 

“Slap your cunt, hard,” Claire says like she’s telling someone how she wants her coffee, no interest in her voice. It makes you scream out.  

You move your hand away from your cunt, and you slap it hard. The sound echoes in her bedroom. 

“What do you need, your fingers not doing it for baby?” Claire taunts and you almost wonder if she’s done something to your body. Or your mind? Why can’t you make yourself cum. 

You knew. 

You needed Mommy. 

“I NEED YOUR FINGERS!”” You scream, and Claire thinks about it for a minute. And you think she’s bluffing, but she isn’t. 

“Not yet,” Claire says, keeping her hands to her sides. Not touching you, not helping you. And you go mad with need. You start to babble like you have no sense of self anymore. 

“Please, please, please. I’M A WHORE! I’m your whore and I want you to hurt me. I want you to make it hurt, I want you to ruin me. I want to be bruised and fucked every second. Please, I’m yours I’ll make your babies and I’ll wear what you want. I’ll go where you want and do whatever you want! Just fuck me!”

Clarie likes that and she licks her bottom lip watching your body writhe in the bed. 

“You are a fucking slut. Turn to your right, and smile. You are on video baby. I’m live streaming this.” Claire said, and you came just like Claire knew you would. 

That’s how you lost your mind. 

___

You begged for the next four days for Clarie to touch you. And she refused to touch your pussy. 

She made you do all kinds of things. 

You only walked around on your hands and knees for an entire day. 

She spoon fed you her leftovers and put her feet on your naked back as she typed on her computer. 

Claire was breaking you beyond belief. 

She made you sit on the bathroom floor as she used her own vibrator in the shower and came. But you couldn’t see her, and you couldn’t do anything. 

Claire even made you hump your own hand while she took business calls. 

You were a sex fiend you were gone.

No mind left, no sense of pride.  

And finally you were on your hands and knees with your fingers on your clit and she was sitting in her bedroom on her armchair drinking a scotch and watching the show. You weren’t allowed to ever fuck your hole, Claire made sure you never touched there. 

You screamed into the bed and sobbed. 

You cried for a really long time, and you felt like you were being tortured worse than in the basement. 

You wanted Claire, you don’t remember what healthy love was. 

But you knew you wanted nothing more than Claire.

You thought to the penthouse with desire now.  

Your mind was sick. 

And your vagina was raw from trying to mastrubate and nothing working. 

“PLEASE MAMA I NEED YOU! I LOVE YOU DON’T IGNORE ME ANYMORE!” You scream and the sound of Claire’s drink hitting the side table was so loud and you didn’t even notice as you cried into the bed with your ass in the air. 

But Claire gently flipped you onto your back. Like the broken little thing you were.  

“What did you say baby?” She asked and her face looked completely stunned and you didn’t know why. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand.

Your body so sore.  

“I..I need you?”

“No sweetie, not that, after that. What did you tell me?”

“Don’t ignore me?” You tried again, and Claire chuckled at that demand but she continued. 

She seemed so soft now. 

“Before that, right inbetween those two.” 

“I love you?” You say, and the words feel strange in your mouth but you blink at Claire through wet lashes. “I love you.” You say more confidently now and Claire’s smile is so big you think it must hurt. 

She grabs your knees and pulls you flat and her mouth goes right to your pussy. 

You cum in two seconds from her mouth, and then she doesn’t stop for two hours. And you are sobbing and writing under her telling her how much you love Claire DeBella. 

That’s how you fell in love with your monster. 

How you begged for her fist, her mouth, her kisses, her cruel words. 

Unsure how long it has been. How long life has looked this way…But after you had taken a fist and two fingers.. you were laughing and naked at the kitchen island and Claire was laughing with you. It was romantic and sweet and you were so happy. She was spoon feeding you yogurt and you were telling her about a L.A nightmare press thing. And you were breaking an NDA like it was nothing. Telling secrets like you were telling teenage girl rumors. And Claire was paying attention, and somewhere inside you knew she’d use this. 

But you were Claire’s weapon now. You were her partner, her lover, her’s to control. And you found your mind didn’t hurt anymore. 

But it ended, like all things must. 

The front door opened and then slammed close and you jumped and Claire groaned, irritated. She knew what was happening, it seemed. 

 Maya walked in with her heels clicking on the floor. Her three suitcases being carted in behind her with Mr. Shades. Who looked at his boss like he was not sure who to be more afraid of, Maya or Claire.  

“This looks cozy.” Maya snarls with a wicked look in her eyes at Claire. 

You don’t know why they are glaring at each other. But you feel like you want to crawl back into the bedroom and hide.  

“Maya?” You ask confused, and she looks at you now. She gazes at you like one does a lover they accidentally bump into after the breakup.  

“Mason, we agreed you would wait until I told you you could come.” Claire’s tone wasn’t kind. 

“Right, but see you aren’t my boss, so that’s not how this works. You keep me from her again and I’ll out you to the press so fast your head will spin bitch. You aren’t the only one with connections and blackmail.” Maya snarls and you look at Claire, fear evident on your face. 

Claire drops the yogurt dramatically into the sink. Some of it gets on her button-down sleep shirt; she’s wearing that and a thong.  

“Let me get dressed, and then we can talk about this in my study,” Claire said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. 

The Governor walks away from you and you feel completely lost. No longer having a tether to your insanity. 

You turn to Maya, who stares at you like you are the freaky one here. 

“Maya, how long have you been gone?” Your voice is shaky. Maya steps forward to come to you and you flinch. So she stops and looks back to Shades as if to say ‘get lost.’ He drops the bags and walks back out of the house. 

Maya has so much fear on her face. 

“Two months, two fucking long months. She hasn’t let me in this house yet, last time I saw you was in the fucking town car! I tried to get here but we’ve been arguing this whole time. Plus Matt is a shitty replacement and then Vegas and the shrooms. It’s been a mess without you. I’m trying to convince Governor Gaudy over there to let you work again. What the fuck are you doing?” She whispers, yells the last sentence like she’s on your side. 

“What do you mean?” You ask and you feel yourself cracking. 

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You are naked in the kitchen? You are practically her sex slave in here. I saw the footage, what the fuck?” Maya tries to walk forward and you back off to the corner of the kitchen like you don’t want to be around her for a second. 

Maya seems to fear that too. 

You panic and looked around, not sure what’s happening. 

“Two months? No that’s not possible, she said six months at least.” You repeated and Maya shook her head. 

“She’s fucking lying. Kinda like she lied and told me I could bring you back to work. Kinda like how she told me I could spend time with you. Fuck baby what is going on? Did she….I mean..are you?” Maya put her hands up and down to direct to your person. 

And you felt like you were going to have a panic attack. 

“Maya what the fuck!” YOu scream and go to the kitchen and grab a knife. 

You put your back to the fridge. 

“Woah! Put the weapon down!” Maya says but she’s not as freaked out as you thought she’d be. Obviously used to L.A. girls with sharp objects pointed at others. 

“Stay away from me!”

“Hey, listen to me! I’m trying to get you out of here. But if you pull this again, she’ll put you down in that basement! I can’t help you there! Ok I’m trying to get you out. You gotta keep your shit together.” Maya yells at you but she turns to see if Claire is watching. 

“You are lying, you…fuck you helped her steal me. Oh my god I loved you. Oh my god I told Clare I love her. What is wrong with me?” You yell and look at the blade. Maya watches your gaze, and she starts to walk forward. 

“Yeah, that hurt by the way. You told me I was the first person you ever told you loved. And then you fucking tell her, that was fucked. Ok, let’s not hold the blade so close to your body, huh sweetness?” Maya knows you better than you do, you bring the blade closer to yourself, and she lunges forward and you both fight on the floor but Maya is stronger and she hits your hands against the marble top and the knife flies out of your hands.

Claire comes back in and she’s pissed. 

