#and i just love all the characters (well most) so much

[inseobts]

Hello there, dear! I hope you're having a good day!

I absolutely love your "Accidental PDA" scenarios. Could I please request a part 2? Maybe with Shanks, Mihawk, and Crocodile?

I love those silly men~♡

(Accidental) PDA

characters: shanks, usopp, mihawk, crocodile, sabo

a/n: I tried to make them longer and added usopp and sabo, hope you don’t mind

words count: around 0.5k - 0.8k each

(zoro, sanji, law, ace, kid)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Shanks:

The tavern is loud, filled with the usual rowdiness of the Red-Haired Pirates, and you’re just trying to enjoy your drink in peace. Shanks, however, has other plans.

Without thinking, he throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you in closer as he laughs at something Benn said. It’s casual, effortless, like it’s second nature to him. You stiffen for a second, heat creeping up your neck, but Shanks doesn’t even seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

The crew does, though.

Lucky Roo is grinning into his plate, Yasopp gives a low whistle, and someone in the back yells, “Oi, Captain, didn’t know you were the handsy type!”

The teasing sets off a chain reaction. More whistles, some exaggerated winks, and a few dramatic “Get a room!” comments. Shanks finally glances around, noticing the way everyone is looking at you, at him, at the way his arm is still draped over you like you belong there.

And then, the bastard smirks.

“Jealous?” he asks, completely unfazed.

You, on the other hand, feel like sinking into the floor. You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge, only chuckles as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

“You could let go…” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Could,” he agrees, but his arm stays right where it is, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your shoulder “But I like this better.”

The crew erupts into laughter again, and you just know they’re never letting this go.

You groan, sinking deeper into Shanks’ side as the crew erupts into even more laughter and teasing. His arm is still draped lazily over your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your sleeve like he has all the time in the world.

“Captain, you should at least buy ’em dinner first!” someone calls out, setting off another round of whistles.

Shanks just grins “Dinner? Please, I treat ’em well every day.”

You swat at his chest, finally pushing him off you, only for him to dramatically clutch his heart like you just mortally wounded him “Ow, sweetheart, that hurt.”

“Not as much as this embarrassment,” you mutter, crossing your arms “Do you have to be like this?”

He hums, tilting his head as if considering “Hmm… yeah, I think I do.”

The crew howls at that, and Yasopp slaps the table “Damn, you’re really done for, huh, Captain?”

Shanks just leans in again, closer this time, and you can feel his warmth even though he’s not touching you anymore. His voice drops, low and teasing “I mean… you don’t seem to mind that much.”

You open your mouth to protest but what can you even say? That your face isn’t burning? That your heart isn’t racing just a little? Because that would be a lie, and everyone here would see straight through it.

So instead, you huff and grab your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Unfortunately, Shanks notices.

He chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he watches you, utterly amused “Oh yeah,” he murmurs “You’re definitely cute when you’re flustered.”

The entire crew loses it.

── .✦ Usopp:

The two of you sit together on the deck of the Sunny, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The ship rocks gently on the waves as you both watch Luffy, Chopper, and Franky attempt to launch themselves out of a makeshift slingshot (which is absolutely going to end in disaster).

Usopp is so focused on their antics that, without thinking, he reaches out and takes your hand.

Not in a grand romantic way. Not with any intention at all. Just… naturally. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Your fingers are warm, your grip instinctively curling around his. And for a few blissful minutes, he doesn’t even notice what he’s done.

Then, of course, someone has to ruin it.

Zoro snorts from where he lounges with his sword resting against his shoulder “Oi, Usopp, holding hands now? When’s the wedding?”

Usopp nearly throws your hand away like it’s on fire. His face goes red so fast it could put a cherry to shame.

He waves his hands frantically “W-WHAT?! I—HOLDING HANDS? WHO? ME? NO WAY!”

Zoro looks unimpressed “You literally just were.”

Luffy grins wide “Ohhh! Are you guys dating? Why didn’t you tell us?!”

Usopp flails, looking at you for help, only to find you laughing.

You’re not embarrassed. You’re not panicking. You’re just sitting there, watching him combust, an amused glint in your eyes.

Oh, this is bad.

Sanji smirks as he lights a cigarette “My, my, Usopp. Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Usopp’s hands are everywhere, gesturing wildly as he tries to dig himself out of this nightmare “I—I wasn’t—I mean, I was, but I wasn’t—”

Robin chuckles behind her book “Don’t worry. It was cute.”

Usopp makes a strangled noise that is somewhere between a squawk and a plea to be thrown into the ocean. His heart is about to explode. He can’t even look at you now.

And then you—still so infuriatingly calm—just shrug and say “Well, I don’t mind.”

Usopp forgets how to breathe.

Chopper gasps “So you are dating?!”

Usopp immediately short-circuits “THAT’S NOT WHAT THEY MEANT—WAIT, WHAT DID YOU MEAN?!”

You just laugh again, standing up and stretching like this is the most casual thing in the world “I’ll let you figure that out.”

Then you walk away, leaving a completely fried Usopp sitting there, hands in his hair, while the rest of the crew loses their minds.

Luffy grins “I think you just got confessed to.”

Usopp screams.

He stares after you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sanji exhales a puff of smoke, looking far too entertained “Well? You gonna sit there like an idiot or go after them?”

Usopp smacks his hands against his face “G-go after them? WHAT FOR?!”

Luffy tilts his head “Because they just confessed?”

“THEY DID NOT CONFESS!” Usopp shrieks, pointing wildly in the direction you disappeared. “THAT WAS VAGUE! THAT COULD MEAN ANYTHING!”

Franky crosses his arms “Could mean they like you.”

Chopper nods “Or that they wouldn’t mind if you liked them.”

Robin smiles behind her book “Or that they’re waiting for you to make the next move.”

Usopp is malfunctioning. His brain is overheating. This is worse than any battle, worse than any enemy encounter—this is romantic ambiguity, and it is killing him.

Zoro sighs, clearly losing patience “Look, either go ask them what they meant or sit here and keep yelling about it. Either way, shut up.”

Usopp grabs his head “This is too much. This is a nightmare. I need—I need time to process—”

Nami rolls her eyes “If you take too long, they might think you don’t care.”

Usopp bolts upright.

He cares. Oh, he cares. The thought of you thinking otherwise makes his stomach twist into knots.

He groans dramatically “UGH—FINE! I’LL GO!”

The crew cheers. He glares at them “If I die of embarrassment, I’m haunting you all.”

Luffy beams “Can ghosts hold hands?”

Usopp sprints before he can get sucked into another round of teasing.

── .✦ Mihawk:

The castle is quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery against fine china. You, Mihawk, and Perona are seated at the grand dining table, enjoying, or rather, trying to enjoy, dinner.

Everything is peaceful until your fork slips, clattering against your plate before tumbling off the table’s edge. Without thinking, Mihawk moves.

In one smooth motion, he catches the utensil mid-air, his fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back. It’s nothing, barely even a touch, but the air shifts immediately.

Perona, halfway through taking a bite, freezes.

Her wide eyes flick between you and Mihawk, and a slow, knowing smirk spreads across her face “Oh?” she sings, resting her chin in her hands “That was… interesting.”

You blink, confused “What?”

She grins “Didn’t know Hawky was the touchy type.”

Mihawk sighs, unimpressed “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Perona isn’t letting this go “Ohhh, don’t try to act all cool—I saw that.” She points her fork at him accusingly “You totally just pulled a ‘casually affectionate, but I won’t admit it’ move.”

You scoff, shaking your head “It was just a fork—”

“It was not just a fork!” Perona interrupts dramatically “He caught it! He touched your hand! He lingered!”

Mihawk pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every life decision that led to this moment “This is absurd.”

Perona leans in with a wicked grin “Admit it. You like them.”

Mihawk finally meets your gaze, and for just a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you see something flicker in his eyes. Something unreadable. Something dangerous.

Then, as if nothing happened, he looks away “You’re being insufferable” he mutters to Perona, taking a slow sip of his wine.

She cackles, delighted “And you’re avoiding the question!”

You, caught between amusement and second-hand embarrassment, shake your head “Alright, that’s enough. Can we just eat in peace?”

Mihawk exhales through his nose, giving you the faintest nod. But as you pick up your fork again, you feel his gaze lingering just a second too long.

And this time, you are the one avoiding eye contact.

Perona is still grinning, twirling her fork between her fingers as she watches you both like a cat who just found the perfect toy to play with “You’re blushingggg” she sing-songs.

You nearly choke on your drink “I am not.”

She gasps dramatically “Oh my God, you so are! This is the best day of my life.”

Mihawk sighs, setting his glass down with an audible clink “Perona.”

Something about the way he says her name, low, warning, should be enough to shut her up. Should be. But Perona, being Perona, just grins wider “What?” she asks innocently, resting her chin in her hands “I’m just making an observation. It’s not my fault that you—”

Mihawk lifts a hand, and for a moment, you think he’s about to cut her off with a sharp retort. Instead, his fingers brush against the base of his wine glass, moving it an inch to the side. A subtle shift. A deliberate one.

And then you realise his gaze hasn’t left you since this conversation started.

Your breath catches. It’s not dramatic, not obvious, but it’s enough.

Enough for Perona’s eyes to widen.

“Oh.” She leans back, eyebrows raising “Wait. Hold on. Wait.”

Mihawk finally looks at her, his usual unreadable expression in place “What?”

Perona points between you both “This is real, isn’t it?”

You stiffen “What is real?”

She gasps again, clutching her chest like she just uncovered the biggest secret of the century “You! Him! This! Oh my God, I was just teasing, but you’re actually—”

Mihawk exhales sharply, reaching for his wine again “Perona.”

“What! You can’t expect me not to react!” She gestures wildly “I live in this creepy castle with you, and nothing fun ever happens! Of course I’m going to enjoy this!”

You groan, rubbing your temples “Perona, I swear—”

But she’s already giggling, positively thrilled “Oh, this is so cute. Mihawk, are you going to deny it? Hm?” She bats her lashes dramatically “Gonna tell me I’m imagining things? That you don’t look at them like that?”

Mihawk doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he sets his glass down, levels Perona with a stare so sharp it could probably cut through steel, and says, voice smooth as ever “Mind your business.”

Perona lets out a scream of pure, unfiltered excitement.

