#and therefore my two paint rags

[parkerslatte]

Dalliance | Chapter Two

Matthew Fairchild x Fem!OC

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none

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Delilah was enjoying an afternoon to herself. The house was empty with the exception of the maids who left Delilah to herself. Once Delilah got into a rhythm, it was hard to break it. She wore a dress that was designated for painting. It was light in colour and didn’t necessarily complement her very well. It had old stains from her oil paints and some new as well. Delilah’s hands were covered in paint as were her arms. Typically she didn’t get as messy as she was, but once she abandoned her brushes for her fingers half way through the painting, there was no going back. 

Delilah didn’t know what had enticed her to abandon her brushes. Maybe it was because she wanted a sense of movement in the seascape. Maybe it was because she wanted something to blame when the painting ended up horribly. She took a step back, keeping her hands raised. The more she looked at the painting, the more she disliked it and wanted to scrape off the drying paint and restart. 

“You always liked the sea.” A voice startled Delilah. She wasn’t expecting anyone to interrupt her. 

“Matthew,” she scolded. “When did you get here?”

“Only a few moments ago,” said Matthew, taking a step towards the canvas. “This is exceptional.”

Delilah shook her head. “It’s all wrong. The colours aren’t correct and I am not getting the sense of movement I want. It’s all going wrong.”

Matthew softly smiled at her. “You are always your biggest critic.”

“I have to be,” Delilah muttered as she reached for a rag to wipe away the paint on her hands. “If I want to sell my work, they have to be perfect. I can’t afford to make mistakes.”

“Your artwork is already perfect.”

“You have to say that,” Delilah said. “You’re my friend.”

“I am your friend and as your friend I always tell you the truth and therefore I declare your paintings the best I have ever laid my eyes on.”

Delilah looked down to the floor. “Not that I am not enjoying your company, my dear. But why are you here?”

“I wish I were here so we could drink ourselves silly, but I am only here to drop something off.” 

Delilah had only just noticed the sheet draped over his arm, something inside of it. 

“I have a gift for you.” Matthew slowly took the sheet off an elegant dress. “I saw this and believe that it is to your tastes.”

Delilah’s jaw dropped. The dress was a deep emerald green and was the most gorgeous dress she had ever laid her eyes on. 

“How did you know my size?” It was the first question that came tumbling out of Delilah’s mouth.

“Anna had your measurements. She didn’t ask why I needed them.”

Delilah stepped closer, the dress lightly sparkled in the afternoon sun.

“I cannot accept this, Matthew.” Delilah finally looked up at Matthew who watched her reaction with a certain fondness.

“You can and you will,” said Matthew. “I know I would look fabulous in the dress but alas, it won’t fit me unfortunately.”

“Matthew, why?” Delilah said.

“Well you bought me that waistcoat a few months ago, so this is me repaying you for that gift.” 

“It was a gift! I don’t expect you to buy me anything in return, I told you that yesterday,” Delilah scolded.

Matthew shrugged. “Oh well, now accept this gift because I unfortunately cannot return it.”

Carefully, Matthew put the sheet back over the dress, protecting it from any paint that might drop on it and ruin it. Delilah gently placed her hand on Matthew’s shoulder to steady herself before she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Matthew.” she whispered. 

Matthew tilted his head down and looked at her. “You’re welcome, Lila.”

Lila. The nickname that Matthew always endearingly called her. When the nickname first slipped past his lips two years ago when they were fifteen, Delilah hated it. For her whole life she had only liked to be called by her full name. She loved her name. No matter how many times Delilah corrected Matthew, he had been persistent, stating that her name was simply too long to say. Once Delilah accepted the nickname she began to like it–she liked the way he said it.

Pulling away, Delilah stepped back around her canvas, “I must get back to this god awful painting. Though you are welcome to stay if you wish, Matthew.”

Matthew waved his hand. “I think I’ll make my leave. I hope you see the beauty in your painting, Lila.”

Before Matthew left, he pressed a quick kiss to Delila’s forehead and he slipped out of the room without another word. Delila smiled as her eyes jumped from the dress draped over the chair and her canvas, a new sense of inspiration hitting her like a brick.

***

Before she left the house, casually telling her parents that she was going to Matthew’s to help Christopher out with some experiments, Delilah made sure that her runes were covered. She raised her hood over her head before she began to walk to the location. When Delilah left her house, she didn’t necessarily lie to her parents as she was making a quick stop at the Fairchild residence to pass along a message to her brother, though it wasn’t her final destination of the night.

Once Delilah had taken the back entrance into the lab, she found Christopher hunched over a table, many different chemicals laid out in front of him that Delilah didn’t even want to know what they were for.

“Hello, Delilah.” Christopher greeted without turning around. Despite Christopher being distant and inside of his own mind most of the time, he always recognised his sister’s footsteps.

“If mum and dad ask, I was here with you all night.” said Delilah, picking up a large sketchpad and a pencil roll.

Christopher hummed in response. Delilah pressed a quick kiss to her brother’s cheek. “You’re the best. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Stay safe.” Her brother called out to her just as she opened the door.

“I always am.”

As soon as Delilah exited the house, she closed the door softly behind her, gripping her supplies a little tighter. Her next location wasn’t too far away. The walk was short, the Fairchild estate only being a ten minute walk from the large house which was Delilah’s destination.

As soon as Delilah stepped through the doors of the house, she was greeted by the scent of smoke and alcohol. Delilah pulled her hood down and smiled. The mundanes around her looked at her as she walked to the familiar room. Many shadowhunters would ban Delilah from doing precisely what she was. But the Lightwood girl couldn’t find it within herself to care. The house was where she could unwind. It was a place that was just for her.

Pushing open the door to the room, Delilah stepped inside. It was already occupied, mostly by men with only a few women. Each person sat in front of an easel sketching the image of the nude model in the centre of the room. Delilah sat herself down in front of the free easel in front of the model. When Delilah made eye contact with the model, she sent a wink her way and a blush coated the models face. There was a tap on Delilah’s shoulder before a glass of wine was offered to her from the woman to her left who wasn’t much older than Delilah. The Lightwood girl took it gratefully and began to draw the blushing model in the centre of the room.

***

Delilah remained on the outskirts of the ballroom casually sipping her wine. She stalked around the sides of the ballroom avoiding all offers of a dance. The only people she would willing dance with were either not present or dancing with someone else in the room. Thomas was dancing with Lucie and Christopher was lingering by the refreshments table, fiddling with something in his hands. Delilah only hoped that it wasn’t something that would explode. James and Matthew were nowhere to be found.

From across the room, Lucie’s eyes met Delilah’s and she said a quick goodbye to Thomas before she began to race over. 

“Delilah!” Lucie exclaimed, clutching onto Delilah’s arms. “You must come with me to greet Cordelia, it still shocks me that you two haven’t met.”

Delilah smiled. “Cordelia has arrived?”

Lucie nodded before she gently began pulling her towards the group of adults. “We must rescue her.”

Delilah let herself be led by her cousin. Cordelia was easy to spot in the crowd, her red hair standing out in the crowd. 

“May I take Cordelia to meet the other girls?” Lucie said to Sona once the two girls were close enough.

“Of course.” Sona granted, looking pleased.

“Cordelia Carstairs,” said Delilah as the three girls came to a stop near the edge of the dancefloor. “It’s so good to meet you. Lucie has told me a lot about you.”

Cordelia smiled brightly. “All good things I hope.”

“My dear, of course they were,” Delilah said.

“Lucie has said in her letters many wonderful things about you as well. She mentioned that you are an exceptional artist,” Cordelia commented.

“She is!” Lucie chimed in. “I keep trying to get her to draw scenes from The Beautiful Cordelia but she refuses.”

“I only refused because I didn’t want to accidentally undermine Cordelia’s beauty,” Delilah said. “And now I definitely won’t.” She sent a wink Cordelia’s way causing the girl to look down.

Lucie brought Cordelia away from where they were standing and approached another group of girls. Delilah followed silently. Two of the girls –Catherine Townsend and Rosamund Wentworth– Delilah disliked. Although she hadn’t spoken to Ariadne much, Delilah remembered liking her when she first met her. 

“What a pretty dress,” Ariadne said to Cordelia. “I believe that’s the shade they call ‘ashes of roses.’ Very popular in Paris.”

“Oh, yes,” Cordelia said eagerly. “I did get this dress in Paris, as a matter of fact. On Rue de la Paix. Jeanne Paquin made it herself.”

Rosamund’s lips tightened. “How fortunate you are. Most of us here in the poky little London Enclave rarely get to travel abroad. You must think us so dull.”

Delilah rolled her eyes, taking a rather large swig of her wine to get her through the conversation. 

“Oh,” said Cordelia. “No, not at all–”

“ My mother has always said Shadowhunters aren’t meant to have much of an interest in fashion,” said Catherine. “She says it’s mundane.”

“Who cares if it’s mundane?” Delilah muttered under her breath, finishing off her wine.