“MAYA THIS IS WHY I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STAY AWAY! What the fuck did you do?” Claire shouts, and you are fighting Maya as hard as you can, and then a shot goes in the back of your neck, and you see Mr. Shades before you pass out. 

Part 3 coming soon...

AO3

MasterList

Series MasterList

'Great, look, now the lion woke up You eying my shit, inquiring shit'

[seelie-buddy]

Eyes only for you

summary : in this beautiful night, Wanderer captures your attention

contains : your attention drifts to Wanderer despite the beauty that surrounds you ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 420

You sat below the statue of the seven whose light shown like a beacon in the forest of Mawtiyima.

A bag of Rukhashava Mushrooms laid between you and Wanderer; it was supposed to be a short trip: come to Mawtiyima, obtain some of said mushrooms, return to the city. But the trip dragged long by the pesky electro abyss mages and slimes that infested the area, plus an unfortunate encounter with an electro regisvine.

The moon glowed behind drifting clouds, and the fluorescent mushroom twinkled. The people of Sumeru say that the heart of the forest resides in Mawtiyima, and it's magic pulses in the form of these mushrooms. The scholars however, found no evidence of such, and labelled it a fairytale.

A fairytale it might be, you wondered to yourself, because there was a magical spell in the air. The crystalflies– glittering with the hue of dendro– floated around the statue underneath which you rested.

Wanderer, having noticed the smile on your face, outstretched his hand gently towards one crystalfly; and you found it utterly unfair how quickly it came to rest at the tip of his finger. You felt the need to scold him for his show of uninterest as he sat with his elbow on his knee, chin resting on his palm, but chose to roll your eyes at him.

You tilted your head, watching as the crystalfly batted its wings, producing what appeared to be a trail of glitter. A soft laugh left your lips as you watched, amazed with how such a small, delicate creature could produce such fascinating illusions to the eye.

You turned your head towards Wanderer, ready to gush about the little elemental lifeform, but the words died at the tip of your tongue.

In your reverie, you hadn't noticed how many crystalflies gathered around you; or more accurately, around Wanderer. They drifted about him as a butterfly would to a flower. Their soft glow emanated a soft halo around him, the fluorescent mushrooms of the forest only adding to the magic of the moment.

"Beautiful," you whispered, the smile on your lips growing as the view took place in your mind, and finding its way to your heart.

His eyes met yours for but a moment before fluttering back to the crystalfly on his finger, just in time to watch it take flight.

"What?" He asked as his eyes trailed the crystalflies that took flight around the two of you.

"The night is beautiful," you said. 'Because you're by my side'.

a/n: I felt like I didn't write for wanderer for a while; but funnily this drabble doesn't even have all that many dialogues

p/s: this was supposed to be like those multi-character posts, but then I thought it would work as a separate drabble

Enjoyed this drabble? Then be sure to check out my latest drabble !!

[warsofasoiaf]

I know there's War of the Roses parallels with I&F, but do you think Westeros might be more France than England? I ask because you have written about the feudal levies in I&F, but a book I read about Crecy says that the French actually had a peasant levy supporting knights & mercenary archers, as opposed to the English force. Also, where English WotR lords had estates all over the country, French nobles actually seem to have ruled blocks of territory, on map I saw racefortheironthrone post.

I think these are less modeling after medieval France and more about GRRM's creative choices for storytelling and in building the world of Westeros for simplicity.

The Seven Kingdoms being more or less contiguous blocs without exclaves or strange dual-hatting where an English king can do obeisance to the French king specifically in the scope and purview of being the Duke of certain French provinces while maintaining his own independent Kingdom of England is because that's a very complicated political arrangement. Since that sort of arrangement doesn't really drive the plot at all, GRRM just made Westerosi feudalism simpler for the sake of reader digestion. It may not be accurate to period feudalism, but it is much easier for the modern layman to pick it up, read it, and understand it. "This territory is the Vale, everyone in it are vassals of the Arryns." Easy to draw a map for it, easy to understand when Lysa Arryn refuses to engage in the War of the Five Kings to know exactly *which* houses are staying out, because they're all neatly listed in the appendix, one right after the other.

GRRM's ahistorical overreliance on the peasant levy has less to do with preferring to pattern the military system after England than France, since France itself also had its own semi-professional and quasi-professional soldiers classes with varying degrees of irregular training and kit, and more to do with his experiences as a conscientious objector and Vietnam War protester. It's not wrong to say that his experiences during that period of time are a great influence on him and he wanted to capture the feeling of the conscriptee being sent to Da Neng in passages like the Broken Man Speech. The experiences of the unraveling of the social fabric and the devastation that the war brought is central to the story in A Feast For Crows and GRRM wanted to use what he knew, a similar sense of a torn apart world that felt betrayed by LBJ and Nixon.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 8/8 - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

EIGHT

A YEAR LATER

                The sound of the hammer hitting hot metal is soothing background noise now, and he sits there, sleeves rolled up in deference to the heat coming from the forge, a whole bunch of essays in front of him for marking. He could be at home, but he’s actually come to enjoy spending time in the forge while Jake is working. The view of course is what got him here in the first place, and sometimes he’ll find himself just staring at Jake, watching his arm muscles flex, watching him wipe sweat and leave a trail of soot instead, his ass when he bends over. There is no part of Jake that he doesn’t find attractive in some way and it’s how he knows he’s got it bad for him.

                That and he now has an appropriate period-appropriate costume and he knows enough about the village that he’s taken impromptu tours. He’s the school master, they’ve even built a bigger classroom and outfitted it with historically accurate props and Bradley hadn’t realized they were doing six-month anniversary presents but apparently the blow job he’d given Jake in the classroom that night and then fucking him over the desk had been more than sufficient.

                Their first summer together had been great, Bradley’s days filled with running baseball trainings and then going to games. He’s looking forward to this coming summer, more of the same but his circle of friends has solidified and he feels a lot more settled. Plus he’s got a big change happening. Jake asked him to move in, his house on the ranch actually his whereas Bradley has a lease that runs out in June. So that’s when he’ll officially move in. He’s looking forward to it, knows Jake is as well, taking things from Bradley’s apartment and then putting them on display in his own place. He grins at the memory of finding a picture of his parents suddenly appearing on Jake’s bookcase, and he knows the students essays he’s currently marking are definitely benefiting from his good mood today.

                “Hey handsome… you almost done?”

                “Yeah, three to go,” Bradley says with a relieved smile.

                “Good. Cause I was going to threaten to throw them in the fire if you weren’t…” Jake says with a grin and Bradley shakes his head at the empty threat. It’s close to closing; Jake only covering because George needed to take his grandkids because another of his grandkids was demanding to be born. Jake reaches up to run a hand over his face, leaving a smudge of soot. Jake wears gloves, Bradley has no idea how his hands get quite so dirty, not that he minds Jake leaving marks all over him, ones he can wash off or otherwise.

                “You’ve, uh, got a little… something.”

                “Do I?”

                “Yeah, just uh, there…”

                “Did I get it?”

                “No. You somehow made it worse… come here.”

                Jake steps closer, and there’s still the wooden barrier to keep visitors away from the forge while it’s in use. He licks his thumb and swipes over the mark, tries to ignore the heated smirk Jake is giving him which is promising all sorts of things. Then Jake is leaning forward, and Bradley meets him, captures Jake’s mouth in a kiss, not caring that technically the village is open. He pulls back sooner than they’d both probably like, licks his lips, can taste the sweat where it’s transferred from Jake’s skin, sees Jake’s eyes track the movement and he swallows, can’t help but lick his lips again and Jake groans low in his throat, eyes dark.

                “Hi Coach B…”

                Bradley is so glad his back is to whoever just spoke, but still a little terrified of who might be with them. Most of his students know Jake’s his boyfriend, none of them care. A few parents are a little less warm. He’s pretty sure no one but Jake hears the quiet fuck he says on an exhale and he turns, smile pasted on his face and is immediately relieved to see only three people, Anthony and his moms. They are all failing badly at hiding their amusement but he’s just glad it was them.