── .✦ Crocodile:

The casino is buzzing, filled with the sounds of clinking glasses and the murmur of high-stakes deals. You walk beside Crocodile as he moves through the crowd, his presence alone enough to part people like the Red Sea.

It’s nothing new, he’s intimidating without trying, and people know better than to get in his way. But as the two of you step toward a private lounge, the crowd thickens, bodies pressing in too close. Instinct takes over.

A firm hand lands on your lower back.

It’s subtle, barely even a touch, but the warmth of it sends a jolt through your spine. Crocodile doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even glance at you—he just guides you forward, fingers pressing lightly, keeping you close as he moves with that same effortless authority.

You don’t even have time to process it before you hear a quiet, amused scoff.

Daz Bones, walking a few steps behind, raises a brow “Didn’t think you were the chivalrous type.”

Crocodile barely reacts. If anything, he looks bored, taking a slow drag of his cigar before exhaling, smoke curling through the air “Shut it.”

Daz, to his credit, doesn’t push. But the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smirk.

You glance up at Crocodile, expecting him to move his hand away now that the crowd has thinned. He doesn’t.

In fact, his fingers shift just slightly, a feather-light movement that sends a slow, creeping heat to your face.

Daz chuckles under his breath “Didn’t peg you as the clingy type, either.”

Crocodile stops walking.

The air changes.

It’s not obvious, no outburst, no harsh words, but the shift is immediate. Tension crackles, and for a split second, it feels like the temperature in the room just dropped.

Daz, wise as he is, raises his hands in mock surrender “Forget I said anything.”

Crocodile doesn’t even spare him a glance. His hand, however, still doesn’t move.

You swallow hard “Uh. You can—”

“Stay close,” he interrupts, voice low and even “People stare too much.”

It’s a flimsy excuse. You both know it.

But as his fingers press just a little more firmly against your back, guiding you forward once more, you decide not to call him out on it.

You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t trust yourself to.

Crocodile’s hand is still there, still resting on your lower back like it belongs, and every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of the heat seeping through his glove. You try not to think about it, try to focus on anything else, but the way his fingers occasionally press just a little firmer, like he’s keeping track of you, making sure you’re right where he wants you, has your thoughts spinning.

Daz Bones says nothing more, though you can feel his amusement. The bastard’s probably enjoying this way too much.

Finally, Crocodile leads you into the private lounge, away from the crowd. The moment you step inside, you expect him to pull away. To let go.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he moves past you to the plush seating area, finally sliding his hand away slowly, like he’s reluctant to do so.

You exhale, a little too sharply. His golden eyes flick to you, sharp and assessing.

“You nervous?”

You scoff, folding your arms to hide the way your hands might be shaking just a little “Please. Why would I be nervous?”

Crocodile doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling smoke in a way that feels almost deliberate. Calculated. Then, just as smoothly, he reaches for the glass of whiskey set out for him.

“You tell me,” he says finally, voice smooth as silk “You’re the one who went quiet.”

Your jaw clenches “You’re imagining things.”

He hums, low and amused “Am I?”

Before you can fire back, the lounge door swings open, and one of his subordinates steps in with a report. The atmosphere shifts immediately, Crocodile’s expression goes from teasing to cold, all business. He gestures for you to sit beside him on the couch, as if nothing just happened, as if he didn’t have his hand on you like a silent claim minutes ago.

You’re still reeling, still trying to get a grip on yourself, but you move toward him anyway, settling next to him as he begins discussing plans.

And then, so casually you almost don’t notice—his arm drapes along the back of the couch.

Close.

Too close.

Not touching, but close enough that if you shifted even slightly, his fingers would graze your shoulder.

It’s intentional. It has to be.

You glance at him, searching for any hint of smugness, but he’s unreadable. Just focused, listening to the report with that same cold indifference.

But when you shift in your seat, just slightly, testing—his fingers twitch.

Your stomach flips.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it. But that single, almost imperceptible movement is enough to confirm it:

Crocodile is absolutely doing this on purpose now.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo considers himself a composed man. A logical man. He doesn’t fluster easily.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until you came along and ruined everything.

It happens on a regular afternoon at the Revolutionary Army base. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and Sabo is absolutely not panicking…yet.

The two of you are sitting together, going over some mission reports. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious. Just work.

And then it happens.

Without thinking, Sabo rests his hand on your knee.

Not in a weird way. Not in an intentional way. Just… naturally. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You don’t move. You don’t even react.

Sabo doesn’t notice.

But Koala does.

She grins.

“Wow, Sabo, I didn’t know you were so affectionate.”

Sabo blinks “Huh?”

Koala gestures at your knee, where his hand is still resting comfortably.

He follows her gaze. Sees it. Processes it. Immediately short-circuits.

His hand jumps away like he’s been burned. He chokes on air. His soul leaves his body.

“I—THAT WAS—WAIT—” He scrambles for an excuse, for an explanation, for anything that isn’t I just did that on instinct like a lovesick idiot.

Koala smirks “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

Sabo malfunctions. He turns to you, desperate for backup, only to find you watching him with amusement.

Oh, this is bad.

Hack strolls by, raising an eyebrow “You two finally together?”

Sabo dies on the spot.

“WE’RE NOT—” He practically explodes, looking at you with betrayal when you don’t immediately deny it.

You shrug “I don’t mind.”

The world ends.

Koala gasps dramatically “So you wouldn’t mind if Sabo kept touching you?”

Sabo chokes “KOALA.”

You just smile “Nope.”

Sabo’s brain shuts down. His face burns. His entire life flashes before his eyes.

Koala grins “Sabo, you gonna sit there or take their hand again?”

Sabo does what any rational, composed second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army would do in this situation.

He runs.

Straight out of the room, down the hall, past a very confused Dragon, who barely lifts an eyebrow as Sabo barrels past him like he’s fleeing for his life.

He does not stop until he’s outside, hands on his knees, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“You okay there, Chief of Staff?”

Sabo jumps.

Koala is standing behind him, arms crossed, looking way too smug.

He straightens immediately, clearing his throat “I—I just needed fresh air.”

“Right,” Koala says, unconvinced “Totally not because you just had a full-blown crisis over a little hand placement.”

Sabo groans, burying his face in his hands “I wasn’t thinking! It was instinct! And then—and then they said—” His voice breaks. He can’t even say it out loud.

Koala grins “That they don’t mind?”

Sabo melts into the floor.

She claps him on the back “Come on, Sabo. This is a good thing.”

“How is this a good thing?!” He looks at her, betrayed “I made an absolute fool of myself!”

“No, you just made it obvious.”

Sabo freezes.

Koala raises an eyebrow, like she can see the realization hitting him in real time “Wait. Don’t tell me you actually thought you were being subtle this whole time?”

Sabo has to sit down.

He buries his face in his hands “This is a nightmare.”

Koala laughs “You’re so dramatic. Just go talk to them.”

“I can’t just—just walk up to them after that!” Sabo gestures wildly “What if they were just teasing me? What if they didn’t actually mean it? What if—”

“Why don’t you ask them instead of spiraling?”

Sabo hates how logical that is.

Koala grins “They’re still inside, you know.”

Sabo grits his teeth. Stands up. Forces himself to breathe.

And then, before he can overthink himself into oblivion, he marches back inside.

You glance up when he approaches “Hey, you okay? You ran out of here pretty fast.”

Sabo feels his entire existence collapse.

But he forces himself to focus, to stay calm. He sits down across from you, clasping his hands together like he’s about to deliver a serious political statement.

“…Did you mean it?”

You blink “Mean what?”

He swallows hard “That you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause.

Then you smile, tilting your head “Yeah. I meant it.”

Sabo forgets how to breathe.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand “Why? Do you mind?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. He is malfunctioning at maximum capacity.

“…No.”

You grin “Good.”

Then, so casually, you reach over and take his hand this time.

Sabo dies.

[persicipen]

hi hello! i saw in your reblogs that you’re unsure how to respond to reblogs so pleasee no pressure at all! 💗 anyway, my thoughts are a mess and honestly it’s hard for me to gather them in place because i got so invested and quite literally consumed by the world that i wasn’t even thinking of “what should i say to you after reading this paragraph” BECAUSEEE 🥹 this story was so captivating and i wanted to sink as deep as possible into the events!

10/10 story i need a hundred chapters of that /lh but i genuinely wish you feel rested and happy enough to continue it in your free time and without any stressful responsibilities that’d otherwise take you away from writing. i will be patiently waiting for future updates! 💗 if threefold story has no fans, then i am dead. and if the threefold story has any hater, then i will shield you from them <3

first things first — i adore reader here. she’s such a balanced mix of being slightly spoiled by her royal origins but also at a visible disadvantage now that she’s been taken far away from her home. and i love that she sometimes uses it so naturally even though deep inside she’s a very gentle and thoughtful person (like her recognising the palace patterns or acting almost childish when reminding the husband that mydeimos is “hers” — it didn’t feel out of character at all even though she was scared of overstepping) 🥺

such an amazing characterisation and how cold and lonely she feels in that new place T-T and that memory of her father saying that the sea is his second most beloved treasure eoughghhhhh tears in my eyes </3 SUCH AN AMAZING WORLD-BUILDING I MUST SAY !!! THE ‘3’ NUMBER BEING SO SPECIAL AND REAPPEARING SO MANY TIMES THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE STORY AND EVEN THE STORY HAVING THREE CHAPTERS MWAHHH ✨ POETIC CINEMA !!!