“Since you’ve spoken of Matthew’s clothes admiringly so often,” Ariadne began, “should we assume that rule is only for girls?”

“Ariadne, really–” Rosamund began, and broke off with a laugh. “Speak of the devils. Look who’s just come in.”

Delilah turned to look in Rosamund’s eyeline and found Matthew and James entering the ballroom. It had been the first time she had seen them that night.

“They are so handsome, ” said Catherine. “Don’t you think so Ariadne?”

“Oh–yes,” Ariadne said hastily. “I suppose.”

“She only has eyes for Charles,” said Rosamund. 

Lucie rolled her eyes. “They’re just boys .”

“James is your brother,” said Catherine. “You cannot be objective, Lucie! He is gorgeous .”

“Matthew isn’t bad-looking either,” said Rosamund. “But so scandalous. ”

Delilah rolled her eyes again. If the girls found out what she got up to in her own time, she didn’t think they would talk about her with high opinion as they did Matthew.

“Indeed,” said Catherine. “You must be careful of him, Miss Carstairs. He has a reputation .”

“Careful of Matthew?” Delilah laughed in a very unladylike way though all of the girls ignored her.

“We should guess who James will ask to dance first,” said a girl whose name had slipped Delilah’s mind. “Surely you, Rosamund; you are looking so lovely tonight. Who could resist you?”

“Ah, yes, who will be graced by my brother’s attentions?” drawled Lucie. “When he was six, he threw up in his own shoe.”

“I somehow believe that no matter what you say they will ignore it.” Delilah said, her eyes dancing between the girls whose full attention was on James and Matthew, completely transfixed. 

Delilah turned her attention to Matthew and James and as she did so, Matthew looked directly at her before excusing himself from the conversation. He walked over to Delilah without breaking eye contact. Rosamund and Catherine fawned as he walked over, both convinced that he were about to ask one of them. However once Matthew stood before the group, he bowed slightly to Delilah. “Might I have this dance?”

Delilah smiled and took Matthew’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the dancefloor. Matthew took Delilah’s waist and pulled her closer to him. Delilah spared one glance at the group of girls and found Lucie to find a dance partner once again in Thomas and Cordelia had been swept away by James, leaving Rosamund looking fuming once Christopher approached. Delilah smiled.

“What’s made you so happy?” Matthew muttered, his mouth close to her ear.

“I just don’t like Rosamund.” Delilah said with a chuckle. 

Matthew chuckled lowly, it vibrated in his chest. “You’re not wearing the dress I bought you.” Despite his attempts to conceal it, Delilah found a hint of disappointment in his voice. 

Instead of the beautiful dress Matthew had purchased for her, she instead sported a deep purple dress that showed off her smooth shoulders. It tightened at her waist before flowing out to the floor, accentuating the curve of her waist. It was a gift from Anna.

“As much as I loved the dress you purchased for me,” Delilah began, “I think I will save it for a special occasion.”

Matthew pulled back a little to look at Delilah properly. Her thick hair was already fighting to be released from her eccentric updo her mother had done. Matthew found himself brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek for a moment. 

“And to whatever that special occasion is,” said Delilah, watching Matthew’s movements carefully. “You will be the one to accompany me. Because the dress matches your eyes perfectly.”

Matthew smiled, a genuine smile. Not the smile he uses to get what he wants. Not the smile he uses as a mask. No, it was a true, genuine smile just for Delilah. Of course Matthew wouldn’t admit it to Delilah but had purposely picked that dress with the intention to accompany her wherever she went in it.

Delilah smiled back at Matthew as the grip he had on her waist unconsciously tightened. Delilah’s gaze drifted a little to the left and the smile vanished from her face.

“James left Cordelia.” Delilah pointed out.

Matthew followed Delilah’s gaze. “So he has.”

“So go and dance with her!” Delilah stopped dancing.

Matthew furrowed his brows. “But then that would mean I would be leaving you alone.”

Delilah looked to her right and found Thomas now on his own, Lucie had completely disappeared. “I won’t be alone, Thomas is right there.”

Matthew still looked hesitant.”

Delilah sighed. “It’s not my reputation on the line here, it’s Cordelia’s. I cannot very well do it.”

Matthew stepped back and held Delilah’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “It has been a pleasure dancing with you, Miss Lightwood.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “Just go.”

Matthew smiled before turning on his heel and swept Cordelia up in a dance. Cordelia looked confused momentarily before her eyes landed on Delilah and she smiled gratefully. Delilah offered her a smile in return before she walked over to Thomas and forced him back on the dancefloor.

[libidomechanica]

Of weary we these things: next, well as

And thoughts, all my heart alike clear.     Than this sacred fire and did painting through seldom come our     own couch; to emulation.

Full of syllogisms. Since that     sever for him; to a wedding casualty, no use therefore     my love you poor, would

much mescal. Envy of our beauteous     eye the arms he might badge is black beauty’s success. How     grew a very heart with

a shadowing darkness might for     a blow. But still in my mouth, and no more rude Cumner cowslips     grew, your bones, you all

this song, dirty and death in bitter     the darkness charged; yet one two with April’s random scheme     of ill deserved me? In

pride demurs when through Courland with     aught but to die and I myself to blame; you can even     its grossest flourish with

gilded leaue to play his aged     nurse a bless, me no step aside, the gravest citizen     seem right upward ragged

priests, tapers, which it bore, so removèd     by our wile? Of weary we these things: next, well as Mother’s     bright broken utterly,

like a hawk encumbered words     and be able to add a story: the lass that somewhat     thou else can a youth be

o’erheard and minstrel memory     wakes the undergrowth. Dear brows bushes and dress’d with one act     a phantom glue my part:

tho pumie stone that indeed more than     our Peeretree haunt us till, and so wild; thou mourned away     thee cannot quite me forth,

I feel the mounts there vnioynted at     your fury from my small; until a gentlemen, by dint     of a strange of fallen

divinely spight, I became more     shaking eyes, reasons finding themselves in hell not for house     feels no raptures, of

the world, and fitful whims of spirit     cut it. What lone as well to cast out. Skimming star, get     with a steady splendour,

and my eager view: at which giue     word and somethinks I have slept with grey; I feel them—whose     mellow utterance ruled!

[babyjoysdiary]

Today I learned some people are really committed to not understanding you…they will hide behind fake apologies and weird ass phrasing and victim mentality.

Like Sign

Like Saman

Like KV

And I’m not gonna say it’s done white shit…but they all do got white momma’s.

Light skins twist your words like no other.

Like KV my housemate was being fucking anti-black in this goddamn house hold. But they making it solely about me calling out their fear… and saying “irreparable harm” and that there is no room for their harm.

Like playing victim like imma leave this house since I can’t not be anti-black.

What. The. Fuck.

Saying they won’t even cook in the kitchen and will just stay in their room or not come home.

And I know I said that too…and I was also in that victim role…but this feels manipulative

Like they are aware of what they are doing

I can feel it in their phrasing and not actually listening to me.

I say hey just work on this abs they say they can’t hear the pressure or the reality of causing me more harm since “there is no room for their fear and it’s inherently anti-black”.

I’m just done. I can’t do the mental gymnastics. Like they were using the words “compromise” and “expectations” when I said I was frustrated. And yea if you can’t give me rides, I’m not gonna do all the dishes. And I don’t care that one caused the other.

I don’t have the capacity to put in more than others. And the fact that they are centering on this idea that it’s their fear and not their actions and mentality?!?!

Yea, the praying with Micah worked.

I’m not mad or even sad. Well I’m both.

But I have control. I’m not gonna go upstairs and yell that I know what their manipulative ass , white ass, insidious ass more sly and a bigger threat than white people motherfucking ass is doing

Nor am I gonna keep messaging them explaining myself. It’s not just their fear painting me out to be aggressive, nor was it ever. It was and is their mentality and approach. The whose is me, I guess I’m just a racist and should call it quits

That “since there id no room for my fear and it’s inherently anti-black” that is so reductive and not what I was tryna say.

And I know that. And that’s all that tucking matters.

Bro I really get gaslit everyday.