                “Hi Anthony… Jenny, Liz.”

                “Mr Bradshaw.”

                “Hi Mr Seresin…”

                “You can just call me Jake… not like I’m one of your teachers.”

                Anthony is of course filled with questions, and with his moms’ permission Jake brings him the other side, shows him all the tools up close and Bradley wonders if it would be rude to try and mark the last few essays. They have under thirty minutes, so not really, but he could maybe get one done. Instead he ends up making small talk, plans they have for summer. He doesn’t mind, they’re nice people and good parents. Then the school bell is ringing, indicating the village is shutting in five minutes and Anthony rejoins them, grin wide.

                “See you tomorrow Coach!”

                “See you tomorrow Anthony.”

                “Uh, Mr Bradshaw… you’ve… got a little something on your face,” Liz says, gesturing toward his face while clearly trying not to laugh before she turns around and follows her wife and son. Bradley murmurs his thanks under his breath, mortification complete; knows the ground won’t open up and swallow him but a part of him still wishes for it. He wonders when he’ll stop feeling embarrassed every time someone catches him making out with Jake.

                “Come here…” Jake says, and Bradley goes, a bit more relaxed now knowing that there isn’t going to be a repeat of someone walking in to interrupt them. Jake smells… like sweat and soot and heat and leather. It’s so fucking good and Bradley knows he’s developed a Pavlovian response to smelling the forge or leather, the combination is fucking lethal to his self-control.

                “I think you have a thing for me in leather Mr Bradshaw…”

                “Like that’s news… You get off on calling me Mr Bradshaw. Lucky it’s only you saying it that gets me hot, otherwise I’d have lost my job by now…”

                Jake laughs against his neck and Bradley pulls away, because as nice as this is he still has three essays to grade and he’d much rather continue this at home where they can lock the doors and take as long as they want.

…            …            …

                Jake is pretty fucking happy with life. Bradley has moved in, their lives slotting together like two cogs in a clock; their friends and families are all cogs around them and it all just works. Bradley is happy, Jake is very happy, three of his pieces being included in an exhibition in MOMA, and they have a weekend away planned for them for the opening. He has a plan. Assuming he doesn’t get cold feet.

                Which is why he finds himself dragging Bradley by the hand through MOMA, the bright lanyard around his neck declaring him an artist and permitted entry to the exhibit before it officially opens. He’s grateful for several reasons.

                “There’s just one piece I really want to show you okay?”

                Definitely the smallest and most intricate things he’s ever made, but he’s proud of them and he’d had this idea tickling away in the back of his mind. When the curator had asked him what the piece, or pieces rather, were called he’s simply replied One Day. And now along with two other much larger pieces, they’re in MOMA, on display with works from other metal artists from around the world and his intentions are there for the entire world to see.

                “We’re coming back right, you’ll let me take my time and have a proper look?”

                “Yeah yeah, yes, of course I will… Just. I need you to see this first.”

                He stops them then, right beside the plinth where the map said they’d be. On the plinth, surrounded by glass are two rings; made from the same piece of wrought iron and he’d had to work on them in secret, didn’t want Bradley seeing them early. But they’re finished and on display and Bradley is staring at them, reading the information plaque, eyes shooting to meet Jake’s. He grins and shrugs, won’t get down on bended knee in MOMA because Bradley might just turn heel and walk out on him, even if there are very few people around right now.

                “So… uh… one day, I’d like to use one and ask you to marry me.”

                “Jake… why wait for one day? Ask me now…”

                “Oh. Uh. Okay. Will you marry me?”

                “Yeah. I’d love to marry you. One day.”

                Yeah, Jake likes the sound of that.

[talonabraxas]

A B R A C A D A B R A

The word Abracadabra is said to derive from an Aramaic phrase meaning "I create as I speak." However אברא כדברא in Aramaic is more reasonably translated as "I create like the Word."

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made."

In the beginning was the Word: the Logos, the sound frequency (vibration).

We know that speech means not just any kind of a vibration, but a vibration that carries information.

Thus, I create like the Word.

In the Hebrew language, the phrase translates more accurately as "it came to pass as it was spoken."

History:

The first known mention of the word was in the third century AD in the work Liber Medicinalis by Quintus Serenus Sammonicus, a physician to the Roman emperor, who suggests to wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle:

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A A - B - R - A - C - A - D A - B - R - A - C - A A - B - R - A - C A - B - R - A A - B - R A - B A

Abracadabra and the Gnostics:

Abracadabra was used as a magical formula by the Gnostics of the sect of Basilides in invoking the aid of beneficent spirits against disease and misfortune. It is found on Abraxas stones, which were worn as amulets. Subsequently, its use spread beyond the Gnostics.

Abraxas:

Have you ever been mesmerized while waiting for the sunrise? As you watch the horizon for that first burst of light, you get swept up in the eternal present moment. With baited breath, your sense of time is suspended, and you’re primed for a miracle. This is the “liminal zone,” the threshold between night and day, between here and there, between this and that. It’s the crossroads where anything is possible. And then the dawn breaks through, like a sudden burst of inspiration, like an act of creation: “Let there be light.” That is the magic of Abraxas, an enigmatic name that has perhaps always been closely associated with the power of the sun. This strange, mysterious name captures that magical, suspended, timeless moment: “all of time as an eternal instant.” Abraxas is the power of infinity—the promise of endless possibilities, the “cosmos” itself. In mythology, Abraxas is the name of a celestial horse that draws the dawn goddess Aurora across the sky. The name suggests a power that is not properly ours but rather a gift from another world.

But what of the name’s origin? It is likely, as an etymologist posited in 1891, that Abraxas belongs “to no known speech” but rather some “mystic dialect,” perhaps taking its origin “from some supposed divine inspiration.” Yet scholars, of course, search for a root. There are speculatory shreds of evidence which suggest that Abraxas is a combination of two Egyptian words, abrak and sax, meaning “the honorable and hallowed word” or “the word is adorable.” Abrak is “found in the Bible as a salutation to Joseph by the Egyptians upon his accession to royal power.” Abraxas appears in “an Egyptian invocation to the Godhead, meaning ‘hurt me not.’” Other scholars suggest a Hebrew origin of the word, positing “a Grecized form of ha-berakhah, ‘the blessing,’” while still others speculate a derivation from the Greek habros and sac, “the beautiful, the glorious Savior.” The name has appeared in the ancient Hebrew/Aramaic mystical treatises The Book of Raziel and The Sword of Moses, and in post-Talmudic Jewish incantation texts, as well as in Persian mythology.

An interesting occurrence of Abraxas is found in a papyrus from late antiquity (perhaps from Hellenized Egypt, though its exact origin is unknown). The papyrus contains “magical recipes, invocations, and incantations,” and tells of a baboon disembarking the Sun boat and proclaiming: “Thou art the number of the year ABRAXAS.” This statement causes God to laugh seven times, and with the first laugh the “splendor [of light] shone through the whole universe.”

The Basilideans, a Gnostic sect founded in the 2nd century CE by Basilides of Alexandria, worshipped Abraxas as the “supreme and primordial creator” deity, “with all the infinite emanations.” The god Abraxas unites the opposites, including good and evil, the one and the many. He is “symbolized as a composite creature, with the body of a human being and the head of a rooster, and with each of his legs ending in a serpent.” His name is actually a mathematical formula: in Greek, the letters add up to 365, the days of the year and the number of eons (cycles of creation).

“That a name so sacredly guarded, so potent in its influence, should be preserved by mystic societies through the many ages . . . is significant,” notes Moses W. Redding, a scholar of secret societies. Redding suggests that only in Freemasonry has this “Divine Word” been “held in due reverence.”