BUT anyway i am literally so scared of that husband. he is charming!!! scarily so!!! partially thankful that content warnings are only how they are because I FEAR for reader especially when he can so easily surprise her even during her talks with his cousin or even enter her chamber at night !!! AT NIGHT !!! what if he came to visit her a bit too early and saw her missing??? LET ME NOT— stoppp!

but i’m so so stressed because he is disturbingly well and very much alive at this moment and i just KNOW he’s the ultimate obstacle between reader and mydei AND I AM TREMBLING AT THE THOUGHT HOW THIS STORY CAN PLAY OUT 💔

let me not… let me not… i’m so fascinated by the whole world and reader as a person without even “inserting” myself in her place BUT allow me that one time, BECAUSE !!! BECAUSE MYDEIMOS CALLED HER A MOUSE OF A GIRL— the way my hand flew to my mouth after reading this… i know i know it’s just a metaphor and so fitting at that moment but as someone who associates with mice, very much so… it was a powerful blow. a critical hit, if you will. i gasped… 🥹 but genuinely i enjoyed this bit a lot because it broke the very first impression he had about reader — that she would be her husband’s pawn. it must’ve been a surprise even if mydei didn’t show it!

he…… mydei… mydeimos… i’m literally sprawled on the floor because everything about him is so heartbreaking in this story. he is still so proud and gleaming gold despite the sickness and awful treatment… reader is so me (and us all lol obviously) because how could you NOT visit him just to check on him and then unknowingly so fall for his pure and fierce charm… ❤️‍🩹

iughhhhh tears in my eyes AGAIN his characterisation here is so beautiful, like, obviously a lot can change because this au is completely different than the canon story but his very core remains the same and he really stole my heart poof just like that AGAIN <3

you say you don’t write smut but that last scene WAS EROTIC TO ME !!! it made me more emotional than any explicit love scene and I CRIED at that first tangible moment of trust between them. CALL ME BORING AND OLD-FASHIONED BUT SHARING BREAD WILL FOREVER BE SUCH A SPECIAL TROPE AND THE MOST POWERFUL OF SIMPLE GESTURES !!! <3

beautifully written across all 10k words ✨ i feel like a new person and YES even if it wasn’t so beautiful from a technical point of view I WOULD STILL DEVOUR THE STORY BECAUSE IT’S AMAZING but that is just one more thing to compliment !!!

you are such a skilled writer in conveying the story, the emotions, the atmosphere, the world-building, and the paragraphs themselves WOW i’m such a fan 💗 and i’m sorry for swooning and gushing over this piece so much but it really MOVED ME !!! thank you for posting this !!! <3

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little. 

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy. 

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less. 

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might. 

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart. 

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air. 

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three. 

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind. 

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood. 

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime. 

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for  you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said. 

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and  I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He  made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced. 

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

[bunni-v1]

HIHI! Before I make my request, I just wanna say that I absolutely ADORE the way you write the crk characters! The posts you have about Shadow Milk are scarily accurate. On another note, I really enjoyed the Burning Spice x reader hcs, and for my request, could you maybe do some Burning Spice NSFW hcs?🤧🙏 I haven't seen many people do requests for him, so I figured I'd step up and ask!

Burning Spice NSFW Headcannons

🍓Girl, I gotta clear out my askbox AGAIN. I clean it out and then y'all come back with a vengeance. Anyway, you were the first person to rq this, so congrats, you get the special answered ask! Yay! Anyway, Burning Spice is SUCH a challenge for me because we have virtually no content of the guy. This is 90% guesswork on my behalf, so please give me grace lol. Sorry if these are short and kinda bad, my motivation is low rn lol

Tw: NSFW; Rough Sex; Marking (like, bruising and biting); blood mention; predator/prey dynamic mentioned

Info: Burning Spice Cookie x Reader; NSFW

-Burning Spice Cookie is surprisingly lax about sex. It's not something that interests him too much, because once you've done it so many ways, you cannot do much more spicing it up.

-Pre-corruption he had sex semi-frequently with various different partners over a long period of time, but the closer he got to corruption the more... boring sex became. There wasn't much appeal other than dominating his partner, and even then, once he did that it was kind of nothing.

-He's experienced and he's very good at what he does, but he doesn't really care to initiate in most cases. Despite what most might think of him, he values the time he spends with you. Sex seems like it would be a waste of it, so he just doesn't bother with it.

-Unless, of course, you seem to be into the idea. Then his tune changes. Oh, his little warrior wants to try something different? Alright, sure, but he won't hold back on you. (He does, of course, because he can't have you crumbling on him.)

-Your first time with him is... interesting. He is, in all meanings of the word, considerate of you and your well-being the whole time. But, he's also doing everything in his power to see what makes you tick. How far can he push you this time before you need to tap out, how many orgasms can he get, how hard can he get your legs shaking?

-He likes to push you. A big part of his style of sexual intercourse is dominating. In most cases, he likes to go as hard as he can as fast as he can, but he has an inhuman tolerance when it comes to you. So he takes his time figuring out how to dominate you.

-He likes things that puzzle him, he likes having his mind challenged, he likes to have something for his mind to do. With sex, this is especially important. He gets off on the thrill of figuring you out, he wants to see the way you react to everything.

-He's big on predator/prey dynamics, like, really big on them. He likes to set you loose and give you a fixed amount of time to throw him off your trail. Run, hide, set traps, and he'll come after you like a wild animal starved for weeks. You always think you've got him, but he waits until you're comfortable to strike, and he takes you wherever he finds you - so hiding in public isn't a smart idea... or it is... depends on what you're into.

-Speaking of, he is a big proponent of public sex. Like I said in his initial headcannons, he loves to show you off. You both have a lot of pride in being the other's partner, so why not show it off in every way possible?

-Usually, this manifests as him having you bounce on him on his throne while loyal followers come and praise him. They'll be showering him with flowery words and begging for his acknowledgment, but his eyes are only on you. He soaks in your nervous expression, loving the way you shy away from the other cookie's eyes.

-It also can be more ritualistic. What I mean is that, he very well enjoys having people watch, so why not make a festival out of it. The two of you will be on a huge platform, surrounded by rich silk sheets and the eyes of his most loyal followers. They cheer the two of you on, shouting praises and exclamations of joy as you reach your climax.

-Do not think that this means he's in any way okay with sharing. He is not, it's a one-way ticket to get crumbled. If any cookie is foolish enough to even propose the idea they don't live to tell the tale. Look, enjoy, but don't touch.

-A lot of sex with him actually starts as sparring. You are very weak compared to him, so he rarely goes out of his way to spar with you, but he does. When he does, it always ends with you bent over and babbling his name like a mantra.

-He can't help it, the way you fight him with such a cute determined little expression really makes the cogs in his head turn. Flushed face, chest heaving, oh you look heavenly. Wouldn't you look nicer with him splitting you on his dick? Yes, he seems to think so.

-He likes it when you fight back against him, make him work for his own high. It's just what he wants. Kick and bite and punch and scratch as much as you can, he wants to see the marks you leave on him. He wears them with pride, just like you should his.

-And he does mark you up, very well. Your body is littered with bites from him, and you have several new bruises where he restrains you. The most prominent ones are on your thighs, the perfect outline of his fingers practically burned into your dough.

-You always bleed when he bites, his teeth are sharp, and he never cleans it up. He likes seeing the crimson jam dribble down your body. It's a beautiful sight, the very essence of you leaking out for him to see. When he's feeling particularly romantic, he'll smear it across his lips like makeup, and kiss along your body leaving a trail of blood-soaked kisses in his wake.

-Something else to mention, he very much likes to see the two of you connected. He enjoys watching himself sink into you, and he does it in silence. To him, it's beautiful to see your bodies meld together. Even more so, he likes to see evidence of himself in you.

-So, he always cums inside and he never uses protection. He likes to see his cum leak out of your abused little hole, he'll scoop it out of you after the fact with a scary reverence in his eyes. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but he cleans you up well, so it's best to let it be.

-He also likes to feel himself while he's inside you. He'll press on your stomach so he can enjoy the way he fits more directly. If you squirm, it just makes it all the better for him. The pleasure is only heightened by your wiggling, so keep it up.

-Okay, we have to acknowledge his size. It's impossible not to do so with how big he is in the game - he is significantly larger than every cookie we've seen so far.

-His dick is large, like very large. It's more... normal... than Shadow Milk Cookie's, but it's not regular by any means. It's big, nearly eight inches long, and about five inches thick. It's the same color as his dough all the way up to the tip, which is a deep reddish-brown color.

-The tip is flat and wide, and it's the same thickness along the entire shaft. The first push-in is always the hardest, but as soon as you adjust, it's easy to take the whole thing... well... what you can fit at least.

-Oh, one last thing, his dick is ribbed. Several bumps line the shaft in a nice pattern, and it rubs you inside like a dream. He knows the effect it has on you too, and he uses it to get you to melt against him like butter.

-He's rough, and he goes rather hard and fast, but he can slow it down sometimes. It's rare, and it isn't something he thinks to do in most cases, but occasionally... just sometimes, you'll get a sweeter side to him.

-That doesn't mean it isn't intense, though. It is intense, even more so than his other style of sex. But it's for different reasons this time.

-Instead of fucking he is making love to you, which seems to be out of character, but I promise you it's not. He loves to show you his devotion to you, and a great way of doing that is through sex.

-If you are, for any reason, feeling insecure he uses sex as a means of expressing just how much you mean to him. Words can only do so much, gifts and mortal possessions are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but this? The physical connection between the two of you? It's something more, something deeper than anything else he could give you.

-He holds you close, usually facing him on his lap, and slowly ravishes you. There is to fighting or bruising or biting like this, just raw passion that he has for you. Not an inch of your skin is without his burning touch, the heat between the two of you fogging your mind until you can no longer think.

-The pace he sets is slow and deep, each thrust and movement a deliberate show of his admiration for you. It's only then that you'll hear him praise you, words of affirmation spilling from his lips like warm honey, encouraging you to keep going for him.

-What is the most intense, what gets you shaking, is the way he looks at you. His eyes are unblinking and affixed to your face with nothing but sheer devotion and love. He doesn't let you shy away either, you need to look at him, to see how much he adores you. Only once you are jelly against him will he be satisfied that he has done his part.

[harmonysanreads]

To me, Dr. Ratio is like that one specific topic/subject that I'd force myself to read because of its importance for an exam and during the process, fall in love with it realizing its intricacies. I originally did not like him at all ; his snooty talking style and apparent lack of respect used to give me some not-so-kind flashbacks from middle school Math class.

He irked me so much that I had to start a fic with the exclusive wish of emotionally torturing him, which then spiralled into a long-fic because, as I was looking into his lore, I realized that there is practically nothing on his origin story besides that one letter from his teacher. How exactly did he come to harbor this specific ambition? How were his philosophies formed? How old is he? Does he still have a living family or, did he EVER? They don't tell us! And that drove me crazy.

It's honestly such a pity. When you look at all the theories about him and realize just how much potential he has and that the writers aren't utilizing it. He has maybe an hour worth of screentime from Crown of the Mundane and Divine and Penacony quest combined which I personally think is criminal. You look back on those scenes and find some info that has your brain malfunction for a second. What do you mean Ratio knew that the Astral Express could be used as a weapon and the whole deal about “Dormancy”? And they also never explain themselves after dropping these information!