Just listen cause people in the group chat for the protest that’s happening tomorrow really forgot it was Remus, and she wanted to honor the trans woman who was almost beaten to death not but two week ago. And why queers over took it and then had the audacity to talk shit about President Andrew Jenkins… I wish you fucking wrong for Voting the way she did yes and his part of this bullshit her karma yes but at the same time I don’t think that gives people the right to not see to not see her humanity. I also just think is not fucking conclusion or logical to be like this black person in this trans person this other marginalized person has harmed me and votes against our collective wishes. Therefore, she doesn’t deserve space therefore, she shouldn’t be able to speak like she’s in a position of fucking power and she’s hurting us and she’s hurting her self like casting her out and yelling at her Soli not yelling at her and also giving her tea not yelling at her and also cooking her meal just yelling at her and not holding space where it doesn’t fucking work like that it doesn’t it doesn’t and I should know that better than anybody… Anyway … in this fucking group chat they were ripping her to shreds and saying she had no right to be there… Forgetting that she was in the group chat and people act as if they didn’t know she was in a group chat when they were called out for it as well as try to backpedal and say that it’s not that they were trying to control where she was or when she spoke but it was a concern for her safety and it wasn’t. That’s a lie. They think that she should be punished for the way that she votes and it’s not that I disagree. It’s more the fact that if we say we are organizing for trans, joy and rage and collective power. It’s a pussy ass move to tell people who are canceled or politically spicy. They can’t come. How dare you call yourself an activist willing to do the tough work and then ban somebody from coming to to the protest or saying, that fuck her leader ship since she is a bad leader, she doesn’t deserve to speak at one point in my youth I would’ve agreed, but it’s like times are too fucking dire, there’s too many trans fucking bills trying to kill us and police trying to kill us and I know she aided in the police shit we get this she still in power so being nasty and mean to her that’s not gonna get her to change the way she votes and you know why I know that because today Daddy-O in the group chat was very sincere and vulnerable and nice when talking about how the group chat was anti-black and they didn’t care. They didn’t respond well and pushed back and then when I came in with that heat and got into their asses and was mean they again lied and said it was just about worrying for Andrea’s safety know they want her punished they want her punished and well I can see invalidate that point of you I don’t know how you can call yourself a radical if that’s the stance you take because she still is a black trans woman not… Excuses her and she shouldn’t be held accountable. It just means that we can’t treat her like a criminal will you can’t say you’re for abolition and then treat people as if they’re criminals even when they commit a crime I know it sucks it’s bullshit. It doesn’t feel good it’s not sexy there’s no movies written about it barely any books written about it. I just know that if I have the where fall and the talent and the skills I would want to be able to talk to someone who is like a Candace Owens as with much grace as I talk to anyone in my family when I’m not activated. All bets are off when I’m activated and maybe it’s because, I have been activated in the past with Andrea. I am currently able to come at it with a little bit of a clear head, a little bit of a more equitable point of you at the end of the day, though these folks were called out for their anti-blackness, and they resisted it avoided. It said that it was merely about safety, and the wishes of their comrades of others, and yeah they’re a whole bunch of black and brown people. Don’t fuck with Andrea and that’s cool

[dorkylittlehooman]

okay I added a lot bc for some reason ik what's on my night stand by memory.

i think what’s on a person’s nightstand is very telling so reblog this and put in the tags the things you have on your nightstand

[soullesscoffee]

i think; therefore i am || part two

{ fem!witch reader x poly!the lost boys }

|| part one ||

part rating: general

word count: 4,340

part summary: after the encounter with the ruthless gang of vampires on the board walk y/n finds themselves keeping their distance from the boardwalk and doing business other places. a choice of a movie night brings she to encounter a new suspicion and familiar faces. even then they have to embrace her action after coming face to face with one of the daunting vampires.

warnings: use of magic, witchcraft, vampires, marko being sweet, david being a prick, and late night encounters. 

A bell rings in your ears as you push your way through the colorful door into the buzzing video store. The music reverberates from the speakers above your head and the smell of floor cleaner invades your nose. The upbeat store gave you some relief from the stress from the past couple of days. Since the encounter with the creatures of the night, you have been avoiding the boardwalk hustling around near the city or keeping your distance in the more unknown parts of the boardwalk. You trail your way past the front desk where all the registered rested admiring the acrylic frames not paying attention to the man with neat hair and glasses that watched your figure pass by with curiosity. A low hum left your nose as you tuned in with the words of La Bamba. The first section you instantly hit was the comedy section, your black-painted fingers trailed over the spines of the VHS covers with precision as you tried to make your decisions. You snatch the case for Ghostbusters. As you do you could feel eyes burning into the back of your head. You carefully turned around to see where your intuition was taking you. Yet it was only the woman behind the counter with big curly hair and an off-shoulder top. Her stare was rather curious. People do stare a lot when you walk into a place. That doesn’t mean it is out of negativity, you guess it’s purely out of curiosity. Your style can be so polar sometimes but this time you wore a pair of bootcut jeans and a flowing black poet's top that was paired with heeled boots. The accessories are what you think to draw people’s attention with the stacked sterling rings, the crystal earrings, and a large ornate belt such as you were wearing today to cinch the waist of the flowing shirt.

Her eyes scan over your outfit, eventually coming to your eyes, you make eye contact and give her a knowing nod and a smirk before turning back around. Pressing the movie against your chest, tapping a rhythm on the plastic with your fingernails as you make your way to the horror section taking your time. The music mixed with the soft sounds of TVs caused your senses to buzz from a sensory overload. You squat to the ground and carefully graze over the horror section, there wasn’t much to the collection but there were some decent picks. A sigh left your nose as you reached out to pinch Cujo’s spine between your fingers. As you do a wet substance appears on your cheek. You whip your head to a tan shepherd sniffing you and your hair. A jolt in surprise at the sudden appearance of the dog, your heart races for a minute before a smile cracks along your nude painted lips. The dog pants and sits patiently waiting for you to pet him. 

You chuckle at pat the dog’s head, “There you are Thorn! I am so sorry. He has a habit to sneak up on customers when they’re down so low.” You look up to follow the mysterious, yet harmfully charismatic, voice and it was the man who was standing at the front counter when you walked in. With your hand still petting the hound named Thorn, you stand fully to greet the neat man. “Oh no! You’re okay, he did give me quite the fright but he is too cute. His good looks made up for it.” You beam at the mysterious man. As you adjusted the movies on your side you saw his hand shot out, “I’ll take those for you. Assuming you want to keep looking for more movies to watch tonight.”

You chuckle lightly and hand the two movies out to him, “I think this will be all tonight, thank you, erm..” You trail off trying to see if he wore a nametag on his blazer but there wasn’t one.

“Max, my name is Max,” he introduces with a charming smile that would make any woman swoon if they had the weakness too.

“I am guessing you’re the Max that’s on the name of the store. Well, it is wonderful to meet you,” you greet back with a welcoming smile. Your eyes scan his face, looking over every faint crack and freckle on his face. Once your eyes met him there was an unsettling feeling that grew in your stomach. One you knew all too well. 

“Well, then! Would you like to check out for tonight, ma’am?” He asks motioning his full hand of the VHS’ towards the counter.

You swallow and give a curt nod. As you walk you could feel Thorn brushing against your leg as you did. This made you more cautious of what the dog might be if the dark energy pulsating from the man would be. You rested your hands gently on the counter and stood as still as a statue but you tried your best to remain relaxed in the situation you were granted. There was something wrong with the owner of the store and you knew how well he was masking it. His haughty get-up of a loud button-up shirt and neat tie was something you couldn’t get past.

“So I’ve never seen you around here!” Max’s voice booms through your line of thought causing your head to whip up to face him. 

“Yeah, I’m just passing through. Couldn’t help it when I saw the boardwalk. It’s a wonderful sight,” You reply with a passing smile before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear acting bashful and shy.

“It is quite beautiful. But you got to be careful here, it’s not the safest place for a young woman like you.” He advises as he scans the barcodes of the cases before popping them open to double-check if there was a VHS in them. You caught his eyes trailing over you, his warm and welcoming eyes now something of a dark glower. His eyes changed though once he noticed you staring back at him.

“Oh, thank you, Max, for the warning. But I got it.” You reassure and reach back into your back pocket to fish out the money clip that you kept. As you pull it out the front doorbell trills to announce another customer has entered. 

You didn’t look up as you fingered through the bills to find a ten-dollar bill through all the ones. The low rumbling from Thorn by your ankles is what caused you to cautiously lookup. You look up to see the four vampires from a couple of nights ago walk into the store with such confidence it could’ve convinced you that they owned the place. Your eyes widen a bit and your fist clenches the ten-dollar bill making it more wrinkled than before. 

The leader only smirks at you as swaggers his way through the store. Following was the dark brunette with daggers for eyes then it was the two blondes. The fishnet-clad one looked at you with caution while the curly-haired one looked at you with an expression of curiosity and wonder. His golden curls were pushed back into a low ponytail this night that draped over his ornate jacket. You could feel he wanted to approach you and that he wasn’t hostile. Unlike the others. Out of your surprise, you try to match their energy of fierceness.

“I thought I told you, boys, you aren’t welcome here,” Max barks at them, his voice sounded so gravely and polar to the appealing one before. 

The leader snaps his eyes to the owner of the store and his smirk drops, the smirk turned into a frown for a split second. His eyes trace it’s way back to you, “Relax, we just wanted to check out the new features you got in here.” The platinum blonde clarified as the rest of the boys behind him scatter through the store murmuring to themselves and messing with some of the VHS covers.

Max glares at the platinum blonde before turning back to you, “I’m so sorry about the mess in here,” 

You couldn’t help but crack a smirk at the hit at the group of punks. You tilt your head at Max to shake your head, “No problem, they’re only looking for a feature for the night.” You comment flicking your eyes to see if the leader was still glaring at you. He wasn't, he was off looking through the horror flicks while the other three were flirting with the tanned woman behind Max. You place the ten down on the counter and swiftly grasp the two movie boxes. “Thank you, Max, I’ll see you soon,” you bid goodbye with a nod being careful not to trip over Thorn as you make your way to the door.