In Kabbalah:

As a carpenter the creator employs tools to build a home, so G'd utilized the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit (the Hebrew alphabet) to form heaven and earth. They are the metaphorical wood, stone and nails, corner­posts and crossbeams of our earthly and spiritual existence. As in abracadabra "Αύρα κατ' αύρα" אברא כדברא, as he, she, it created the universe with; the Letter, The word, and the number.

As Kabbalist sages say G'd created the alef-beit, before the creation of the world. "The Maggid of Mezritch" explains this on the basis of the first verse in the Book of Genesis “בראשית ברא אלקים את השמים ואת הארץ—In the beginning G'd created the heavens and the earth.” Beresheet Barah Elokim Et (in the beginning God created the) The word את, (es or et) is spelled with an aleph, the first letter of the aleph-beit, and a tav, which is the last. The fact is, את, es, is generally considered to be a superfluous word. There is no literal translation for it, and its function is primarily as a grammatical device. So why is “es” present twice in the very first line of the Torah? It suggests that in the beginning, it was not the heavens and the earth that were created first. It was literally the alef-beit, aleph through to tav. The alpha and the omega, Without these letters, the very Utterances with which G'd formed the universe would have been impossible the Baal Shem Tov explains the verse, “Forever the words of G'd are hanging in the heavens.”

The crucial thing to realize is that G'd, creator, source did not merely create the world once. His Her It's words didn’t just emerge and then evaporate. Rather, G'd continues to create the world anew each and every moment. His Her It's, words are there constantly, “hanging in the heav­ens.” And the alef-beit is the foundation of this ongoing process of creation.

According to Kabbalah, Cabbalah and Qabbalah sages and scholars, when the same letters are transposed to form different words, they retain the common energy of their shared gematria. Because of this, the words maintain a connection in the different forms. We find a classic example of this with the words (הצר, hatzar, troubles), (רצה, ratzah, a desire to run passionately into the “ark” of spiritual study and prayer) and (צהר, tzohar, a light that shines from within). All three words share the same three letters: tzaddik, reish and hei in different com­binations. The Baal Shem Tov, explains, the connection between the words as follows: When one is experiencing trou­bles (hatzar), and one runs to study Spiritual txts and pray with great desire (ratzah), one is illuminated with a G'dly light from within (tzohar) that helps him or her transform there troubles into blessings, as it is said that the source of the twenty-two letters is even higher than that of the Ten Commandments.

As it states: “With you, is the essence of G'd", בך means “with you.” The (Beit which has a gematria of 2) and the (kaf = 20) added together equals 22. Through the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit, we are all connected to the monad, G'd, Allah الله, the source, and each other through our words and language as words hold power as that which makes us All unique is language as language weaves everything together. These are the teachings of our holy teacher, as the The Zohar affirms that every sentence, every phrase, every word, and even every letter of the Bible exists simultaneously on several levels of meaning. This sacred work clearly declares, “Woe unto those who see in the Law nothing but simple narratives and ordinary words! . . . Every word of the Law contains an elevated sense and a sublime mystery.”

[Except from Path of the Sun Keepers by Paul Francis Young]

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men's actions.” --Sigmund Freud

[archivist-crow]

On this day: BETTY AND BARNEY HILL On September 19, 1961, Betty and Barney Hill were driving on an isolated New Hampshire road around midnight when they noticed a light moving erratically through the sky. Seven hours later they were home. The trip normally took less than five hours. At first they had no memory of the lost time, but then alien nightmares began to haunt their sleep and unexplained marks began to appear on their bodies. Eventually they sought the help of a noted Boston psychiatrist to regain their memory of the missing time. Returning home from Canada on U.S. Route 3, they reached the White Mountains, and the light appeared to be running parallel to the car. Abruptly, it appeared directly in their path. Barney got out of the car to look at it through binoculars. He saw a row of windows with figures moving around behind them. Suddenly overcome with a fear of capture, Barney dashed back into the car and sped away. Curious vibrating noises followed the car, and Barney and Betty felt very sleepy. Later, they became conscious thirty-five miles south of where they last remembered being, and their watches had stopped. Anxiety over the lost two hours began to rule their lives. What unfolded, under hypnosis, was a sensational account of alien abduction and medical examination. A group of uniformed men surrounded the Hills, taking them from their car and to a saucer-shaped craft. Samples of the Hills' hair, fingernails, and skin were taken. The leader assured the Hills of their safety. And when Betty asked where they were from, he led her to a "star map." Later, under post-hypnotic suggestion, she drew the map, which appeared meaningless at the time. Several years later new astronomical information revealed a star cluster, near Zeta Reticuli, which rendered Betty's map amazingly accurate. Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[solstices-dreams]

— 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐬.

#𓅓 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬.

This is focused on book accurate character looks and characterization. This was a dr I had before the show came out and it’s another dr that focuses more on healing my inner child. I always wanted to meet Percy and Annabeth and go on the fun adventures with the 7. So I made it a dr :)

This book also brings in people from the different series, I can meet Sadie, Walt, Carter, Alex, and Magnus, people who aren’t present in the show, including all of Camp Jupiter. My friend group is the seven and Nico, whereas in my pjo dr it’s the camp counselors group

In this dr I don’t have a scripted s/o but I feel like it’ll probably be poly percabeth or any mix from the seven. (definitely annabeth) I also am apart of the prophecy and get to be on the Argo, following a timeline in the heroes of Olympus series rather than the first one.

#⚚ - 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧.

This dr is completely show based off the show’s character looks. The personalities of some of the characters will also be mixed more with their actors, mostly the main trio. It’s set in camp half blood only, without camp Jupiter existing and I’m reworking the canon of the 1st series to make it more fun but also with a little bit of plot. (And scripting out obvious deaths and Luke turning.)

I will rework some ages of people and let it be more of a summer camp experience with a few quests, with obvious safety scripted in. Also, a lot of the people from the 1st series will be there, specifically Lee Fletcher (my bestie !!) castor, Pollux, silena, and beckendorf. In my heroes of Olympus dr I won’t get the chance to be with them so I want to in this one. My s/o is Luke :))). I love his actor so much and I was excited when they cast him!! So ofc he’s my baby <3. He’s genuinely so important to me.

Also, if I’m doing the prophecy and all this other stuff I won’t get to experience camp halfblood as much. I want to do capture the flag, chariot racing, all this stuff the little fun stuff I’ll be to busy to do in HoO, which is my reason for the two drs.

[santoschristos]

A B R A C A D A B R A

The word Abracadabra is said to derive from an Aramaic phrase meaning "I create as I speak." However אברא כדברא in Aramaic is more reasonably translated as "I create like the Word."

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made."

In the beginning was the Word: the Logos, the sound frequency (vibration).

We know that speech means not just any kind of a vibration, but a vibration that carries information.

Thus, I create like the Word.

In the Hebrew language, the phrase translates more accurately as "it came to pass as it was spoken."

History:

The first known mention of the word was in the third century AD in the work Liber Medicinalis by Quintus Serenus Sammonicus, a physician to the Roman emperor, who suggests to wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle:

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D

A - B - R - A - C - A

A - B - R - A - C

A - B - R - A

A - B - R

A - B

A

Abracadabra and the Gnostics:

Abracadabra was used as a magical formula by the Gnostics of the sect of Basilides in invoking the aid of beneficent spirits against disease and misfortune. It is found on Abraxas stones, which were worn as amulets. Subsequently, its use spread beyond the Gnostics.

Abraxas:

Have you ever been mesmerized while waiting for the sunrise? As you watch the horizon for that first burst of light, you get swept up in the eternal present moment. With baited breath, your sense of time is suspended, and you’re primed for a miracle. This is the “liminal zone,” the threshold between night and day, between here and there, between this and that. It’s the crossroads where anything is possible. And then the dawn breaks through, like a sudden burst of inspiration, like an act of creation: “Let there be light.” That is the magic of Abraxas, an enigmatic name that has perhaps always been closely associated with the power of the sun. This strange, mysterious name captures that magical, suspended, timeless moment: “all of time as an eternal instant.” Abraxas is the power of infinity—the promise of endless possibilities, the “cosmos” itself. In mythology, Abraxas is the name of a celestial horse that draws the dawn goddess Aurora across the sky. The name suggests a power that is not properly ours but rather a gift from another world.