Dr. Ratio is unfortunately one of the most mischaracterized characters in this game and as someone who used to be a part of that crowd, I just want to extend my solace to all Ratio lovers. As well as encourage anyone with similar feelings of dislike or, someone who currently does not understand him to spare some effort into studying him. Take your time and don't be discouraged, what matters most is that you start thinking.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Casino Date

SUMMARY: You made a pact with Mammon and it gave you enough luck at gambling to win any and all games in the casinos. What would that be like? Would an incubus try to seduce you into replacing Mammon with him?

CHARACTERS: Mammon x Reader

TAGS: Fluff; Sexy; GN Reader 

WORD COUNT:  1.900 words 

COMMENTS: There are a lot of interesting things that were introduced in Obey Me that they never explored well or at all. One of them is the “amazing luck” that a human who makes a pact with Mammon has. So I wanted to explore these things a little bit.

'In Lesson 35-6 (NB), Belphegor brought up that Mammon's greed powers grant “amazing luck” to any human that has a pact with him.' Although I'm pretty sure they say this in the original game too, but I can't remember when.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy 💛

After you made the pact with Mammon, he started taking you to casinos with him. He convinced you to play and share the profits since your luck (that makes you win every single game you play) came from the pact with him. Thanks to you, he got a lot of money to the point where he was not only able to pay off all his debts but also buy a lot of things for you.

He loves giving you gifts. So much so that you were wearing a luxurious and expensive dress/suit that matched Mammon's own suit on this day.

But to maintain this you had to go to the casino several times to play and win. The problem is that some other demons started to notice this luck. They looked at you and Mammon, saw you sharing the money with him and thought that maybe if they seduced you, they could be the new recipient of your money and affection.

One of those incubus was watching you, waiting for you to be alone, but Mammon wouldn't let go of you. Like, AT ALL! He would make any excuse to put his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. Whenever you won (which was always), he would kiss you on the cheek. (He was too embarrassed to kiss you on the lips in public).

He seductively convinces you to always play one game after another.

“Come on (Y/N), just one more.” he said in your ear and with his hand on your waist. “I promise we'll hit that VIP room you like after this one. The Great Mammon will order their best Demonus and we'll celebrate another day of riches.”

That's what you always did. The end of a day of winning big at the casino ended with the two of you in a private VIP room celebrating together.

But one thing you didn't do together was go to the bathroom. And this was the only moment the incubus found to approach you. You were sitting on a comfortable, luxurious sofa with your favorite drink while Mammon went to the bathroom.

The incubus sat down beside you. He wasn't touching you, but he was acting very similar to Mammon, sitting comfortably with his legs spread and taking up a lot of space. He greeted you and started talking to you as if he wanted to know more about you because you seemed like such an interesting person.

He didn't seem to be in a hurry, because he had devised a plan with another succubus for her to distract Mammon until he got your number or something like that.

When Mammon left the bathroom and started making his way back to where you were, the succubus got in front of him and started to flatter and flirt with him. She talked about how he was one of the most powerful demons, how good he looked in that suit, how she had all the magazines he posed for... And at first, Mammon took it as praise from a fan. It was only when she seductively grabbed his arm and tried to convince him to go with her to a more private place that he immediately made her let go of him.

“Yeah... Sorry, but I'm not that kinda demon. ‘Sides, I'm already taken. And speaking of which, I have to go, they're waiting for me.”

He says goodbye politely and returns to his original route when he is stopped again by the succubus.

“Aww, but you are the Great Mammon~ You don't deserve to settle for just one human just because you made a pact with them.”

"And what’s that suppos’ to mean?" he asks, clearly starting to get irritated.

“It means..." she moves closer to him. “that it's not because of a pact that you can't have fun with someone better~” she raised her hand to touch his chest but he stopped her, grabbing her wrist midair.

“Ya don't even know them to know if there’s someone better. But I'll spare ya the search: There is not!” He lets go of her wrist. “And if I hear ya bad mouthin’ them, I'll show ya why I'm the strongest demon here.”

He continues walking towards where he knew you were sitting, leaving the succubus behind, irritated at having been rejected and even threatened. Meanwhile, you had noticed the incubus' advances and stood up to get away from him, but he also stood up and stoped in front of you to block your path.

“I'm telling you, you won't regret investing in me.” He gets too close to you and caresses your face despite your uncomfortable expression. “I can make you feel much better than that failed ang-”

Suddenly a hand grabs his wrist that was caressing your face and turns him around to face an angry Mammon that made the incubus cower in fear as he groaned from the pain he felt in his wrist.

“Than that failed what?! ... Com’on. Say that to my face!”

The incubus was clearly scared, but thinking quickly he decided to defend himself by turning to you and say: “Is this the demon you made a pact with?! He is so aggressive! You must suffer so much being stuck with him.”

Mammon's confidence dissipated, replaced by uncertainty and shocked denial. He loosened his grip on the incubus' wrist, but in that instant you slapped the incubus across the face so hard that it left a mark.

“You know nothing about him!” you say to the incubus now scared of you. “And if you say anything like that about him again you'll find out that I can be much worse!”

Meanwhile, Mammon had already let go of the incubus' wrist, who began to slowly move away from the two of you until he started to run away. You look at Mammon's face, he's blushing a little and he's looking at you in surprise but also... with desire. But then he gets shy and tries to pull himself together.

“I, huh, that was, huh, kinda cool. B-but I had everything under control, ya didn't need to get involved.”

“Really?” You say. “Because you seemed affected by what he said.”

He looked away, embarrassed and still trying to deny that fact. You suggest playing just one more game and then requesting your VIP room. He accepts enthusiastically.

After winning another game, Mammon is the one who asks for a room for the two of you and to have some Demonus. When your VIP room is ready, you see the chaise longues, low lights, and a bottle of Demonus in an ice bucket between two menus with dinner options. As soon as he closes the door and you two are alone, he turns to you with a slightly worried expression and not being able to look you in the eyes.

“You... don't regret making the pact with me... do you?”

You say no and that you were right about what that incubus said affected Mammon.

“Well... maybe... it just made me think, that's all!... I...”

“You are not aggressive towards me.” You assure him. “In fact, of all your brothers, you were always the one who treated me the kindest. Even before you get to know me. And despite the things you said at the time.”

He smiles embarrassedly.

“Yeah... well... about that... I was just...”

“Protecting your loved ones.” you complete. “Just like you did to me today.”

You smile at each other and he finally attacks you with a hug and a kiss on your lips. One of the most loving kisses he could give you, and you can tell by the almost possessive way he holds you.

“I would never hurt you.” he whispers to you after the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

“I know.” you reassure him. “Now, how about we try that Demonus before the ice melts?”

*

When Mammon drinks, he gets in a much higher spirit than usual.

“Your glass’s already empty?” He refills your glass of with a smile on his face and without asking you if you want more. “Are you tired of this Demonus? We can order another one!”

But the truth is that you were already getting tired, it was very late and that wasn't your first bottle of Demonus. You yawn.

“Aww, you're not tired already, are ya?”

He seemed full of energy and ready to start a party with everyone in the casino, but knowing how drunk Mammon was, you would give him another minute until his energy suddenly dropped to an even lower level than yours.

You had to make him stop before that because you needed to get home and he couldn't drive in that state. And even if he said he could, you would stop him even if you had to use ‘STAY’.

The best way to convince him to do what you want is to seduce him, especially when he’s in that state. You lean against him, running your hands over his chest and face to draw all of his attention to you. You lazily admit that you're tired and want to get out of there so you can both rest together, and you also show your concern because you don't want him to drive drunk.

“Oh, don't worry about it!” he says with a confident smile. “The Great Mammon can sober up in no time!”

You look at him clearly not believing it.

“Fine... maybe it will take a while...” he admits.

But then he seems to have an idea. He looks at you again with that desire in his eyes and holds you by the waist.

“Did ya know that this casino is part of a hotel?... We just need to ask for a room and go up in the elevator.”

He doesn't need you to say anything because your little grin gives you away. For a second he lost his balance as he stood up, but right after he regained it. He takes you with him to find the manager so he can ask for a bedroom for the two of you. No, not just any bedroom. A suite! No, better yet, the best suite there is, even if is the most expensive one! In fact, the best one they could find for the two of you was the most expensive one! The most luxurious one!

And that's exactly what he gets you. You really live like one of the richest couples in Devildom since you started winning every single game thanks to the luck that your pact with Mammon gives you. Your suite didn't just have a king size bed, it had armchairs, a chaise longue and, most obviously, a jacuzzi in the corner of the room.

As soon as you enter and he closes the door, he grabs you and starts kissing your lips until he starts going down to your neck.

“Did I already told ya how hot ya look today?” You could tell he was more relaxed and sincere because of the Demonus. “‘Specially when ya slapped the shit out of that fucker.” His voice changed, becoming more and more desirous.

Even though he likes to appear tough to others, you know he likes it when you are the tough one in the relationship. So you're going to turn him one even more if you gently grab him by the collar and pull him into bed with you.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[ghosthoard]

thanks for the tag perry!!! it's been fun reading everyone's lore!!!

boy do i got a doozy for you guys. i wrote this from a post in december and it's perfect for this so i'm reusing it. i cut half of it off cause it's way too long, so if you're interested it's linked.

When I was younger I got a DS for the first time and I was given a couple of games. The one that really hooked me was Pokémon Diamond, and the Zelda game I was given was Phantom Hourglass.

I tried Zelda, and I distinctly remember breaking pots and carrying around chickens as Toon Link. Then I set out past the village and into the wide world and that’s as far as I got because the monsters started to attack me and my heart sped up and I couldn’t take it. So I ran back to town. Hyped myself up, tried again, and ran back to town to stay there forever.

As a teenager, I gained an amazing friend who did not cower in fear and left the town in all Zelda games and became a super fan. We met through the anime Naruto but soon we shared our other interests. They were the one to tell me that all the Links and Zelda’s are not the same, in fact they’re all different people and not just the same characters in different art styles like I thought all my life. With that mind blowing revelation out of the way, they proceeded to tell me about how they enjoyed stories where the Links met. This didn’t mean as much to me personally at the time and I thought it never would (I was naive).

When we became adults, and my friend got an adult job, they set a trap. For my birthday, they sent me their old switch and a copy of breath of the wild. And of course I had to play it then. I was obligated to if I was sent a whole dang game console and a 60 dollar game.