“Oh! Ma’am, rental lasts five days!” Max calls out to you as you were already halfway out the door. You pause and turn back to him, tapping your rings around the metal door handle. “Thank you,” you thank the owner, but your eyes switched to the four who were watching you with sharp eyes. Each feline in its own way.

Your feet carry you quickly to your red truck where you unlock the door from the keys that were attached to your hip. Getting in and slamming the door shut your eyes never left the five figures as you pumped the clutch and set the vehicle in reverse. You only tore your eyes away when you turned to look behind you to see if there was any oncoming traffic. Yet when your head swiveled back to the front you saw the ragged punks standing in front of the store by their bikes. The thing that caught you off guard was the little finger wave the monarch decorated gave you with his most feigned sweetened smile. The sight gave your stomach a fuzzy feeling and your head to buzz. “Time to make a circle,” you grumble to yourself speeding off into the night.

Later that night you cast a protection circle around your little caravan that you claimed to be your home. It sat on a sigil etched into the soft earth below the sanctuary. Casting it drained you that night, it had been a while since you had to cast around an area that was relatively large. It surrounded the shelter along with the little pathway you created with stones. 

Exhausted, you lay on your bed facing the little compact TV as Ghostbusters entertained your drained mind. Finn rested perfectly into your side watching the movie as well. His tail swaying in amusement. His mewl caused you to roll your eyes as the green slime ghost floated through a wall after slimming one of the busters. “It’s only a movie, Finn, it’s for entertainment purposes. Are you going to do this with every movie I bring home? How about I put in Cujo instead?” You suggest acting like you were going to get up and fetch the movie from the living area. Finn was quick to put his paw on your abdomen to stop you. You smirk at the short-haired feline, “That’s what I thought. Now just enjoy the movie.” You swear you saw your sassy familiar roll his eyes at you. A huff leaves your lips and you plant your ring decorated hand on his side patting him which turns into short pets as you bring your focus back on the movie.

A moment later you started to hear the continuous tick on the roof of your caravan. It wasn’t supposed to rain. So what the hell is making that sound? Your brows furrow as your head tilts back to hear another tick. Silent beat, tick. Finn meows at you and starts to stand on the cushioned bed arching his back to stretch, “Gee, my savior.” You gibed at the black feline as you shuck on your shawl over your silk nightgown. Approaching your door you inhaled deeply, there was someone outside. Instantly your circle was warning you. The energy beamed around it causing a rhythmed pulse around your home. 

Slowly opening the door a pebble fell at your feet. You reach down to grasp it and trek your eyes to dirty brown boots. Your eyes graze up the figure, leather chaps over denim, then the jacket that was so decorated it was an enigma itself. The jacket hovered over a white wife beater crop top, then on the shoulder deeply curled golden locks.

You don’t say anything, you're frozen, staring at the vampire in front of you. “How the hell did you find me?” You hiss with interrogation laced in your voice, but the vampire doesn't budge. In fact, he looks scared a bit. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his decorated jacket. His spine hunched the slightest making him seem smaller as he waits for an opportunity to talk. The expression doesn’t fool you, your eyes are still as sharp as ever. You step down from your home as your eyes start to glow purple and your hands spread as purple shadows form balls in your palms.

The cautious vampire takes a hesitant step back, “I followed your truck.” He answers with wide attentive eyes. 

“Why did you follow me? Did your friends ask you?” You postulated with a tight tone. His only response was a shake of his head. Now you were getting annoyed. “Then why are you here?!” You growled which caused him to jostle just the slightest, taken aback as the purple wisps grow in size with your glowing eyes joining.

“I came to ask for my gloves and ring back,” Marko states straightening out his posture and fixing his tone to sound more confident and demanding. You blink at him lowering your hands just slightly. “Did anyone follow you?” Your query, quirking your eyebrow up searching his deadpan features for answers.

“No,” he responds bluntly, keeping still against the sea breeze that thrusts its way around the two of you. You listened to the whispers in his head, it wasn’t hard to penetrate. He was being open. The realization caused you to drop your hands to your sides. He knew you were going to look through his head to see if he was telling you the truth. Marko really didn’t have anything to hide. The boys didn’t even know he was there. You saw him tell them he was going to grab a bite to eat.

“Alright, give me a moment.” You grumble turning back into the caravan. Marko rustles towards the edge of the circle. His clear eyes trailing over the circle with symbols inside of it. He reached out but was blocked by a sheer purple field. Marko pulled his hand back in a hurry. “It’s a protection circle.” You inform him with his fingerless gloves in the palms of your hands. You picked them up. You don’t know why you did, something urged you to take them back with you. What was the universe trying to tell you? You approach the edge of the circle only a foot away from the vampire. “No one can enter unless I grant them, no matter what being.” You unfold your hands to reveal his weathered gloves and a golden ring in the middle of them.

You pluck the ring, it was heavily made of solid gold with a comet on it. Your eyes linger on it trying to figure out the symbol and what its meaning could be. “Ain’t it pretty?” Marko asks, examining it with you outside of the waves of purple energy. You nod, “Yeah, it’s a nice ring.” You compliment the accessory, you could feel the history off of the object. It had seen so much, but few owner’s which made you hesitant to look deeper into the history of the gold ring. 

“You know what the comet means?” 

You shake your head peering back up to Marko. It was strange how calm you were now and how cool and collected he was.

“It’s the Dragon Order. Providence of the Romanian Boyers. The Dragon Order was dedicated to the destruction of the Turks. They were killed by the tens of thousands. Do you know how?”

You shake your head once more, eyes wide with curiosity.

“They were impaled on rounded wooden stakes left in the fields to rot.” Marko grins as he answered his own questions, his voice full of amusement as if it was an inside joke. You could only chuckle at the significance of home wearing such an accessory. 

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.” You shook your head as a smile grew on your lips. Your eyes scan the ring once more before placing it back into the middle of the gloves.

“I wasn’t either when the bastard told me that story,” he bewailed with his brown eyes glued to the signet. You purse your lips together and reach out with one hand extending. As you reach out the purple sheen carefully separates from your hand allowing you access to reach out to him. Marko pulled his hands out of his leather jacket and gently grabbed the gloves to fold over the ring. As he took it from your hand his touch lingered behind. The touch sent electricity through your nerves which caused you to move your hand away fast. Marko gave a smirk at you as he slipped them back on. “Thanks,” he mumbles and slips the ring on his pinky finger, he runs the pad of his thumb over the comet then drops his hands to his sides. 

You tilt your head at the action watching his expression carefully, you tried to read him but you were shut out once again. Marko flicked his eyes to you, “You’re welcome, Marko.” You whisper back, folding your arms over your chest so the shawl granted a shield against the night winds. Marko bit his lip with a bob of his head, his eyes raked over you once more as he took a few steps back. There was an urge in you to speak up. It punched at your diaphragm for your voice to come out and speak. Speak to him, the whispers rang.

“Marko! I’m sorry!” You call out to the blonde as he was partially down the hill. He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel, his expression clearly showing confusion. You tilt your head to your feet, “I didn’t mean to hurt you during the reading. That wasn’t my intention.” You state, your voice wavering. Marko looks behind his shoulder before wiping his thumb over his lip. Walking back he shakes his head, “Then what happened?” He questions genuinely confused, he really was. Since that night he can only feel episodes of phantom pain and the soreness lasted a couple of days. He’d never seen anything like your magic in his hundred years of living. “You said you’d do a palm reading, but once you touched my hand you went ballistic.”

“I can’t control what happens sometimes,” you start taking a deep breath, “Sometimes the magic likes to control me. Normally when I do a palm reading on a human I can see vaguely of what their future proposes.” You explain. Your fingers tighten on your shawl turning your knuckles white and your shoulder started to shudder as you are reminded of the vision and the pain. The scream of pain and fear, the pain of the wooden stake in his chest. You swallow to relieve the tension in your throat. 

“You are not human, so what I saw was more powerful than I would see on an average being.”

“Then what did you see? Because it hurt like hell, not going to lie.”

You blink and clear your throat, hesitant on trying to explain the vision of his death to him. That is something a vampire, an immortal being doesn’t like to hear. “I saw… I saw… I saw your death,” you choke out hugging yourself with your arms crossed.

Marko’s folded arms drop and his furrowed brows unknot themselves for a beat. “What?” Marko asks in clear confusion before knitting his brows back together but tighter. “You saw my death? What does that even mean?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper breathlessly carefully holding onto your breath thanking your lucky stars you were behind the protective line. Yet, Marko didn’t seem mad or frustrated, he only seemed confused and lost. “The future is bleak, never set in stone. I don’t know who did it. I only saw it through your eyes. I felt it too.”