But what of the name’s origin? It is likely, as an etymologist posited in 1891, that Abraxas belongs “to no known speech” but rather some “mystic dialect,” perhaps taking its origin “from some supposed divine inspiration.” Yet scholars, of course, search for a root. There are speculatory shreds of evidence which suggest that Abraxas is a combination of two Egyptian words, abrak and sax, meaning “the honorable and hallowed word” or “the word is adorable.” Abrak is “found in the Bible as a salutation to Joseph by the Egyptians upon his accession to royal power.” Abraxas appears in “an Egyptian invocation to the Godhead, meaning ‘hurt me not.’” Other scholars suggest a Hebrew origin of the word, positing “a Grecized form of ha-berakhah, ‘the blessing,’” while still others speculate a derivation from the Greek habros and sac, “the beautiful, the glorious Savior.” The name has appeared in the ancient Hebrew/Aramaic mystical treatises The Book of Raziel and The Sword of Moses, and in post-Talmudic Jewish incantation texts, as well as in Persian mythology.

An interesting occurrence of Abraxas is found in a papyrus from late antiquity (perhaps from Hellenized Egypt, though its exact origin is unknown). The papyrus contains “magical recipes, invocations, and incantations,” and tells of a baboon disembarking the Sun boat and proclaiming: “Thou art the number of the year ABRAXAS.” This statement causes God to laugh seven times, and with the first laugh the “splendor [of light] shone through the whole universe.”

The Basilideans, a Gnostic sect founded in the 2nd century CE by Basilides of Alexandria, worshipped Abraxas as the “supreme and primordial creator” deity, “with all the infinite emanations.” The god Abraxas unites the opposites, including good and evil, the one and the many. He is “symbolized as a composite creature, with the body of a human being and the head of a rooster, and with each of his legs ending in a serpent.” His name is actually a mathematical formula: in Greek, the letters add up to 365, the days of the year and the number of eons (cycles of creation).

“That a name so sacredly guarded, so potent in its influence, should be preserved by mystic societies through the many ages . . . is significant,” notes Moses W. Redding, a scholar of secret societies. Redding suggests that only in Freemasonry has this “Divine Word” been “held in due reverence.”

In Kabbalah:

As a carpenter the creator employs tools to build a home, so G'd utilized the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit (the Hebrew alphabet) to form heaven and earth. They are the metaphorical wood, stone and nails, corner­posts and crossbeams of our earthly and spiritual existence. As in abracadabra "Αύρα κατ' αύρα" אברא כדברא, as he, she, it created the universe with; the Letter, The word, and the number.

As Kabbalist sages say G'd created the alef-beit, before the creation of the world. "The Maggid of Mezritch" explains this on the basis of the first verse in the Book of Genesis “בראשית ברא אלקים את השמים ואת הארץ—In the beginning G'd created the heavens and the earth.” Beresheet Barah Elokim Et (in the beginning God created the) The word את, (es or et) is spelled with an aleph, the first letter of the aleph-beit, and a tav, which is the last. The fact is, את, es, is generally considered to be a superfluous word. There is no literal translation for it, and its function is primarily as a grammatical device. So why is “es” present twice in the very first line of the Torah? It suggests that in the beginning, it was not the heavens and the earth that were created first. It was literally the alef-beit, aleph through to tav. The alpha and the omega, Without these letters, the very Utterances with which G'd formed the universe would have been impossible the Baal Shem Tov explains the verse, “Forever the words of G'd are hanging in the heavens.”

The crucial thing to realize is that G'd, creator, source did not merely create the world once. His Her It's words didn’t just emerge and then evaporate. Rather, G'd continues to create the world anew each and every moment. His Her It's, words are there constantly, “hanging in the heav­ens.” And the alef-beit is the foundation of this ongoing process of creation.

According to Kabbalah, Cabbalah and Qabbalah sages and scholars, when the same letters are transposed to form different words, they retain the common energy of their shared gematria. Because of this, the words maintain a connection in the different forms. We find a classic example of this with the words (הצר, hatzar, troubles), (רצה, ratzah, a desire to run passionately into the “ark” of spiritual study and prayer) and (צהר, tzohar, a light that shines from within). All three words share the same three letters: tzaddik, reish and hei in different com­binations. The Baal Shem Tov, explains, the connection between the words as follows: When one is experiencing trou­bles (hatzar), and one runs to study Spiritual txts and pray with great desire (ratzah), one is illuminated with a G'dly light from within (tzohar) that helps him or her transform there troubles into blessings, as it is said that the source of the twenty-two letters is even higher than that of the Ten Commandments.

As it states: “With you, is the essence of G'd", בך means “with you.” The (Beit which has a gematria of 2) and the (kaf = 20) added together equals 22. Through the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit, we are all connected to the monad, G'd, Allah الله, the source, and each other through our words and language as words hold power as that which makes us All unique is language as language weaves everything together. These are the teachings of our holy teacher, as the The Zohar affirms that every sentence, every phrase, every word, and even every letter of the Bible exists simultaneously on several levels of meaning. This sacred work clearly declares, “Woe unto those who see in the Law nothing but simple narratives and ordinary words! . . . Every word of the Law contains an elevated sense and a sublime mystery.” [Except from Path of the Sun Keepers by Paul Francis Young]

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men's actions.” --Sigmund Freud

[staryingx]

Piecing together: The current timeline in Reverse 1999

CN SPOILERS up to Chapter 5 and Interlude. Long post.

The new Chapter 5 and Interlude for Reverse 1999 has shed some light on the Storm and its timeline. With all the new info, I've tried to piece it together as accurately as possible. Here's the timeline I have put together:

Let me break down my findings.

First of all, let's look at the IDM Computer with 37's Mother's prediction.

37 mentions "From 1999 to 2007, the emanation has taken place seven times". Here's how I interpret what the years mean in the Phenomenal column. It's like calling the effect of the Storm: for the first row, the 1996 Storm reverses the era 1999 to 1996. So the "1996 Storm".

The IDM only shows 6 Storms, so the 7th is the Storm that reversed to 1929. I wonder why she didn't include the 8th Storm (1929->1913), but that could be because it was the anomaly 2-day emanation that ruined the model prediction.

Here's a table I have made attempting to fill in the blanks of the IDM computer.

Let's analyze it Storm by Storm.

The 1st Storm (1999 -> 1996)

When: 23:59. December 31, 1999

Reverses to: 1996

Many sources for this, from the IDM showing 1996 to Greta, the writer of the letters in the interlude, mentioning it in her letters.

The 2nd Storm (1996 -> 1985) [Original: 2000]

When: 1996-1997.

Logs don't explicitly say when, but from the IDM we know it takes place ~1 year after the first Storm.

Reverses to: 1985.

We know this from Greta.

"Things remained unclear until time was reversed again. This time, we all witnessed that rain in the 80s. That was 1985."

She was safe in the Headquarters, witnessing the Storm reverse.

The 3rd Storm (1987 -> 1976) [Original: 2003]

When: On a 27th evening, 1987.

Greta: "The Storm in 1987 was predicted. "…but the prediction was not accomplished by LAPLACE. The captive from Manus Vindictae names the precise date of that Storm."

In Chapter 3, we learn the Foundation captured a Manus Vindictae member who gave them the date of the next Storm. Greta also mentions a captive from Manus predicted it.

Thus, this is the Storm that took place in the breakaway incident, where Vertin was 12-years old and witnessed the Storm for the first time.