So I started playing, I left the plateau and I never looked back.

I played that game obsessively. It was the first time in a while I’d actually played a game to the end or at all as I've only watched let's players for years by now. I fell in love with the world and of course I fell in love with Wild.

So I sought him out in other forms. (Therein lies the trap, the elaborate scheme, it all comes back to Linked Universe).

And I know it might be upsetting to some of you, but I did not connect to the other Champions all that much throughout the game. The only characters I got attached to was Wild, our horses, and Beetle.

So I asked for fanfic recommendations from my friend, who is and always will be my Zelda Authority (my 'za if you will). They sent me a couple of fics, one that started with purely BOTW and the next fic went into more LU. I read it, haven’t finished it to this day but I liked it. But again, I wasn’t too attached to the other Champions, but boy was I craving some form of found family and always will. So even though I didn’t know anything about the other Links, I took a crack at LU.

But funnily enough, I didn’t start with the comic. I went straight to AO3 and whenever a new Link was mentioned I would go to Google and search their game, and based their appearance to their game canon. It was at this point I mixed up Hyrule with Warriors because Wars comes from Hyrule Warriors which literally had Hyrule’s name in it??? so based off of Wars’s canon appearance, in my head Hyrule was a big brother type who was taller and broader than most of the others, i was very wrong and very confused. It came to the point that I had to clarify which link was which. And I finally opened up the LU comic for the first time.

I read it so quickly and caught up so soon (in one sitting) that I remember being distraught that I did. But that was what fanfic is for baby.

(Just as an aside, I think I still had problems distinguishing the links while reading LU, I wasn’t sure which one was Sky and which one was Hyrule, and I mixed up Time and Twilight a lot. Four, Wind, and Legend were easy. And of course I knew which one was Wild).

Even then though, I didn’t know these boys well at all. We just all met at a social gathering and we did an icebreaker together, you don’t really get to know people through an ice breaker. So while I read fanfic, a lot of references flew over my head, I didn’t know the nuances of why this character did that, or what this event really meant to them. My friend helped me a lot again but most of my learning was from just reading more and more. This way I learned about what adventures each link had and how it shaped them.

I remember telling my friend that I loved how each of them had so many interesting secrets. What do you mean Four can split into four and also turn bite sized? What do you mean Hyrule has cursed blood, the entire triforce, and can turn into a fairy? What do you mean Legend has been on 6 adventures and can turn into a mermaid??? I loved all of it. It's been fun rereading fics after learning more about the boys since now i understand the nuances based on their histories.

Oh, that's why Four said that to Wild because of his history with Shadow! oh legend's like this because of marin and everything else he's been through! oh, there's so much more meaning in what this link says based on their past!

I loved the concept of successors and predecessors, mentors and bloodlines. The fucked up timeline. I love how each of them have spent time with the others in some way shape or form or been affected by their past iterations actions.

I consumed so much fanfic it became my second most bookmarked fandom on AO3 in almost less than a month.

i'd love to learn about everyone's origin story: @alicewritingstories @queenofmoons67 @elle-rosewater @links-in-time @anthemxix @st0rmyskies @hotcheetohatredwastaken @vaathnaos @maesonc

A question!! Maybe a chain?

When did you get into LoZ, and how?

For me, I played BotW years ago and really enjoyed it but couldn’t get really into any of the other games. About a year and a half ago (I think?) I happened upon Linked Universe. I didn’t know who half the cast was but I was SMITTEN. After that I started ALBW and it was all over for me.

No pressure tags

@starwolfie @kilgoreontralfamadore @chibinur @raven8224

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it!gf vs deployed tf141 bf

hey friends :) it would be much appreciated if you helped me earn some extra money, without even giving me any of your own (you could even sign up and earn some yourself!) by clicking this link!

Your boyfriend is one of the most highly trained, battle-hardened soldiers on the planet. His dog? The meanest, toughest, most well-trained Rottweiler you've ever seen.

And now? That same terrifying dog is currently under your care, with specific instructions NOT to spoil them…you can listen to the most basics of asks, right?

RIGHT?!?

Captain Price – "a Disney character"

Price kneels beside Ruby, scratching behind her ears one last time before he has to leave. His hand lingers on her thick fur, and his usually steady, commanding voice softens. "You take care of her, girl."*

Ruby lets out a soft chuff, pressing her head into his palm.

You sniffle. "I promise I’ll take good care of her, John."

He stands, turning to you. "I know you will, love. Just don’t—“He pauses, his brows furrowing. "Don’t go doin’ anythin’ weird with her, alright?"

You tilt your head. "Define weird."

He squints. "You know what I mean."

You absolutely did not.

One week later.

You send the first picture.

A delicate, pink tutu around Ruby’s waist. Light-up fairy wings strapped to her back. Her nails painted a perfectly coordinated shade of pink.

The best part?

She looks proud as hell.

Your phone immediately pings.

Price: The fuck is this, sweetheart?

You send another one. This time, Ruby is lounging on her brand new, overly expensive luxury dog bed, wearing a tiny princess crown.

Price: I leave her with ye for one fuckin’ week and she’s already been turned into a bloody Disney character?!

You: Oh hush, she loves it. Look at her face!

Price groans so loudly that his whole unit hears it. Soap leans over, sees the picture, and wheezes. "Aw, hell, Price. She's fuckin' royalty now."

Ghost, glancing over: "She looks happier than you do when your girl spoils you."

Price rubs his temples. "You're all bloody useless."

A week later, he receives a handwritten letter along with another photo—this time, of a handmade scarf for Ruby.

He stares at the picture, sighs, and mutters under his breath: "Jesus Christ, she’s turned my guard dog into a bloody princess."

Ruby is a princess.

And when he gets back? She refuses to go anywhere without her tutu.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "Super Hank, Defender of Snacks"

"Alright, Hank, you be good for her, yeah?" Gaz kneels down, ruffling his dog's fur. Hank wags his tail, panting happily.

You pat his head. "Oh, don’t worry, babe. We’ll be fine."

Kyle gives you a suspicious look. "Why do I feel like you’re about to do some shit?"

You grin. "Define shit."

He sighs. "I hate that response."

Two weeks later.

Gaz finally gets phone service and opens his messages.

The first thing he sees?

A picture of Hank, sitting like a goddamn superhero, wearing a full custom-made Superman cape.

The second picture? Hank in a full Batman outfit.

The third? A custom graphic that says: "HANK, DEFENDER OF SNACKS!"

Gaz: BABY WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY DOG?

You: Enhanced him.

Gaz nearly breaks his phone. "Oh my fucking God, she’s turned my damn dog into a cosplayer."

Soap, seeing the pictures: "I dunno, mate. He looks pretty fuckin’ heroic."

Ghost, from somewhere in the distance, voice full of humor. “More capable than you, probably."

Gaz groans. "I hate all of you."

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "for you and boy!"

Ghost stares at you, his hands resting on his hips. "You sure you’ll be alright with him?" Goodbyes always were a little cold and distant with him, a little awkward. This was no different, even though you’d been through many of them work him.

Boy sits beside him, posture perfect, eyes watchful.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Simon. I think I can handle a dog."

Ghost hums. "Alright. Just—" He looks at Boy. "Don’t let her turn you soft, mate."

Boy wags his tail. Simon plants a fat slobbery goodbye kiss on you and smacks your ass before heading out, duffel in his hand.

A month later.

Ghost finally gets service.

And he immediately regrets it.

The first picture? Boy, wrapped in a crocheted sweater—one that matches a homemade balaclava clearly mid crochet.

The second? Boy, completely limp, letting you hold him like a baby.

The third? A handwritten letter, along with a hand-knitted balaclava for Ghost.

Ghost: What the fuck is this, love?

You: A little gift for you and Boy! He wears his ALL the time. He loves it!

Ghost stares.

Soap sees the picture and immediately loses it. "NO FUCKIN’ WAY. SHE KNITTED YE A BLOODY BALACLAVA?"

Ghost grumbles, but when he next goes on deployment?

He proudly wears the balaclava.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "don’t let him get fat"

Soap kneels, ruffling Bubkiss’s fur. "A’right, old man, be good, yeah?"

Bubkiss lazily blinks up at him.

Soap turns to you. "Babe, don’t let him get too fat while I’m gone."

You scoff. "Me? Never." He looks at you. “Hey, you know im on that new workout thing, he and i are gonna go running every morning..”

“Aye, i know all about you and yer workout things.” Soap says, barely dodging the smack you aim at his shoulder.

Three weeks later.

Soap finally gets a video message.

It’s Bubkiss.

On your couch, under a heated blanket, eating a fucking steak.

Soap: Babe, the fuck is this?

You: Luxury.

Soap groans into his hands. "She’s ruined him. She’s fuckin’ RUINED HIM."

The next picture? Bubkiss, fully tucked into bed.

Soap grits his teeth. "I leave for one month, and you replace me with my own damn dog?*"

Gaz, barely holding in his cackles: "Look at him, mate. He’s got your spot and everything."

Soap glares at the picture. "I hate this."*

When he gets back? Bubkiss refuses to leave your side.

Soap groans. "I’ve lost me fuckin’ girlfriend to me fuckin’ dog." The first night home was spent staring at the ceiling from the bedroom floor, bubkiss snoring up above him. He spent hours plotting revenge on his own dog until he finally had enough and got up, pulling the duvet back, scooping the massive dog in his arms before dumping him on the floor before climbing into bed next to you, grumbling all the while.

MORAL OF THE STORY

maybe you couldn’t follow instructions after all..

[erinwantstowrite]

Please yap more about the Psych AU! I just started watching season 7!! Also, who is your favorite character from Psych?

Hmmm well i don't wanna spoil too much... So i guess i'll yap about some general premise stuff?

I should clarify that LoF peter and Psych peter are pretty different backstory wise. I kept the sameish design because i just like drawing peter, but they have some variations between them. Like: uncle ben died, aunt may didn't. she actually gets transported with peter to this alt universe, so she's very involved in this au. i just haven't drawn her yet.