“So your magic rebounded back to me? Making me feel my own death?” He presses the pad of his index finger onto his chest over where his heart would be. You nod carefully, swiping your tongue over your lower lip. “Yes, then once you were attacked by my magic that’s when your friend started to charge towards me before I could even catch my breath. So on instinct, I acted.” Marko slowly nods at this answer, his lips pouted as he took in all the information trying to file it in his brain for later reference. When he didn’t answer back that was when you started to show a bit of worry about your features. 

“Just remind me to not hold hands with you for a while then,” Marko teases his once look of engrossment turned into mirth. You were so caught off guard by the statement a breathy chuckle left your parted lips. You nod as well as a smile growing on your lips, “I’ll keep that in mind if we ever try to do a reading again.”

“Don’t sweat it, really. I understand now.” Marko discerned raising his brows and stuffing his hands back into his leather jacket. “I should go now, they will be wondering where I am,” Marko suggests nodding his head over in the direction of the boardwalk. You bob your head and give him a warm smile. He lingers for a moment watching you carefully. His warm brown eyes take in your form under the high silvery moonlight. Enjoying the way the shadows cascade your features. He notes the embroidered shawl around your shoulders and the black silk nightgown that draped over your body. He bit his lower lip to halt himself from pressing any further into your night. As he was about to step back he could feel your warm hand on his chest. Fingers ghosting over the bare skin that was above the collar. He flickered his eyes to yours, the orbs widened in bewilderment. Your touch made his skin feel fuzzy, even though your hand was barely putting any pressure he felt like he could feel every twitch of your hand. Marko bores into your eyes as you give him a reassuring smile.

“The future is yours. The future is not something to be predicted on but to be built on.” Your voice was honey to his ears. It was warm and comforting just like your touch. Out of instinct his hand hovers and places it on yours. His fingers brush over the stacked rings before pushing your hand to put more pressure on his chest. Marko doesn’t say a word, but his eyes run wild with wonder and gratitude. He dips his head after a beat of silence between the two of you. Nothing but the whispering of the winds and the thrashing of the waves. Marko drops your hand and takes a step back, admiring the purple sheen separate and close once more as your hand returns to your side. He flashes you a reassuring smile as he takes a couple of steps back his boots making the dirt and gravel separate underneath him. You watch him as he turns around, taking in the detail of the tapestry of the bare woman on his back.

Bringing your thumbnail to your teeth you chew on it out of nerves. A soft meow is what brings your attention back to the caravan. You look down at Finn for a second before whipping your head to see if Marko was still there and he wasn’t. You sigh against the wind wondering if he ran or flew away. 

Another meow. You turn on your heel to Finn, “No, he’s gone. Nothing to worry about. It’s his friends I got to worry about. Now get back inside, you barely have any fur to keep you warm.” You lecture stepping back in the caravan with a retaliating mewl echoing from your bedroom. Your eyes peer through the door, glancing at your surroundings once more as you slowly close the door. You spot the place where Marko was standing, a small clearing where his boots rummaged the dirt around. You click the door shut and rest your forehead against the metal.

Finn trills at you from the bedroom with impatience, “I am coming! Jeez, can’t be without me ten minutes can you? What would you ever do without me?” You tease the Devon Rex who clearly rolls his eyes at you. In reaction you point your index finger at him, “I saw that! Now let me finish this movie in peace, please. No more snarky comments.”

You plot yourself back on the bed shuffling underneath the abundance of blankets. You shake off your shawl and place it neatly on your nightstand. Even though you watched the movie for the rest of the night you couldn’t shake the look Marko gave you when his hand touched yours.  Why did his eyes show more than he was expressing on his face. You could long into them for hours and still, learn new things with each passing minute.

A sigh escaped your lips as sleep started to lull you into a hypnotized state. The weight of the blankets and Finn resting by your side let you fully realize you were safe and at peace for the rest of the night. That didn’t mean when you dreamt you envisioned golden curls that radiated light or the green speckled brown eyes of a familiar vampire.

a/n: thank you for giving so much love on the first part of this series. i know this part is A LOT shorter than the first but i hope it gave a gratifying ending. i have ideas on how to continue this series and make it special for everyone. thank you for all the love once again! 🖤🖤🖤

i think; therefore i am taglist:

@fili-is-my-lover

@ilikechocolatemilkh​

@takemetotheweirdness​

@hopester08

[navegandoaciegas]

Devotion

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [Priest AU]

Warnings: priest!Bucky, explicit language, smut, loss of virginity (Bucky), sex in a church, altar sex, desecrating and blasphemous thoughts and actions, oral sex (M receiving), unprotected sex. Both parties are consenting adults. 

Summary: Father James wants you to be his first, and hopefully his one and only.

The white collar around his neck brands his soft skin like scorching iron when you pull it down to you, your cotton candy lips as sweet as sin as they melt into his, your body pliant and warm. He’s never known that doing wrong would feel so good.

There’s fire burning within him, his skin feverish, his breath ragged, as he gives into the temptation of the flesh. He’s tried resisting at first, back when he still thought of himself as Father James. 

The lord is my shepherd, and I lack nothing. 

But he’s strayed from the herd the day you’ve shown up at the confessional, your soul so light, and bright, your sins not weighing you down, and there’s no way for him to find his path back to salvation, not when nothing’s ever felt as right as his hands on your body and your sweet moans in his ears. 

“Wait.”, he stutters when your hands reach his belt, eyes downcast and chest heaving. The cross around his neck has never felt heavier. “I- I’ve never done this before.” 

He’s embarrassed. It’s always been right, the way it’s supposed to be, but not now, not when all he wants to do is get on his knees and worship every inch of your body, not when all he wants to do is please you until you are as devoted to him as he is to you.  

He’s expecting you to laugh at his face for being a virgin in his late 20s, but you don’t; there’s a small smile on your lips as understanding dawns in your eyes. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, or feel comfortable with.” you whisper in a soft voice, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so caring, “We can just sit here and hold hands. I won’t force you to do anything, ever. And I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this.”

He ponders your words for a second, his hands still hesitant on your hips. He’s never touched a woman before, but he wants to touch you, he wants all of you, only you, more than he’s ever wanted anything before.

“I want to-, I want you, I want you to be the one.”

He wonders if you understand how much, and if the fire in your eyes is only lust, or love.

“Are you sure?” you ask one more time, and when he reassures you he’s never been more sure about anything in his life, you slant your mouth against his again. Teeth clattering, tongues intertwining, he doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he draws circles on your waist until you take pity on him, and you move his arms so he can graze the flesh of your breasts, revelling in the way your nipples stiffen under his caresses. His back hits the marble top of the altar, and his breath hitches when you palm him through his pants. 

When he raises his gaze he sees Jesus on the cross, and he’s almost ashamed of himself, until you reach inside his briefs and stroke his cock, and a strangled moan escapes him, the cross forgotten by now. 

You're intrigued by his shyness, your desire to ruin him, tarnish his soul with the same stains on yours, growing with each soft caress. He has no clue how to touch a woman, but you feel the coil in your core build rapidly anyways.

He’s so pretty under the candlelight, his flushed cheeks, the speckles on his nose, the blue of his eyes completely swallowed by darkness. You wonder how a man so innocent could be so intoxicating.

“I want you, James.”

Four words are all it takes for something primal, something animalistic to snap inside him, his hands relying on instinct as they roam all over your body, his mouth sucking bruises on the tender flesh of your neck, the whimpers that escape you like music in his ears.

A sweep of your arms, the golden cups hit the ground, the clattering reverberating in the empty church. 

It’s exhilarating the way he’ll preach tomorrow morning at 10 and you’ll be there, on the first bench.

“Please.”, he whines, “Do something.”

A wicked glint crosses your eyes. “Beg me. Beg for me like you pray for your Lord.”

Frustration does things to the body that make you forget the shame and humiliation that burn your cheeks. “Please angel, please touch me, I need it so bad, I’ll do anything for you.”

Your chuckle is pure evil against the tears pooling in his eyes and his hips grinding on you in a weak attempt to soothe his aching cock. 

You don’t need to be told twice before you get on your knees, ready to worship him.

“What are you doing?” he stammers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you free his cock and it springs up, his girth almost intimidating.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you deadpan, before you lick the tip, your hand stroking his shaft slowly enough to torture him.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know you could-” he inhales sharply when you take him in your mouth, and his eyes roll to the back of his head, all thoughts forgotten as you bob your head like a woman on a mission. Dark thick hair rub against your nose as you fight against the ache in your jaw, swallowing him whole. 

It doesn’t last long however, and you hear him curse when you fondle with his balls, a choked groan and some incoherent words escaping him before he cums deep in your throat, his heady taste reaching your tongue when your choke on his release, cum dripping down on your chin.

He tries to speak, justify himself, embarrassed by his admittedly short performance, and he doesn’t need experience to understand that it’s bad, very bad, but words fail him, his mind focused on the electricity that shakes his body as the tight knot in his belly unravels, and he sees stars for a second. You don’t let him sulk long before you sit on the altar and beckon him to join you. 