Reverses to: 1976

Greta: "Finally, I made up my mind to write to [37's mother]... ... ... She died. On the same day, the first and only timekeeper who just took office, the 12-year-old child returned alone from the Storm. She told us the time in the outside world at that point." "...The last two digits in the number of the year after that Storm were exactly her name and her number: 77".

This was a bit hard to understand. I concluded the year it reversed to was 1976, as Greta said "the year after the Storm" was 77.

Original Year: 2003

Two years has passed from the 2nd Storm (1985) as this Storm took place in 1987. This fits with the year 2003 in the IDM computer. Also, when Sophia talks to Sonetto at the geometry graveyard:

Sophia: "Four years ago, my father was restored to a geometric body on his way back to the island. So was 37's mother who was also on that ship".

We know (or can at least assume) 77 is 37's mother who perished in this Storm. The current time is 2007, so four years ago is 2003.

The 4th Storm (~1976 -> 1930s) [Original: 2004]

When: 1976~1977/78

Reverses to: Some year in the 1930s

Original year: 2004

37: "In the initial four years, the emanation [Storm] has a pattern. First it brought us back to the 90s, then the 80s, and then the 70s. After that it suddenly leapt to the 30s."

When is the initial 4 years? 1999-2003, and this fits with our current pattern thus far from 90s -> 80s -> 70s. So the 4th Storm takes us to the 30s.

Sophia: "We miscalculated the impact area of the emanation. We thought the ships would be safe in the [...] current."

This confirms the Storm has a limited area it affects, where places hit by the Storm reverses to that particular year. The timeline of R1999 isn't going backwards linearly. This opens a lot of possibilities and eras we could visit.

The 5th Storm (~1930s-> 1912s) [Original: 2006]

When: Sometime in the 1930s

Reverses to: 1912

Original: 2006

37: ".... After that it suddenly leapt to the 30s. In the subsequent 3 years, [the emanation] took place twice."

When are the three years? The Storm that took us to the 30s was 2004. So the subsequent 3 years 37 refers to are: 2005, 2006, 2007.

The IDM jumps from 2004 to 2006. You can (very vaguely) make out "1912" from the year 2006. At least I think it's 1912. So the 5th Storm takes us from the 30s to 1912.

The 6th Storm (~1912s-> 1966s) [Original: 2007]

Here's where it gets interesting, and where I start to theorize things because there isn't much info yet about this Storm.

When: Theorized: 1912~1914

Reverses to: 1966

Original year: 2007

In 2007, there is a 6th Storm. This is likely the Storm before the beginning of R1999, which takes us to 1966 where Vertin meets Regulus.

Here's why I think this Storm fits with the IDM model and happens in 1912~1914, more possibly 1914.

In Chapter 1, Vertin lists down people she has met to Regulus.

Regulus: "Huh? It's Lewis. I know him!" Vertin: "Yes. I took this photo several days ago. He was selling the Hoover Upright Vacuum Cleaners in the West End, and thought photos would help his business, so he gladly took this." Regulus: "Why did you take a photo of him? How's he..."

Vertin's response is to take a deep breath.

This interaction was very interesting. Why is Regulus so surprised Vertin took a picture of Lewis? "How's he..." How's he what? Alive?

Now I'm not very familiar with historical figures named Lewis, so I could be very (and hilariously) wrong, but after researching who could be related to a business involving Hoover Upright Vacuum Cleaners, I speculate Lewis is John Spedan Lewis. His father, John Lewis, founded John Lewis, a British brand of high-end department stores.

In 1914, John Lewis hands Spedan Lewis control of a store named Peter Jones. Where is Peter Jones located? Sloane Square, London, which is in King's Road.

Vertin: "Yes. I took this photo several days ago."

This fits with the London location and timeline we know so far.  So a few days before Vertin met Regulus, she was in an area of 1914s where she met Spedan Lewis trying to get his store [Peter Jones] going.

Judging from her reaction, he got reversed by the Storm that took them to 1966. Spedan Lewis died in 1963, which is why Regulus is confused why Vertin has a picture of him taken several days ago, and why a wealthy Founder of high-end luxury stores needs a photo taken to help his business.

I thought this was a nice clue that Vertin was in ~1912s era before the 1966s, though this is all just speculation. Feel free to add your own theories who Lewis could be.

The 7th Storm (~1966s-> 1929s) [Original: 2007]

When: June 3rd, 1966.

Reverses to: February 14th, 1929.

Takes place in Chapter 0, where Vertin and Sonetto meets Regulus.

The 8th Storm (~1929s-> 1913s) [Original: 2007]

When: February 15th, 1929.

Reverses to: 1913

Takes place in Chapter 2, where Vertin meets Schneider, Druvis, and Sotheby. Manus Vindictae escalates the Great Depression to cause an earlier Storm. This era only lasts for two days.

These two Storms are straightforward since we witnessed them in game. I won't go into details about them. We're still in the year 2007 according to 37.

The Current Year in Ch 5: 1914 [2007]

Chapter 4 takes place from August 26th to October 10th 1913. The new Chapter 5 begins in 1914.

Eight storms have taken place thus far. Here's a summary with the timeline for reference:

1st Storm (1999 -> 1996)

2nd Storm (1996 -> 1985) [Original: 2000]

3rd Storm (1987 -> 1976) [Original: 2003] 

4th Storm (~1976 -> 1930s) [Original: 2004] 

5th Storm (~1930s -> 1912s) [Original: 2006] 

6th Storm (~1912s -> 1966s) [Original: 2007] 

7th Storm (~1966s -> 1929s) [Original: 2007] 

8th Storm (~1929s -> 1913s) [Original: 2007] 

The Current Year in Chapter 5: 1914 [2007]

Random thoughts:

I hope this post helped paint a clearer picture of the Storms and the possible timeline! Cause, whew, the reason I made this whole timeline was to make sense of it myself. So much lore was dropped in the new chapter.

A question that remains unanswered:

How do people predict the Storm? How can they tell the time in the outside world?

Moissan: "Since Timekeeper hasn't reported the time of this era to the Foundation, you two, as the Foundation investigators, shouldn't know what year this is."

We know 37's group predict them through patterns and math, but what about the Manus Vindictae and Vertin? Vertin just seems to... innately know through her pocket watch and Storm countdown timer on her bracer, perhaps related to her great sense of arcanum. I'm really curious about that.

Biggest Takeaways:

The Storm isn't going backwards linearly and it has a limited impact area. So that means some places not hit by the Storm remains untouched, while others get reversed to whatever era the Storm brings. The first Storm probably had the widest impact.

This means an era in the 1912, for example, could be "reversed" to 1966 if it was hit by the 1966 Storm. That's what I'm getting from all of this. Anyone in the Storm impact area just... poofs, and arcanists/humans in that time era spontaneously appear with the buildings and such. I really love this idea-story wise we could jump around eras.

Then we have places that are completely immune like the Headquarters, Suitcase, and 37's island. They are the only ones who can consistently keep track of time as they're unaffected like spectators viewing the outside world. For the Foundation, Vertin is their way of tracking time in eras: what era did a Storm reverse a place to.

Again, some of these are just speculations and my theories. If you noticed any information I missed out or a mistake, feel free to let me know whether through tags, reply, or even my asks if you're shy. Or if you would just like to talk theories or about Reverse 1999 I'm more than happy to :>

[lamemaster]

Kidnap Fam Gets Kidnapped

Request: @asianbutnotjapanese Listen LISTEN!! Maedhros is my favorite Alright But this is so unsettling, disturbing and the anxiety?😨 At first I was like okay it's fine ZombieMae but then I was like?????! Oh God I don't know if I love it and bury it down and forget about it.

Genre: Zombie au

Pairing: Maedhros x gn Reader

Summary: Stories told of the first of the ships arriving from Aman, its golden flags shimmering in the sunlight. Soaked in the ichor of the Valar. That was how it began, the first corruption. The last of the great eagles had spoken of it, their golden blood staining the shores of Aman.