I also chose harry osborn instead of ned because i didn't want every au to be the same. I would have loved writing ned in this au, but he gets a lot of chance to shine in LoF. harry is in more spider-man iterations as peter's best friend and i feel like he fit that shawn and gus dynamic more with peter. (I see them as platonic in most universes.) ((I also see shawn and gus as platonic). in this au, harry and peter met when they were pretty young, sometime after peter's parents died (which would still be when he was around four years old). Norman is a pretty good dad at this time so he helps peter get into a good school so he and harry can have classes together (and also cause he thinks peter deserves a good school too). But harry and norman, over time, end up with a terrible relationship. Mostly caused by Norman slowly slipping into the Green Goblin role. so, he spends a lot of time with the Parkers. After ben's death, harry vows to take care of peter and may both. he ends up being the reason they accidentally find themselves in an alternate universe, but no one is really mad at him about it because May and Peter hit hard times and were about to lose their house, etc. don't want to tell y'all too much because i wanna save it, but that's our basics with backstory and set up

currently, i'm not sure if i want them to start in metropolis and end up in gotham, or start in gotham and end up in metropolis. I kind of lean towards them living in gotham but having a lot of business in metropolis

And by business, i mean that Peter gets into the photography business. He captures photos of all kinds of heroes and vigilantes, and sells them to newspapers for the highest pay. As Peter becomes more sure of his spider powers, he also becomes spider-man but with way more of a journalist vibe. I want him catching crooks in the act and exposing them with the pictures, becoming a mysterious freelance writer/photographer as well as vigilante. You can imagine how Clark Kent and Lois Lane are going to react lmfao

But then you also have the actual premise of the fic itself: Psych. Peter and Harry are both investigating something when they run into someone (at this point in time, i'm thinking Superboy aka Kon-El), and to get out of saying what the real deal is, he pretends to be psychic. Harry is mortified but he decides to roll with it. So now Peter has to pretend to be psychic, and Harry starts up a whole business about it. That means we're getting both of these businesses at once, which will converge that Bats and the Supers both into the storyline.

Why are they putting all this effort in for money? Well, one reason being duh, they need money in this new world. But mostly because it's gonna help take care of May, and they'll also get to start a new life in this alt universe

Also, my favorite Psych character is Gus. I love him so much, he's so stupid and so smart at the same time. Have you heard about pluto?

[tommykinard6]

Indulge me in a little throwback will you?

Now, you all may not know this. But I used to not like Buck. I know, I know. Shocking. First season, I couldn’t stand him. Now, if I watched it back, I might see it from a different lenses. Especially being closer now to his age in the first season. But I truly, could not stand him most of the time.

Also, I think it was the fandom obsessing over him for me. Turned me off before I felt like giving him a chance.

Eddie arrived in season 2 and boom. Favorite character. I adored him. And through him, I started to like Buck more. I felt like he helped bring out the best of Buck. That’s probably why I fell into the Buddie shipping so hard.

I was an avid Buddie shipper for years, until season 7. And y’all, I could write a long post on the problems in that section of the fandom that have existed for years. Very particularly, in fanfics.

But that’s not this post. Maybe another, if you want.

Believe it or not, this isn’t actually a shipping discourse post.

Something has really rubbed me ever so slightly the wrong way since the start of season 8. Now, not to see this hasn’t happened in previous seasons, but it just felt like everyone just didn’t…care about actually listening to Buck.

Even Maddie, the ever loving and listening sister. Feels a bit like she hasn’t had time for him and then also makes a tasteless and sort homophobic joke when he wanted to talk about Tommy and Abby.

Eddie has been crumbling since season 7, and I’ve been hating what they’ve done to his character’s storyline, but to hear him talk to or about Buck sometimes, I wonder if he knows or likes him much.

Buck is lashing out, sure. Saying things he shouldn’t. But this is his family. His family who knows damn well he has bad abandonment issues, who has seen him struggle with his self esteem for years, but they don’t think to look past what he’s saying to the meaning behind it?

I relate to Buck. And I know Buck’s been a favorite of mine now since season 4, but I never realized that I related to him so much. Because I too am used to people thinking they know me more than I know myself. That they know my intentions better than me. I’ve never felt so seen and I’ve never felt so mad to see him getting brushed off by anyone and everyone around him.

I’ve run out of steam, but I’m just gonna say. I need this narrative to start changing. Buck is an adult. Not only that, he’s a 33 year old man who has gone through therapy and life altering realizations about himself and his past to discover the root of his abandonment issues and openly acknowledges that he has them. It doesn’t take any genius to see he lacks some perception of his own worth.

Yet people continue to refuse to give him any grace.

The 118 really pulled together in the last episode as a family. I really need them to pull together to rally for Buck because he’s floundering. And also, someone smack Eddie across the head.

[artinventor]

So I was curious on what Cain knows of Dean’s relationship with Cas. Obviously he knows about a brother’s love so his relationship with Sam is obvious, and he met Dean while he was working with Crowley so he got a pretty good idea of what those two’s relationship was like, but he hadn’t even seen Dean and Cas together at the same time.

When Cain says that Dean is living his life in reverse and mentions Cas, he says: “and then you'd kill the angel, castiel. now, that one — that i suspect would hurt something awful.”

Now how does he know the extent of their relationship? I can only assume it’s because, since Cain himself is drawing parallels to his own life, he’s assigning roles as well. Sam as Abel, since he said that’s how his story began and Dean’s will end. Crowley as Abaddon, the demon he had a fling with, same with Demon Dean and Crowley. So that only means Cas is Colette. Just by brief interactions and context clues Cain knows that Cas is Dean’s Colette and that his death will hurt “something awful”.

What we see in the show of what Cain has witnessed is that Cas unsheathes his weapon as soon as Cain mentions killing Dean, and then he helps Dean trap Cain by briefly fighting him outside the barn. I also think that Cain is aware, much like most supernatural beings seem to know, that Cas fell from heaven for Dean. That’s not something you see often, and it’s something that they all roast Cas for, often with a romantic implication.

“the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you”

“he was your boyfriend first”

“It was all about saving one human, Dean Winchester”

Cain calls Cas, Dean’s “pet”, so I imagine he might have the same thought process as everyone else here. It’s just very interesting to me how the show has outside characters clock their relationship like this and now also make a parallel to a blatant romantic relationship then not do anything direct about it because they’re too afraid to.

[aidan-thisfine]

Proseka X Twst Au - Nightcord At 25

" A mysterious music circle that operates at 1:00 AM (25:00), and whose identities are shrouded in mystery. "

Idia Shroud| Username: Gloomurai , The groups Composer

Riddle Rosehearts| Username: Rosebud, The groups Lyricist

Azul Ashengrotto| Username: Sea Witch, The Groups Manger and Artists

Cater Diamond| Username: Trick King , The groups Regular Social media Poster and Animator

Characters:

Kanade - Idia | This was a fairly easy decision just due to not going out much and a family member (in Idia's case Ortho) no longer being present.

Mafuyu - Riddle | : ) Bad mothers and Med school must go hand in hand i guess.... Anyways they're both my favs and if i have to explain more i WILL be throthing at the mouth - Since Mafuyu is the creator of the Proseka Sekai, Riddle is the creator of this Au's sekai!

Ena - Azul | I thought about this really hard causing i easily could have had Jamil as Ena instead but i felt like Azul was the right choice

Mizuki - Cater | THAT FEELING WHEN YOU HIDE BEHIND A MASK OF CHEERINESS DESPITE HATING YOURSELF - Anyways Vill was the other option for Mizuki but i have other ideas for Vill later (✿◡‿◡)

General Info:

Au starts 2 years before the main plot closer to the end of Cater and Idia's first year at NRC

This Au is pretty much just a what if the Twst kids where in the music groups of proseka and how or if that would change anything in twst canon

After Riddle joined NRC (and memorised all 810 rules of the queen of hearts) the sekai started to change to more Alice in Wonderland theme - Mostly small little things like bottles that say 'drink me' and maybe some Flamigos and Hedghogs - Then post-OB more things started to become like the Heartslabyul (A place he can be himself)

Since Cater is the one who looks after the music groups social media page (Magicam) and posting on it the most i can imagine realllllly early in the morning him forgetting to switch back to his personal account (Tbh cater probably has like 4 accounts at this point...) and posting something that has ALMOST accidently revealed his identity

I LOVE IDIA'S HOODIE IN HIS SCHOOL UNIFORM AND BELIEVE HE LIVES IN IT BUT I KNOW FOR A FACT HE DOES NOT WASH THAT THING NEARLY AS MUCH AS HE SHOULD

Azul, Floyd and Jade have a shared place to help adjust to being on land - Probably near the beach to help them adjust to land

Do i believe Azul has a fashion sense outside of ✨bussiness meeting mafia style✨? No, no i do not,the only time he does not look ready to take away everything you own is first thing in the morning and when someones (cough cough the tweels force him into something else

Riddle visited (And has been visiting) the Sekai well before the others, did Miku introduce herself.... No so therefore he took matters into his own hands, ("If she does not have a name i will just have to give her one-") Unfortunatly fairtales weren't a common occurance in his showhold and therefore Bob was the best he could come up with.....

When the group finally did meet up for the first time it went .....Well... Not great (Something about teleporting to a strange dull looking world can do that to you)

Extras (First meeting) -

[Text]

Riddle: Pardon me for my eariler outburst. Allow me to intoduce myself, My name is Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle: And this is my friend ✨Bob✨

Insert Hatsune Miku who has been dubbed 'Bob'

Cater & Idia: EMO HATSUNE MIKU !?!

(Cater: Where TF did Bob come from....)

Azul: ....* Insert Azul inner monologue here *

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reference photos used:

[fandoomrants]

If you asked me about The Prank Angst™️...

I'd say I hate it...

But if you asked me on a deeper level...

I'd say I really hate the focus the fandom puts on this single event, mentioned only once in canon, almost in passing, just because it's one of the little crumbs we've gotten about their school years. It irritates me how 80% of the wolfstar at Hogwarts fics revolve around this one event, and the unnecessary angst and drama that's created by it. It's nothing original, and there are just not many angles the situation can be looked at so it gets pretty repetitive. Plus, it sort of contradicts the whole point of shipping the two characters if the whole focus is put on the nasty thing one of them once did.

I'd say that some of the 'hot takes' taken by it are a bit of a far stretch (e.g. Remus not daring to confront Sirius or the other Marauders because they'll stop being his friends or expose his secret further).