“On the altar?” he asks, hesitancy clear in his voice, some remnants of his pure soul lingering somewhere inside him.

“Yes, sweet boy, I want you to fuck me on the altar.”

He blushes deeper, a small smile finding its way on his face despite the embarrassment. 

You straddle him, your need to have him buried balls deep inside you growing the more you taste him on your tongue. You wish to ruin him and be ruined by him.

You grind your hips on his, feeling him grow hard again. You walls throb, and you’re desperate to release the ache in your cunt.

In a blur all your clothes and his cassock are on the ground. He marvels at your curves, your soft skin, your glistening folds. 

It can’t be wrong when it feels so right. Love can never be wrong, he hopes. 

Hungry kisses, heated touches, you grab him in your hand, your gaze boring into one another’s as you sink onto his cock. He grunts and wills his pleasure back this time, hoping he won’t embarrass himself again. 

It feels so good, therefore it can’t be wrong, your walls accommodating him, clenching on him, his girth stretching you just right, your clit brushing against his pubic bones.

It’s wrong, but it feels so right to fuck him on the holy countertops he breaks the bread and pours the wine on, under the watchful eyes of saints and cherubs. Some are disappointed, some smirk, you think.

You grind your hips, feeling your core get hotter, his cock brushing against all the right places. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good, sweet boy.” you moan, the tip of his thick cock hitting the spongy spot inside you.

“I can’t last much longer.” he groans, his strong arms around you. He grabs you, and moves you, desperately trying to hold himself back and please you.

More sloppy thrusts before his hot load shoots inside you again, painting your walls and filling you so nicely that it tips you over the edge, your orgasm shaking you from the core to every limb, your cunt clenching down on his cock and milking every last drop he has to offer.

There’s no words as you pant against one another, the air heavy with incense and sex. When his cock goes soft inside you, his cum drips onto the altar cloth where he’ll preach Sunday mass tomorrow morning.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” you mumble in his ear, “And watch you squirm as you preach and remember how good it felt to be in my pussy, on this same altar.”

God, he’s so fucked.

-

This oneshot can be read on its own, or as a part of no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. It takes place before the second confession… the one where they masturbate in the confessional. Maybe send in some priest!Bucky hc or ideas if you want to read more of these two?

A/N: If you liked this, please consider reblogging and leaving some feedback. You don’t have to, but it helps me immensely. Thank you for reading, love you all.

[slashersaremylovers]

Melted candles

|| Vincent Sinclair ||

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Warnings:

I try to write cheap, Questionable spelling, grammar, writing, and plain plot.

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Summary:

Amalia is one of the few people who are in Ambrose and the only girl who survived exactly a month ago, since then she has become part of the Sinclair family, especially the muse of the artist of the family, Vincent.

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In Ambrose there is not much noise to tell the truth, in fact there are almost no people besides her and of course, the Sinclair brothers, the young woman has been living with them for about a month, at first as a pet, currently more like a muse. . She looks at the window nailed with boards with melancholy but she really knows why she is confined in four walls, it is a punishment, he has limited her freedom. Exactly two hours ago she had tried to run away for the third time in the month and he had been very angry with her, the young woman was thinking that he would finally turn it into one of his wax sculptures or finally kill her, but how he always left her in his room, he locked the door and went to the basement, after a few minutes the sounds of anger and frustration began breaking many things, apparently he had moved to the living room. He, her captor, never put a hand on top of her to hit her but to caress her face with her softness, almost tenderly and delicately, as if he were afraid of hurting her. The girl huddles more in bed this time she was not chained, she was only locked in the room of her that she gave him. The walls had been freshly painted a nice color that she knew she liked, there was furniture made with wax hands to complement the empty room, only the bed was big enough and the only thing that wasn't made of wax along with the mattress, the sheets and of course her.

Suddenly the horrible sound subsided and you heard the heavy boots walking to the door that was locked, it opened, revealing a huge man with long and messy hair stuck with sweat to his excessively pale and emotionless face, until he realized that that was his mask which he always used the one made of wax.

"Sorry," the girl muttered in a broken voice, while bowing her head in submission.

He no longer seemed to be unfazed by her false promises to remain still and by her side, he only watched her silently without saying anything in particular the only thing that could be heard was the strong ragged breathing hitting the mask she was wearing and the girl's heart hammered to a thousand per hour.

The ground creaked from the heavy boot, she swallowed, she did not know that she could pass but it was preferable that he and not hers, another twin of hers who was more sadistic had found her fleeing, she still remembered that incident with terror.

The boots stopped hitting the ground the sound of scraping soles stopped until he was in front of her. The man bent down until he was level with her, with one of her hands he tenderly caressed her short hair up to her shoulders, with the other hand he touched her chin making her look up a little her.

- Aren't you happy here, Amalia? she asked in a raspy voice, it was almost flat but there was a feeling of sadness.

"No," she replied softly.

"What would make you happy?" This time her voice sounded more natural but she always sounded like she will try hard to say a few words.

"Go home," she replied as she lowered her gaze and played with the hem of her flowered dress.

- You can't, you know, they are bad people - he replied with slight annoyance, the only thing he wanted was for her to go back there, Vincent knew that those people were bad, really bad for his little Amalia, his muse, she was the same of broken that he therefore kept her alive not like a wax statue, because she was different.

"Not with them, if not to my real house, please Vincent let me go," she sighed as her pretty brown eyes filled with tears and the sight of her clouded over the salt water.

He simply stroked her hair and let her cry, her other hand wrapped around her in a semi hug trying to comfort her.

"I can't" she sighed sadly, I didn't want to see her, I suffered more and they both knew that her royal family was no longer alive for years.

She clung to him as she sobbed more and all that was heard was that sound of her sobs, her heavy breathing from the young woman and the slow breathing from her captor.

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She supposed that she had fallen asleep after crying for a long time, because the lights in her room were off and she was wrapped in warm and fluffy blankets, however she was not alone by her side there was Vincent who was holding her tight against him, she was still with her mask and from the time she had been by his side she was always curious about his real face, but she imagined that he was very similar to Bo, so that made her grimace with displeasure, Bo and she did not have a good relationship basically Because it was quite uncomfortable for him compared to his twin, many times he was made sexual advances and other times he touched her, but thanks to the fact that Vincent seemed to be his shadow this stopped. Then her stomach protested the lack of food. She tried to move gently so as not to pick him up after all she had a little sympathy for him and she knew the poor man didn't sleep very well.

The sound of the blanket sliding off her body plus soft male breathing was all she could hear.

- You're not going to run away again, are you? - Said a sleepy voice.

She stopped trying to move, sighed, and spoke calmly:

- No, I just wanted something to eat, mmh, do you want something? she asked uncertainly, this time she managed to look at him although her face was framed by her long and silky hair covering most of her, revealing only a part of her expressionless mask.

- No, I already ate. Stay here, I'll bring you something-he always moved faster than her and that surprised her, Vincent was very fast despite his large size.

The girl could only nod. She heard the squeak of the bed shifting against the other person's weight, the blankets being thrown ungraciously at the girl's side, the man's feet slapping against the wooden floor and leaving the room without locking the door. .

She sometimes hated herself for being so fickle and manipulative, yet years of abuse always destroy what's left of a person, sometimes turning them into fighters or just empty shells like her.

A while later and her empty stomach rumbled more than usual, unsure of going to see him because she had already been late in returning, along with the little courage she could have in her system, she removed the blankets from her body, throwing them to the opposite side of her. She slid out of bed quickly, her feet hit the hard wooden floor with one foot. She searched without much success for her shoes, which she did not find but received a strong sniff and lick on her feet that made her raise them with the same feet. speed with which the bass.

She let out a shriek scared by what happened, it will make the head of Jonsie, Vincent's dog, come out from under the bed, she could not help but give a silly laugh for being scared by something like that, she lowered her feet again and ended up bending down to see the old dog and sit on the floor.

Jonsie was one of the few good things at Ambrose, the dog was a great comfort and good company when she was punished or left for hours at home while Vincent went to the basement to work or when Lester was not present, even if Bo was in his workshop.

"Jonsie, you scared me," she said softly as she caressed him, he let out an apologetic snort as he allowed himself to be pampered by the girl. - Hey, haven't you seen my sandals? Said this, the dog gave him a lick on his hand and turned to go deeper under the bed, a few seconds later he came out in her mouth with some worn white sandals.

- Good boy, Jonsie, thank you - the girl patted him on the head, the young woman quickly put on her sandals and left the room to look for Vincent, while the dog simply got more comfortable to sleep a little more.

The corridors were badly lit, apparently the lights were damaged, only a small light was seen promoting from the room that leads to the kitchen, there were two male voices arguing, although one louder than the other. It was Bo and Vincent. Being relatively close he leaned into the hall to hide in the shadows.

- Damn it Vincent, this is the third time this month that he escapes, I that you turn that damn bitch into wax now! - The man dressed as a mechanic spat with irony as he hit a table in front of him.