AN: First of all sorry for how long this took. Second- this isn't the traditional zombie au but it's got the spirit. I hope you like it! I did not intend for it to be this goofy but boy do I like crack fic humor lol (somehow zombie Maedhros is pookie-coded)

The coying scent of a decaying bog filled your nose, followed by the sharp tang of monsoon pine. The contrasting smells teased at your senses, threatening to overwhelm you with a migraine.

Forests were like this, deceitful and alive with memories. They still clung to the Firstborn, their cherished ones who once walked beneath their shadows.

But this was no longer their sanctuary.

Cloaked in the dark of night, you crept through what had once been elven lands. That was before the plague. Before the disease hollowed out the dwindling numbers of the Firstborn who remained in Middle-earth.

Men, it seemed, were untouched by the plague.

The elders whispered that it had been the work of Mandos himself, the God of Death, corrupted by the relentless passage of time. Once the Prophet of Doom, Mandos had become doom itself, plunging Arda into darkness again.

Stories told of the first of the ships arriving from Aman, its golden flags shimmering in the sunlight. Soaked in the ichor of the Valar. That was how it began, the first corruption. The last of the great eagles had spoken of it, their golden blood staining the shores of Aman.

Now the Firstborn had returned to these lands, but they were no longer the elves who had sung to the stars. Their vacant eyes hid the will of Mandos.

You crouched low behind a bush, wary of the trees shuffling suspiciously nearby. Away from sight, you pulled out your map. Rivendell had to be close.

Elrond’s map was your only guide, the closest thing to an accurate depiction of the region.

The faint rustle of the Bruinen confirmed it. You had come closer than anyone had dared before.

The mission was supposed to be simple, or so you kept telling yourself.

Kidnap the minstrel son of Fëanor, the one luring the Avari into Mandos’ lair.

It sounded straightforward enough.

You groaned, forcing down your doubts with the liquid courage in your flask.

While the plague could not touch men, its victims had no such boundaries. Villages had been raided. Children and cattle taken, along with women. Only cold, lifeless carcasses were left behind.

The plague had changed everything.

Elves who once wept for felled trees had turned cannibal, their cruelty surpassing even the orcs, creatures that had once been twisted forms of their kind.

The most terrifying among them were the Feanorians.

Bound by their unbreakable oath, they were Mandos’ fiercest servants.

Many had tried to kill the Seven Doomsmen. Fire, swords, poison, even sorcery had failed. Death was Mandos’ domain, and death could not stop the plague.

The only solution had been imprisonment. The weaker ones had been chained, bound with the hymns of Varda to soothe their rage. But these methods failed against the sons of Feanor.

None of them had ever been captured.

Until tonight.

From your pouch, you pulled out the lock of Elrond’s raven-black hair, placing it in the clearing.

If anything could stir Maglor Fëanorian’s conscience, it was his adopted son, or so Elrond had hoped.

The scent was sure to draw him in. All you had to do was wait, acid ready in hand. A splash to his eyes would cripple him long enough to bind and gag him. After that, you would run to the nearest town, where your party awaited.

That had been the plan.

But the elf you picked up felt far larger than what Elrond had described.

No. This one was missing a hand.

A curtain of red hair brushed against your face, and the realization hit you. This wasn’t Maglor. This was someone worse. Maedhros.

Nelyafinwë.

There was no time to hesitate. Hauling the wrong elf onto your spooked mare, Leia, you whispered a promise to treat her later.

Maedhros, draped awkwardly in a cloak, groaned and ripped at Leia’s mane in his pain. The mare, impatient with his antics, snapped at him hard enough to draw a yelp.

“Good girl,” you muttered, gripping the reins tightly as Leia trotted through the night, her breaths sharp and uneven.

Elrond was going to kill you.

Of course, that was assuming the mountain of an elf in front of you didn’t do it first.

For now, Maedhros seemed more preoccupied with rubbing at his damaged eyes. The acid would leave him blinded for a week. A week of pain for him, and perhaps a moment of peace for you.

With his suffering eyes hidden behind a blindfold, Maedhros was still the very picture of elven beauty. The plague had failed to strip the Firstborn of their otherworldly grace. If anything, Mandos had enhanced it.

Elves were what men could never resist. With their predator’s allure cloaked in perfection, they were a trap for the Secondborn, captivated by flawless features and haunting charm.

Sitting across from Maedhros, you tried your best to feed him lembas, the closest thing to calming his mind. Yet the stupid elf kept going for your fingers, snapping like a feral creature.

Leia, your ever-patient mare, turned out to be a better disciplinarian than you. With one sharp, annoyed snort, Maedhros froze. After a reluctant pause, he finally opened his mouth, accepting the morsel of lembas.

“I know this is no substitute for Vala blood,” you muttered, guiding another piece toward him, “but trust me, you’ll want to be sober to meet Elrond.” He chewed, his movements finally more controlled.

“ You lot have traumatized him enough already. He needs a parent,” you said, your words tumbling out in a nervous ramble. “Maglor would have been better, but I think you’ll do. Maybe. Hopefully.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t kill both of us. You know what I mean?”

The question hung in the air, rhetorical. Or so you thought.

Maedhros answered it with a sickening pop of his shoulder, the sound sending a shudder racing down your spine.

Bound and subdued, Maedhros listens to the voices curling through his mind. They come in layers. His lord’s commanding presence, intertwined with the ghostly, persuasive echo of his father’s voice.

He remains pliant under your hold, his every movement deliberate, his compliance masking the storm within. The whispers weave themselves into him, insidious and unrelenting.

“Do not run, my son,” Feanor’s voice purrs, brimming with a chilling mix of affection and command. “Find their weakness, my dearest Nelyo. Uncover the fault lines of Arda’s last hold for our lord.”

This is the way. Maedhros will obey. He will do whatever is required to restore his father’s glory. Feanor, alive again, is no longer a memory but a shadow of the brilliance he once was. This existence, this chance, is a mercy granted by Mandos.

And for that mercy, Maedhros will give everything.

“Follow the mortal,” Mandos commands, his voice cutting through the whispers like a blade. Maedhros freezes mid-step, his sudden stillness sharp enough to make you glance back warily.

“You will be our mole,” Mandos continues, his tone crackling with malice. “The doom of men is near.”

The whispers grow louder, swelling until they drown out Maedhros’ thoughts completely. They dull his mind, sinking it into the numb, blissful haze of his lord’s power. This borrowed peace, stolen from the dominion of his brother, blankets his every sense. It is comforting, suffocating, and absolute.

“Bring us the fall of the Peredhel, Maedhros. Do it.”

The words burrow into him, deep and unshakable, sealing his purpose.

And so, he follows you.

In the fractured world cloaked in darkness, hidden within the fortress of doom, Mandos had unearthed the means to ensnare the Secondborn. The boon of death lay cradled in his palm, a gift as cruel as it was powerful.

The final mystery of Arda rested within his grasp, and the Children of Eru were now his. His to own. His to toy with as puppets. Mandos was no longer merely the keeper of souls; he had become the master of Arda itself.

Yet, as with every tale that shaped the fate of Arda, this one came with the most unlikely of heroes: a broken elf haunted by whispers of the past, a weary mortal clinging to the last threads of hope, and a horse whose temper could rival Tulkas himself.

[fugengulsen]

Piri Reis : Palestinian coastline and the cities of Gaza and Ramlah (present-day Gaza Strip), 1525 (Piri Reis, fol. 312a ) via David Rumsey Map Collection , Stanford , CA.

Piri Reis was a 16th century Ottoman Admiral famous for his maps and charts collected in his Kitab-ı Bahriye (Book of Navigation), a book which contains detailed information on navigation as well as extremely accurate charts describing the important ports and cities of the Mediterranean Sea. In 1513 he produced his first world map, based on some 20 older maps and charts which he had collected, including charts personally designed by Christopher Columbus which his uncle Kemal Reis obtained in 1501 after capturing seven Spanish ships off the coast of Valencia in Spain with several of Columbus’ crewmen on board. 