All of this being said, yes, I am well aware why it's used so much (this fandom loves angst and suffering), and how it is quite the event for the two, especially in a scenario where they are portrayed as a couple. Yet we've also seen Remus's reaction to the mention of the Prank, and considering all else that's happened since, it sounded like something long forgiven and forgotten.

Just because we have two canon evidences of the things James and Sirius have done suring their school years (the other one being Snape's worst memory), it doesn't mean they haven't done countless of things like that. They weren't making the mostly-harmless pranks the Weasley twins did, they've done pretty nasty stuff. And Remus had been there to witness (probably take a big part) in all of it. He must have known very well what his friends were like but he must have also known it wasn't personal or with the intention to hurt him, or expose him. Is it an excuse? No. But it is probably true. So had he been angry and hurt? Most definitely. Yet he had also forgiven and seen it as it what it was - a mistake. And most importantly, it's something both of them have moved on from, no matter if as friends or something more.

[medium-bloodcrafter-scion]

Oathbound: Bree’s Character Development

🚨Beware spoilers 🚨

Just posting some of the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head because I need to get them out.

My controversial take is that Bree losing her knowledge/memories was necessary for her character growth in Oathbound.

I don’t agree with the mechanism by which she lost her memories (soul theft), but when I recall how much anguish and guilt she felt at the end of Bloodmarked (and the anguish I felt along with her), it felt like like a healing detour.

Bree’s love for people and for her friends was always, always going to have her prioritising their safety above her own, and I think it’s important that a space was created in the story for her to “put on her own oxygen mask.”

She developed control over her power without risking anyone else’s life.

She’s no longer the girl who has to run and hide, whose friends risk their lives to protect her - now she’s the girl who straps a dagger to her thigh and traps a warlock in a magical dome all while looking drop dead gorgeous.

Romance

There’s a lovely post by Annotate with Sara that explains this and more really well, but I thought it poetic that Nick was the one to initiate Bree’s reintroduction to her old self, seeing as he accidentally/unintentionally introduced her to the society that would lead to the discovery of her true identity in the first place.

While I’ve always maintained (mostly in my head) that Nick and Bree’s intelligences cancel each other out and together they tend towards foolishness, I think that the warmth, support and safety he offered is precisely what she needed in what was a very delicate space, particularly when Erebus told her to expect the exact opposite from her friends.

Nick’s first instinct was not to judge, fear, reprimand or even reject Bree:

…Pull the most frightening question up from my depths to breathe it into existence, because Nick makes it safe to do so.

“Do you think I made a mistake?”

He holds my face in both his hands until my eyes open. “No.”

and:

Nick lets me think. Lets me become who I need to be in the circle of his arms.

••••••••••

Looking ahead

“We’ve only just gotten started, Briana Matthews. You still bear my mark. You are a king without a sword. A Pendragon, poisoned. Your own pain and blood await.”

I feel as though the end of Oathbound sort of left us in a similar place as Bloodmarked. This book isn’t a full stop and it’s not a comma, but it’s a necessary parentheses.

At the end, all of Bree’s memories come flooding back when she reclaims the missing piece of her soul.

We aren’t given time to see what this really means for Bree because Sel goes full chaos mode and we end up with That Revelation, but she is going to have to reckon with the emotional fallout of Bloodmarked and also with her decision to choose her soul over Alice’s life.

She’ll have to address the guilt she feels towards Sel after he sacrificed himself and the consequences thereof.

However, unlike at the end of Bloodmarked, Bree is now equipped with the knowledge that she is still loved by those she ‘left behind’ on her quest with the Shadow King. The knowledge that relationships are sometimes messy and hard but that - to quote her dad - “Loving folks is a practice, baby.”

And I think coming to that realisation was actually her true quest.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

hey all, it's sou. a lot of you usually follow me for my haikyuu!! content since i started posting in 2021, and i really appreciate that! (especially since i shitpost about several other series, ha.) it's been great having you guys here, and i've felt so much support and love from so many of you. i love the space that i've cultivated for myself and the people who love my work, and it's one of the hobbies that's made me happiest over the past four years. but i know i haven't been keeping up with that part for the last year or so—and for good reason, as i'm sure many of you are aware.

i know a lot of us are doing what we can to help gaza, but sometimes donating, sharing, calling and emailing reps, and other actions don't feel like enough—especially when israel's just broken the ceasefire that had made so many hopeful it would end. it's absolutely devastating and i know it feels like there's very little we can do at this point. i'm not willing to give up just yet, though, so here's the deal:

Donation Rules ● Donate to any Palestinian's fundraiser directly or to any credible relief organization (<- some active ones provided, if you don't have ones you already have in mind) and DM me a screenshot of the receipt to request a fic! The donations are as follows: ● $5: Fic of 1500 words minimum ($.0033 per word) ● $10: Fic of 5000 words minimum ($.0020 per word) ● $15: Fic of 8000 words minimum ($.0019 per word) ● (I'm using USD because that's where I'm from—if you're willing from anywhere else in the world, then please partake! I know the exchange can be a bitch, so donating to organizations that your country has for the cause or ones that take all currencies in similar amounts work as well) ● If you only have the means to donate less than $5 or are only capable of reblogging fundraisers, info, educating yourself, emailing/calling, and other such actions to help, then you can still join! DM me the receipt screenshot (in the case of a donation) or send me a 🍉 to let me know that you're supporting in other ways (even reblogging this post counts!), and you can request a drabble or headcanons list of any sort!

Fic Request Rules ● List of series/fandoms I can write for is in the tags ● If you'd like a comprehensive list of things I've read/are reading, check here to see if they match anything you like! I'm also willing to write for anything on that list, i just figured a lot of them aren't series that people would read fics for ● Customizable means you can choose any prompt/au, ship (reader inserts as well), NSFW (only if you're 18+) or SFW, etc. within my comfort zone. I'll write for any and every character, no matter how small they are :) ● I'm NOT comfortable writing things like incest, underage sex scenes, inappropriate/illegal relationships between a character considered a minor and an adult, or excessive violence and gore. If you're ever unsure of what would cross my lines, we can absolutely talk about it!

I understand that I don't have much of a rep in other fandoms aside from Haikyuu!!, so here are some samples of WIPs on this doc. you can also look through my tag #sou writes stuff or my ao3 (of which please only pay attention to the most recent works, as that's how i write like the most right now)! If you like what you read, I'll write just like that for any request :)

PSA I am ONE SINGLE PERSON on top of all this. It may take a while, especially with the longer fics, but I do promise to get through every request I get. I'm aware I'm asking for a lot of trust and patience, and I appreciate all of it.

if you've read this through to the end, thank you, seriously. We're not alone in this. Let's aim for a better world.

[kingdom-of-sins]

Okay but imagine Fourth Wing characters as F1 drivers...

Xaden: Son of a very talented but disgraced driver, and by disgraced I mean Fen Riorson discovered some kind of corruption and race fixing but FIA somehow put all the blame on him and boycotted him from everywhere. And now Xaden is the best driver and has multiple championships, exposing FIA at every step without even trying. Break rules but all within the "law" so no one can kick him out. The sponsors are crazy about him. If the sport loses him then they will lose more than half the funding and sponsors. He even won races with very poorly built cars.

Violet: One of the nepo drivers who everyone thought would fail and tarnish the Sorrengail name. Her older brother is a retired two time champion turned strategist, her sister Mira one time champion and now more focused on F1 Academy for female drivers, her mother Lilith is the legend, multiple championships and the first woman champion, her father a F1 legendary reporter. Everyone was expecting her to fail just because she didn't look much confident and looked a bit fragile, everyone talked about how she is in the sport because of her family name. Her first half of her debut season went terrible, multiple DNFs and car damages, but the second half was complete opposite. She went from P18 in the championship to P4. She even went wheel to wheel with Xaden in a few races and shared podiums, proving everyone wrong.

Liam: He is the guy who treats this sport as his hobby which he is really good at. A born racer with a heart of gold. Multiple race winner, finished second in championships twice. Everyone takes him as a competition but he takes everyone as play dates. He was seen with Xaden outside of racing many many times, a strong pure bromance. If you hate him then there is something seriously wrong with you

Bodhi: Cousin of Xaden so sometimes gets overshadowed, but if anyone is going to shine in the darkness aka a very wet race or chaotic race, it's him. People try to push the Xaden vs Bodhi narrative but it always fails. Most people underestimate him and then are left with shocked Pikachu face when he comes out as the star of the race.

Garrick: He is the type of driver who either starts working out or takes a long nap when a race is delayed. Multiple race winners. Has a lots of fans, owner of a gym chain. Got a couple of race bans and penalty points but could care less. Has a mechanic background so knows a lot about cars.

Imogen: No one does it like her. The risk taker, the badass winner. You think you hate her but you actually realize you love her. She is the reason there is a sea of pink at the grandstands. Hated Violet when she first joined but a year later both were seen go karting together kicking Garrick and Xaden's ass. Calls out bullshit and whenever she has the mic the FIA drowning in their own sweat

Rhiannon: Got into F1 with pure talent and least funding. Had to struggle a lot in the junior series because of the lack of sponsors and funding, but her talent put her on the map and got just enough sponsor for a team to pick her. Then her talent did the rest of it. Now she has multiple year contract and multiple sponsors. Best friend of Violet but they always race wheel to wheel, even crashed into one another but absolutely no bad feelings. Rhiannon even abandoned her race once after Violet crashed just to see if her best friend is okay

Ridoc: He is the reason FIA had to come up with "no cursing or use of bad language" in the team radio. He gives names to his cars. Listens to the most obnoxious music and makes everyone else listen to it as well. Master in wet races. Talks to his car while racing. Friends with everyone. He is the guy you love to interview. Got fined for calling the stewards "babes"

Sawyer: The polite guy who is a beast on track. Everyone thought he would be quiet and barely manage to win but soon became a fan favorite. A true gentleman, with a hint of mischief. Ridoc often gets him in trouble during interviews. He is the type of guy your mom and sisters would trust to drive and drop them at home safely

Cat: Another nepo baby. She started off with lots of haters because of her aggressive racing style and superiority complex but no one can deny that she is an excellent driver. Can go wheel to wheel with all the star drivers. There is a rivalry between her and Violet, but they are currently frienemis, rivals on track, complementing each other's outfit off track.