-She No she ran away, I let her out for a while -the other lied with a calmer voice, Vincent was preparing a simple sandwich from the little food that was there.

- Are you stupid or what? You must not let her out of her, that was part of the damn thing about her! - The man's face was red and almost looked like he was going to explode - And now you make him a sandwich? Don't reward her, you idiot, you'll just spoil her more, for God's sake.

- I'm not stupid, just that I was sad and wanted to take some air, also he's hungry. -He justified himself, he precisely cut the edges of the sandwich.

- Do you think I'm a moron? Lester found her and told me, if it weren't for Lester, this bitch who knows how far she would go and she would reveal everything that happens here! he growled in exasperation.

"Amalia wouldn't do it, she's a good girl," he murmured he went down more to talk to himself than to his twin.

- So you accept that because of your idiocy that bitch ran away? Look at me when I'm talking to you Vincent! -Bo approached his twin, pushing him hard so that she was looking at him.

Due to the abrupt movement, the knife slipped and slightly cut the man's hand, that cut was insignificant compared to others. He submissively looked towards his twin although he was a few inches taller than his other brother, Bo was more dominant between the two.

The tension was palpable between the two individuals that could almost be cut even with a simple piece of paper. The girl who is observing all this did not understand why her captor fiercely protected him against her twin. Maybe she was developing some empathy or some case of Stockholm syndrome with him and Vincent some Lima syndrome with her. Vincent was undoubtedly taller of the two and also stronger, but he was always softer compared to No, Amalia didn't like being treated like this. Grabbing all of her courage, she stopped hiding in the shadows to reveal herself.

-Leave him alone Bo, Vincent is not to blame-her voice for the first time rose and was firm.

Bo was the first to notice her, her eyes colliding, blue and brown, one with little cunning, the other with anger and rage. He pushed his brother to the side and walked over to where Amalia was. With a sadistic smile on her face, with her body tense and there was a vein that soon seemed to explode, her steps became slow like that of a predator about to hunt her prey. What little courage she accumulated from her escaped in an instant and her veins went cold, she felt smaller than she already was in herself.

- Look who dared to come here. The girl we're talking about isn't Viny? her-she gave a sarcastic laugh, put her hand on hers on her shoulder, Bo smiled more at her when he noticed her swallow, she was terrified of her only made her smile widen more.

Amalia looked towards Vincent's direction for help or protection, the only thing she received from her was her back and perhaps he was tired of protecting her against her brother.

- I-I didn't mean to. . .

"No, of course not, little bitch," she said through her teeth as she squeezed her shoulder hard.

The young woman moaned in pain as she felt her hand clench and her blunt nails dug into her tender skin.

The sound of the knife hitting the wood made the older twin turn around, this one was already nailing maybe it was a warning or not, but Bo didn't want to know, because despite being the dominant and older twin he knew that Vincent could becoming a bit more sadistic than him, although he never faced it were the little things that made him think that one day he would become the alpha twin.

-Just make your bitch stop trying to run away-she released mitres, they pushed her hard and she left there, her steps disappeared into the corridors of the house.

Amalia stood there not knowing what to do yet, the only thing that took her out of her shock was the sound of Vincent's heavy boots, who pointed to the plate that was in his hand with a simple sandwich, she weakly took it in her hands. hands as he made his way to the nearest table.

"Bo is right, I must stop defending you," she murmured in a tired voice. - So this is your last chance, you stay with me and you become my muse or you become a beautiful wax figure, you choose - without saying more he wiped his hands and went to the basement.

That day Amalia knew that her days would be numbered, she swallowed the sandwich and looked in Vincent's direction, she made a decision, she would be her muse before being one of her gloomy wax figure.

[gaylorlyrics]

Cowboy Like Me

Howdy partner! this song is clearly a reference to Taylors roots in country music - but it goes deeper than that. It’s about Karlie, and how both girls have built their careers off of selling the idea of love, karlie through modeling and Taylor through songwriting. Both are super ambitious and focused, playing the game and driving their careers forward, but have rags (ok - not rags, but upper middle class normalcy) to riches stories, which makes them feel like the don’t quite belong in the celeb world.

And the tennis court was covered up

Several people have noticed that this could be a reference to Tennis Court by Lorde. The last time Kaylor was seen together was the below pic at Lorde’s bday. Reading the lyrics to Tennis Court, it almost seems like the same setting as CBM. Lorde’s song explores the dark side of fame, talking about not fitting in and being surrounded by superficial fame. She says “let’s go down to the tennis courts to talk it out” and then we have CBLM that starts in the middle of a sentence with “and”, and takes place at the tennis court, where the cowboys are trying to impress the rich folks, almost as if the songs are sequential.

With some tent-like thing

Here we’re already getting the theme of not belonging somewhere. Taylor doesn’t say canopy - which is what she is referring to and actually would fit both in terms of syllables and rhyme scheme - she says “tent-like thing” which is both dismissive of her surroundings and tells us that maybe she doesn’t quite know the right word for them.

And you asked me to dance

Let’s just take a moment to remember that 1) Karlie is a dancer and 2) kaylor started at vsfs2013 where they danced on stage together like this:

dancer karlie!

But I said, "Dancing is a dangerous game"

This references DWOHT -  which is the ultimate Kaylor song and is all about dancing even though its dangerous, like in the lyrics “can we dance through an avalanche?”, “Swaying as the room burned down”, etc. 

Oh, I thought This is gonna be one of those things

There’s a song called Just One Of Those Things by Nat Porter that you can listen to here, and it seems like Tay is referencing it here. The song lists great loves (ex. Romeo & Juliet) being cast aside and belittled as “one of those things”. This reminds me of people saying that being gay is a “phase” in order to devalue it. Specifically one line in Just One Of Those Things really makes me think about Kaylor - “If we'd thought a bit, of the end of it When we started painting the town We'd have been aware that our love affair Was too hot, not to cool down”. It expresses how they were so loud while glass closeting and had so much chemistry that they couldn't just tone it down they had to go completely dark in order to keep closeting.

Now I know I'm never gonna love again

In many ways this references the theme of “right where you left me”, Taylor can’t move on because she fell too hard for Karlie and no love will ever compare.

I've got some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one You're a cowboy like me

Taylor sees a lot of herself in Karlie. They know how to play the same games in terms of their careers and bearding, but because of this they understand each others vulnerabilities, etc.

Never wanted love Just a fancy car

They weren’t looking for love when they met, they were both just in the place they were because they were trying to advance their careers. However, as Tay has talked about before, the lure or riches and fancy cars isn’t enough to satisfy her. It also references this line in King Of My Heart, where Tay literally says that all the boys aren’t as good as her lover (Karlie) is.

Now I'm waiting by the phone Like I'm sitting in an airport bar You had some tricks up your sleeve Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

also:

Perched in the dark Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear Like it could be love I could be the way forward Only if they pay for it

Both Karlie and Taylor have built their careers off of selling the idea of love - Taylor through her music and Karlie through her modeling, especially with Victoria’s Secret. Both of them are capitalizing and cashing in on romance. They play the game of love to be valuable to the record labels, fashion brands, and industry overall, getting the “rich people” in the industry to invest in them and their careers. However, both are caught off guard when they encounter the real thing and actually fall in love.

You're a bandit like me Eyes full of stars

Taylor talks about eyes a lot, but I think this has two meanings. 1 - both of their eyes are full of stars because they are surrounded by other celebs and so they are literally seeing stars all the time. 2 - the more conventional meaning would be that their eyes are bright and beautiful.

It also references two songs that are very much about Karlie: “Starry eyes sparkin’ up my darkest night” in Call It What You Want, and “The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo” in Dorothea.

Hustling for the good life

Again, Taylor brings attention to the fact that they are both really career focused and trying really hard to be as successful as possible. They don’t have the same type of fallbacks that celebs with famous parents and old money have.

Never thought I'd meet you here It could be love We could be the way forward And I know I'll pay for it

Here Taylor knows that she’ll pay for her relationship with karlie in two ways, 1- she’s paying for it in that by falling in love and pursuing a relationship she’s on the “treacherous” road making her life much more complicated given that she’s choosing not to come out, 2- she is literally paying for beards so she can have a public muse for her relationship songs.

[Chorus]

And the skeletons in both our closets

Plotted hard to fuck this up

Here Tay is talking about closets again. This actually makes me think of two meanings. 

1- it makes me think of the “skin and bones” line in treacherous (maybe because I was just talking about that song) and how tay has used that type of language to talk about her and her lover in the past. The skeletons in the closet could be a reference to the past karlie and Taylor being in the closet, when they were both really thin and Taylor was battling her eating disorder. In the past they were plotting so hard to cover their tracks and stay in the closet, which eventually messed everything up for them. 

2 - The more obvious interpretation is that the skeletons in the closet are the people who were controlling their careers, who they have now moved away from, like SB2. These people messed things up by keeping them in the closet.