[a-big-apple]

Gideon, Harrow, and "Wedding Vows"

i frequently see the interpretation that this:

"The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried. The Lord do so and so to me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee," said Gideon. (GtN 438)

plus this:

"If I forget you, let my right hand be forgotten," her mouth was saying. "Add more also, if aught but death part me and thee." And, unsteadily: "Griddle." (HtN 360)

plus this:

It didn't even matter when Kiriona said, "Sure, Cam. Marry a moron, then die. I get the urge." (NtN 372)

equals Gideon and Harrow are married! crying face emoji!

i'm not disparaging that interpretation, i think it's valid and has some basis in the text, and even if it wasn't/didn't, i think fans should have all the fun they want. but for me, it doesn't fully capture the complexity of what Gideon and Harrow are to each other, and i want to explore a slightly less straightforward reading.

Catholic weddings, vows, and Ruth under the cut ;)

Gideon and Ninth House traditions

let's start with Gideon quoting Ruth. i've seen folks repeating the idea that this is a wedding vow. it's more accurate to say that this is a verse often used as a wedding vow, in other denominations of Christianity, and secularly as well. but in a (traditional) Catholic wedding, the couple can't write or choose their own vows--the Celebration of Matrimony has specific text, with one or two variations, that is always used.

now, we haven't seen a Ninth House marriage ceremony. if we do see such a thing in AtN and discover that Ruth 1:17 is part of that tradition, i will cry a million happy queer tears about it. but i think it's somewhat likely that Gideon has never even seen a Ninth House wedding, given how small and trending elderly the population is, and that we know no couples in her lifetime have had kids other than the Reverend Parents.

what i'm getting at here is that this quotation from Ruth doesn't seem, to me, to represent something that's religiously or traditionally binding in Ninth House culture. it uses some similar language to Catholic marriage vows, "until death do us part" etc, but i don't think these are words that make them married in the eyes of the Ninth or the Houses at large, i think these are words Gideon has chosen as a specific expression of her devotion. and where does she get them from, if not some Ninth House ceremony or scripture?

well, this is a slightly longer stretch, but at the point in the story when Gideon says this, she's already dead. Harrow has begun to absorb her--and thanks to "The Unwanted Guest," we know that souls are porous, permeable, and rub off on each other when they're in contact. Gideon's soul is at this moment being integrated into Harrow's; Harrow has certainly read all kinds of books on the Ninth ranging from usual to totally heretical, some of them probably extremely old, and it's not unreasonable to think writings from before the Resurrection might have been copied and recopied into something Harrow could access. And speaking of soul permeability, Harrow's had Alecto's soul clinging onto hers for seven years, and Alecto's soul is in intimate contact with John's soul--there are so many ways for this bit of scripture to make its way into Gideon's non-corporeal mouth. the STI (Soulfully Transmitted Infection) of biblical knowledge.

Ruth in context

now let's talk a little about Ruth, the book of the Bible and also the character of the Bible, and Naomi, who she is swearing her devotion to. tl;dr, Naomi and her husband and two grown sons are Israelites who immigrate to Moab, a "pagan" nation, to escape famine. Naomi's two sons marry Moabite women; then the sons both die, as does Naomi's husband. Naomi, having lost everything, decides to return home where she'll be penniless and have a bad life but at least she'll be among her people; she tells her two daughters-in-law to go back to their families. One of them goes.

The other, Ruth, refuses, and swears beautiful devotion to Naomi, as we've heard Gideon quote: "She answered: Be not against me, to desire that I should leave thee and depart: for whithersoever thou shalt go, I will go: and where thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried. The Lord do so and so to me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee."

in a biblical context, this has nothing to do with a wedding vow. Ruth is promising to leave the comfort of her own people, religion, and homeland to stay with her mother-in-law Naomi, even though the connection they had (Naomi's son, Ruth's husband) is gone, and all they have to look forward to is a terrible life of grief and bitterness. this is frequently interpreted as a parallel to Jesus, who (in the religious perspective) made the sacrifice of leaving his place with God and becoming human out of devotion to humanity, in order to live and suffer and redeem us. woof, this is giving me flashbacks to CCD.

of course, many Christians resist interpreting what passes between Ruth and Naomi as resembling a wedding vow for homophobic reasons too--making it about Jesus is a way to make it less queer--but i think the point still stands that this is a more complicated, and less marriage-related, expression of love than it seems taken on its own.

Harrow's lamentation

when Harrow later echoes it back, she conflates it with a different biblical quotation: "On the willows in the midst thereof we hung up our instruments. For there they that led us into captivity required of us the words of songs. And they that carried us away, said: Sing ye to us a hymn of the songs of Sion. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten. Let my tongue cleave to my jaws, if I do not remember thee: If I make not Jerusalem the beginning of my joy."

it's a lament, an expression of mourning, a longing for home from someone who has been forcibly removed from it. when combined with the Ruth quotation, in which Ruth is giving up her home in her devotion, this really reads to me as both Harrow's grief, immediate and overpowering, and a realization that Gideon is her home, and failing to acknowledge that is as disabling as the loss of a hand or of the power of speech. Gideon is the beginning of her joy, and Harrow is, in this moment, putting Gideon above the Ninth House in her devotion. above Alecto. above everything.

and again, i'm not saying all of that can't be about marriage, but it's about a relationship much more complicated than marriage can encompass in the context House cultural norms.

Kiriona Gaia, saddest girl

this brings me to Kiriona, and "marry a moron, then die." consider the context of this, and the tone. Kiriona's deeply, deeply hurt. the saddest girl in the universe. she died for Harrow, avowed her devotion to Harrow, and then (from her perspective) was rejected; buried; excised from Harrow's brain and then from her body. Kiriona, as she did when she was Gideon, covers her emotions with humor and sarcasm. i suspect she's even less able to handle being vulnerable as Kiriona than she ever was before. she's making light of Canaan House and what happened there, and it's only in sarcastically downplaying what she's been through that she recounts her relationship to Harrow as a marriage--something she has almost no positive examples of, something that is in her experience frequently political and joyless. also notably, she frames it as a marriage that occurred before she died.

Their actual vow

what Gideon (and Kiriona) really wants--she tells us over and over again--is to be a true cavalier.

and what does Gideon's ghost repeat right before she devastates us with Ruth 1:17?

"One flesh, one end," said Gideon, and it was a murmur now, on the very edge of hearing. Harrow said, "Don't leave me." (GtN 438)

it's taken me a dozen paragraphs just to propose that this is their vow. "One flesh, one end" are the actual words that need to be spoken, in Gideon and Harrow's cultural context, to bring them into an official union with each other; a union that is arguably more fundamental in the Houses, and certainly more complicated, than a marriage. a union Gideon specifically wants, and has seen in action.

in the pool, they vow to each other as cavalier and necromancer. in the moments before Gideon's death, she forgives Harrow again, and exposes her heart: "'You know I only care about you,' she said in a brokenhearted rush" (GtN 430). then she repeats their oath again, acknowledges the pain she's about to cause for Harrow, and rededicates herself to the Ninth--a place she never really belonged, Harrow's home and people more than her own, as Ruth dedicated herself to Naomi's home and people. Gideon "married" her moron in the pool, and now she dies to fulfill that vow.

and as we saw above, after Gideon's death, she reminds Harrow again of their union--of its importance, of how she's fulfilling what she has interpreted to be her whole purpose as a cavalier--and it's in response to Harrow's "don't leave me" that Gideon offers a final reassurance of her devotion. in her mind, this sacrifice is its ultimate expression, the most inextricable and undeniable union two people can achieve.

Gideon believes she'll be part of Harrow forever.