Jack Fucking Barlowe: If he doesn't crash and DNF then he finish below P15. Somehow FIA always pardons him and he just gets much worse. There is not a single driver on the grid who likes him. Got punched by both Violet and Cat and that says a lot

Aaric: The breakout star of the year. Came in as a rookie and finished P5 in the championship. Somehow he can always predict other drivers' strategies. If he has a better car he would always be on the podium. Pure talent but lot to learn. Garrick's new gym partner

Sloane: She and her brother's childhood dream was to drive for the same team, be teammates, and race each other. And they both made it happen. Has the record of scoring the highest points by a rookie on their first race.

Dain: His dad was a former one time champion and he dreams to be just like his father. Has been raised to be a champ. He has won races but never got close to winning a championship. Everyone knew he had a huge crush on Violet but after a "incident" on track which involved him, Violet and Xaden, his friendship with Violet had been hanging by a thread. His father is very critical of him but worse on the other drivers, even tried to sue Xaden when Dain lost a race due to time penalty for track incident between him and X

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello amazing fandom :) Hope you are doing well. Hard to believe after this one we only have 8 left. Which makes this ep being somewhat a dud just a bit of a bummer IMO. We only have so many and they've been killing it this season. Truly making it count. The first 9 have been so good. The last 4 episodes just phenomenal. Week after week. It's easy to see where this one missed the mark.

I haven't minded low Chenford or even some crumbs if the entire ep is good like last week was. This one wasn't that unfortunately. Now 9 really good eps out of 10, being amazing so far isn't something to sneeze at. It's an outstanding achievement. S7 has been incredibly good. But this one definitely pales in comparison to the rest of the season.

As they say they can't all be home runs LOL Now there were parts of this episode I really liked. (Like the final Seth scene was primo) Those will be the parts I'm covering in this one. As a whole not their best. But I didn't not enjoy the full hour. Except the for Guitar guy but I'll get into that in my side notes. Off we go :)

7x10 Chaos Agent

Nolan bitching to Chenford about his song pretty humorous. Lucy not giving much sympathy is even funnier. Also loved her belting a little piece of the OG song. She's so cute I cannot. John has enough of her supportive shenanigans and takes off. lol

Lucy is left with Tim who was on her side till the serious bit. Giving her a sassy comment about not generalizing. I have zero doubt she gave him so much shit while they dated and he took some of it seriously. That's her 'experience' right there if you ask me ha. At least part of it. Love her face as she delivers that line. Smitty interrupts our crumb with his raccoon emergency lmao

Tim shoving Smitty's ass in the room I'm cackling. He doesn't have time for your shit sir LOL Lucy’s disappointed face when there is no raccoon is everything. She is so adorable. The animal lover in her wanting to see the little trash panda. Forever adore her being an animal lover no matter the animal. I am her and she is me haha

I love Lucy touching Tim's forearm when he says to neutralize the raccoon. There is no need to touch him so much Lucy.....Her hand all over that sexy forearm. Not once but twice. Also, them having opposing views on this, giving me 6x02 vibes with the bugs in her apartment, LOL. Miles is so cute in this scene too btw. He's really grown on me and his battle with this raccoon most of the ep was delightful.

Lucy was not jazzed with Seth showing up on his day off. I am never happy to see him either so I feel this. The irony that Seth is blown away by someone coming up with a crazy lie is wild. Pot meet habitually lying kettle. This kid is something else… Good lord... I knew the moment the doctor walked up and recognized Seth, it was the final nail in his lying liar coffin.

He is so terrible at said lying it’s painful. Lucy is on his ass from the moment he said ‘Used to be.’ So he used to have cancer…Kernel of truth with the lies. Just like all his others. I'll give it to him. He's nothing if not consistent with that. I have zero doubt, and so does Lucy; he used this to save his ass from being bounced from the program back in 7x05.

I was pretty damn certain but this officially confirmed it for me. Just look at Lucy as this convo goes down. Her stomach is turning over and over. This is not something to be ignored any longer. This doctor has accelerated his timeline out of the FTO and has no idea.

Lucy spots Luna and catches her. Cuts off Seth's incessant lying to do so. Dude knows he's a marked man when she departs. I adore Luna being a resource for Lucy on this. This has been such a good shift for her character to have. A useful one at that. Other thing I love is her telling Lucy she won't tell Wade unless she has to. You're a real one Luna.

Of course Seth switched to the shadiest doctor in the place. That sounds exactly right. When Luna was giving her background on this doctor, I thought, 'No doubt he’s paying this dude to make up shit for him'. She then confirms it at the end saying he's exactly the type of physician to be paid under table for that. Luna also putting to shame his BS answer about insurance. That little shit is dead in the water after this scene.

LOVE LOVE LOVE that she calls hubby right after. My heart. It's the little things fandom. Tim giving her the best answer she could receive. It's brilliant to draw his blood. He gets zero say in it and it'll finally nail him. I was wondering if anyone was actually monitoring his shit. Clearly not… But that sounds like health insurance tbh. Only looking for liabilities nothing else. Loving this plan though. No way for him to lie his way out of this one.

Probably wondering why I did a gif of this one eh? It's because of how Tim is with Smitty. How soft he is when he finds him. The concern in his voice when he asks if he's ok? Then after Smitty apologies the sweet tap on his knee to let him know it's ok. Be still my heart. I just loved this moment of softness from Tim with Smitty.

Our boy has grown so much it makes my heart ache in the best way. Not only is he kind but the tap to his knee is all the reassurance Smitty needs. Also just an antithesis to earlier when he shoved him into the office for the raccoon. Does my heart good to see it.

We get to the best part of the episode IMO. Seth's judgment day. Oooh boy I've been waiting for this! haha We all have. I mean holy hell look at Feral Tim staring down Ridley. Hot damn. Doesn't break once with his intense glare or sharp tone. 'Yes or no Officer Ridley.' *fans self*

Like to point out how important it was that Tim was there with her. What this means to Lucy. He was right next to Wade to be a United Front for her. Tim was with her to the very end on this. We know how hard this was going to be on Lucy. It was important her pillar was there. She does a good job keeping a stern face at first.

Especially when Seth looks at her. Drawing strength from the two men she needs most in this moment. They don't beat around the bush with him and it's much needed. This kid needs a reality check and fast. Wade and Tim don't mess around with him for one second while this unfolds.

Love how Wade and Tim tag team Seth about what is going to happen. It's a no you're gone. If it's a yes and no cancer. You're still gone. It's a lose lose situation for him and Ridley knows it. It's here we really start to see Seth come undone. From his body language to how he handles himself in this convo. With zero grace or accountability.

When he feels the tide rising against him he tries to pull the 'Woe is me card.' One that has served him well up until this point. Spewing he can be better. No honey you can't. You're on the 4th or 5th chance at this point bub. You're not getting better. You can't own your mistakes to save your life. Or be honest ever. His rant about his rights. You gave those up when you became a probational rookie my son.

When he starts to panic and turns to Lucy this is where we start to see her crack. The tears starting to form in her eyes. It's killing her because for awhile she wanted to believe him. Truly she did. Her natural instinct is to see the best in everyone. He took advantage of her kindness and exploited her empathy for his own gain. I wonder if she is going to second guess her instincts after him? I would even though there is zero reason for her to. I would be feeling pretty tore up and hurt. I imagine she will be too.

Melissa be killing me absolutely killing me when he says no to the draw. You can tell Lucy is wrecked about this. I can’t say I’ve been there in terms of a replica of Seth. But I did have a kid on my team I whole heartedly believed in. Trusted him. He exploited my kindness and empathy. It was quite the burn to my self esteem. He turned out to be a nightmare of Seth’s level.

Even when he was eventually terminated I felt the weight of it. Relief yes, but I carried it with me. Even though I had done everything right I could’ve with him. I still shouldered some of the responsibility. I know Lucy is feeling that. She is an empath and deeply caring one at that. This is going to stay with her for a little while I think.

Look at how Set avoids both Lucy and Tim and only comes at Wade. Knowing Tim would destroy him if he went after Lucy. I kinda wish he had but this kid knew not to poke that bear. He sure as hell didn’t have the balls to go after Tim that's for sure. So he focuses all his crazy rage on Wade, who handles it like the champ he is. Tears his defiant little ass down. Even with his last breath he couldn't own up to a single thing. Hiding behind a threatening lawsuit he will not win.

Tim takes over with some serious death glares about what happens next. If looks could kill you'd be one dead washed out rookie. Kinda wished we could've seen them send him off from the station but that's ok. I feel the aftermath of this will be in the next episode. Lucy's face at the very end is the final dagger to my heart. This is gonna rock her for awhile I can feel it.

I also have a feeling we are not done with him. Seems like the kind of little weasel that knows all the dirty back channels for a settlement. Don’t think we are quite done with him. I could be wrong though. I know Melissa did a nice shout out post for him that made it seem final. But I'll believe it when I see the final ep of this season lol

If we aren't would love for them to find out about his NWS lie with the road. If this was the end. I've wanted to say this all season but wanted to wait till his demise. Well done Patrick. Holy hell. What a starter character for him to break into tv with. You did such a good job. I truly hated your character's guts my good sir LOL Fantastic job.

Thank you as always to you amazing readers who like, comment ( chatty chat with me) and reblog these thoughts each week. You're incredible and I can't tell you the deep appreciation and love I feel from each one. Excited for next week. Our babies sharing a shop during the madness. Always happy to see that. Shall see you in 7x11 next week :)

Side notes -non Chenford

Ok I didn't super love the Rodger storyline. I'll be honest. It felt awkward and stilted. His SL felt like a sore thumb in a mighty intense episode. If he just had the cold open ok maybe. But to dedicate part of the ep to him?

I wasn't about it. His songs made me wicked uncomfortable in a second hand embarrassment way. I got massive Skip Tracer Randy vibes from it. No offense if you like STR he's just never sat right with me and the tone of the show lol Also Celina needs better taste in men she could do better than this turkey IMO. Ok rant over. haha

Loved them bringing Lisa back to help James the callbacks are great. Tying it in with when she got shot and how long the process is. Poor Nyla though this is so rough on her. Not just the recovery but their marital stuff they still have to work out on top of it. It’s a lot. Proud of her for not rushing to the station to help.

Will say every time Tim says ‘Juarez’ with that slight inflection always gets me a little hot and bothered. Mmmm.

Ok Zuzu made my skin crawl. How violating. Didn't like that one bit.

Poor Miles all episode he tried and Celina got him LOL I really enjoy his he is quite the cute puppy I never expected to love.