And the old men that I've swindled

Both karlie and tay have had careers that were mostly controlled by men who are older than them - VS CMO Ed razek, SB2, etc. These men thought that they were controlling kaylors careers, but kaylor is individually profiting as well.

Really did believe I was the one

This references The One, the first track on folklore.

And the ladies lunching have their stories about When you passed through town

Karlie has quite the rep for making people fall in love with her quite easily (see the klossanova video that @theprologues​ made here). 

But that was all before I locked it down

Love locked down! for more details check out this post and this one, but basically Karlie posted and image with the caption “love locked down” on March 6, 2016, on the same day Taylor posted “one year down” with the picture of a locket. This was one year after their Vogue cover came out in March 2015. Because of this, it seems like they were celebrating their anniversary some sort. Hence the line “I locked it down”. 

Now you hang from my lips Like the Gardens of Babylon

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon is one of the 7 ancient wonders of the world, known as very beautiful and an incredible feat in engineering (beauty + engineering are both things that describe karlie!). However, archeologists are unable to find proof of their location - therefore it’s unclear if the gardens “were an actual construction or a poetic creation”. 

With your boots beneath my bed

This is a metaphor for sleeping together and is also referencing cowboy boots.

Forever is the sweetest con

It’s impossible to be with each other forever - when we say forever we know that we will actually be separated by mortality and factors we can’t control. However, Taylor is okay being “conned” with ideas of forever, because it’s understood that they will be with each other as long as possible.

And yet, this also references Hoax - it’s a different way of saying “your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in”. Leaving us wondering if the love was real or a con.

[Chorus]

[crybabyhyuk]

confiteor ; lee felix

Pairing: nonidol!felix x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: 18+ material, religious desecration/sacrilege, implied corruption kink, religious guilt, explicit mentions of biblical text + Catholic liturgy.

A Word from the Author: hi everyone! I am so excited to finally be back to posting. Some of you may know me from @ourladyofseijoh​, but this is my first official work on this blog :’) this is an old piece I wrote for kinktober 2020 that never got published. I am super excited to be writing again and I hope you guys enjoy :’)

。.:☆*:･' 。.:☆*:･' 。.:☆*:･’

Felix is a good boy. He says his Hail Mary’s when told to, he sits in his pew every Sunday, and he walks the straight and narrow. He knows he isn’t perfect, no one could ever be, but he tries his best. Despite his lashing tongue and his judgmental heart, he is a good boy.  Felix knows this is wrong. There is no way to avoid it. No matter how many deluded lies he paints to himself, this is wrong. He shouldn’t be entangled with you, so soft and innocent, staring up at him like he builds the world with his own two hands. Somehow, he finds himself falling into temptation. You look so soft, laying under him on your pure white sheets, the picture of chastity and virtue. 

I confess to Almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters...

The desire to feel the flesh of another is almost carnal. When the feeling takes, it devours the mind of its rational and sinks its teeth into you with such enthusiasm that it burns. Felix can’t pinpoint where this urge comes from, maybe some part deep in his instincts, beyond his control. Despite his baptism, perhaps it is the original sin still coursing through his veins. Or, maybe he is weak, crumbling to the hands of desire, entangled in the lust, suffocating in the warm aura of your body. Part of him feels guilty, ashamed of the shivers that ravage down his spine at your soft moans. It is impossibly hot in this room (when did it get so hot), and his head is thumping, the blood rushing out of his brain and straight down to his cock. 

That I have gravely sinned. 

Your eyes are watery, lips blooming open, breathing heavy and ragged. You mess with the buttons of his shirt, the soft white fabric feeling like heaven under your fingers. He lets you fumble with them, popping each off with a satisfying sound, exposing his tanned skin to your hungry eyes. “Lix,” you whine, voice soft and achy. “Please, please touch me.” He observes your form beneath him, top completely exposed, leaving just your small skirt and panties on. He reaches a hand into your hair, feeling it beneath his fingers. He gives a light tug and feels his breath tighten at the moan you let out. “You’re so sensitive,” he whispers, mostly to himself. He gulps as his hand falls lower, brushing across your face, feeling your skin burning up under his fingertips. 

In my thoughts and in my words…

He squeezes your face softly, testing the waters. When he pinches it hard, you gasp. Something deluded inside of him is satiated at your groans of pain, filling him with a sadistic pleasure that makes him shake. He lets his thumb caress your lips softly before plunging behind them to your eagerly waiting mouth. Your tongue swirls around him, looking at him with exaltation, making him an idol in your little paradise. He removes his thumb, letting your slobber dribble out of your mouth and onto your jaw. You look so stainless, even as your innocence is slipping away from beneath you. His hands trace down, brushing from your jaw to your neck, before wrapping his fingers around your pretty little throat. He can feel your pulse pounding against his hand, a mixture of fear and excitement painted in your pupils. “P-please,” you choke out, drooling like a stupid little puppy at the lack of oxygen flowing to your brain. 

In what I have done, and what I have failed to do…

His culpability weighs on him heavily. He can’t help but think to the Savior’s command, “but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” He seals his fate as he removes his hand from your neck, bringing his mouth down to it. He lets his tongue lick and suck your soft flesh, gnashing his teeth into your collarbones as he works his way down. Each tender mewl pulls from your mouth with ease, a choir of heavenly sighs filling the confines of your bedroom. He reaches your breast, glancing through his messy hair to look at your expression.

Through my fault, through my fault…

He brings his mouth to your roused nipple, spurred on by each gentle sob at the flick of his tongue. Your hands tangle in his hair, yanking at the locks with reckless ardor. There are plenty of words to describe the way you feel beneath him, but he can only think of heaven. He always had a mind bound for the Kingdom, but somehow he feels the flame licking his heels. He moves to the give the other breast the same treatment, sucking up each whiney pant leaving your lips. Your thighs rub together in expectation, your essence drenching through the silky fabric. The feeling of his mouth against your chest is almost so pleasurable that it pains you, the transgressions of your pleasure almost forgotten with the flick of his tongue. He lets his mouth free with a satisfying pop, smiling up at you through his dark lashes. 

Through my most grievous fault.

“Should I stop?” He whispers, voice filled with trepidation. As much as his guilt rocks through his body, Felix knows he could never stop now. The Garden of Eden must pale in comparison to the landscapes of your body, the Forbidden Fruit a mere rotten apple to the one lamenting out his name. The words leave your lips before you can think them, “Never stop.” Just as Jesus listens to the ordination of a Virgin, Felix complies with your words. He continues to kiss down your body, reaching the waistband of your skirt. Each time his lips touch your skin, you shiver the feeling, every nerve in your body alive and well. 

Therefore I ask the Blessed Mary Ever-Virgin…

You had heard about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, that the body of believers was the closest you would ever get. Maybe you hadn’t known that in full until his hands are pulling down your skirt, exposing your soaked panties into full view before him. How amazing must it feel to be reunited with your Creator if his tongue gliding along the fabric feels like ecstasy? Is this what paradise feels like? You want to contemplate more on the mystery of faith, but you are distracted by the feeling of Felix’s tongue working through your panties. You grip the sheets, letting a ramble of his name fall off your tongue like a prayer.

All the Angels and Saints….

He reaches down, hooking his fingers through the fabric and pulling down with an agonizing pace. Each touch against your skin dithers your composure more, pulling you further and further into a delirium of pleasure. When he finally spreads your legs apart, you wait for the years of humiliation and shame to overflow your senses. The Catholic guilt burned into your very being should be all you can think about, but your body is overtaken by the feeling of his tongue diving between your folds. Your body is so uncorrupted, all the new sensations making you twinge in sensitivity. His tongue explores your stainless cunt, claiming the flesh all for his own. 

And you, my brothers and sisters….

The feeling of Felix’s tongue ravaging your cunt is enough to push you close to the edge, dancing on the edge of pure bliss. He swirls his tongue around your little clit, making you jerk against his face. He works between your legs as if he is oppressively thirsty, desperate for the living water. As the coil building up in your core threatens to snap, you reach a wanton hand out, desperately to feel something to hold you to gravity. His hand finds yours, locking fingers in an iron grip before your orgasm finally crashed over you. The pleasure radiating over every inch of your body travels in waves, brain melting into a beatitude that leaves you numb. He stops when you begin to jerk away from his touch, agonizingly sensitive in his hands.

To pray for me, to the Lord our God.

As you lay next to him, melted in a puddle of bliss, Felix’s eyes drift to the Crucifix hanging on the wall above your bed. The initial feelings of apprehension are returning, suffocating him with guilt of his actions. The weight of your corruption finds itself comfortably on his shoulders, settling into his bones and moving into his consciousness. He stares up at the ceiling, crucified with shame and guilt. 

I confess to Almighty God...

Thank you so much for checking out my post :’) I am so excited to be writing again and I really loved this piece. feedback is always appreciated!

[aseioh]

Of Stars and Moonlit walks pt.2/?

Notes: Some housekeeping first. Donna for the purpose of this story will be based partly on her unused content from the game as well as some canon info. This means that she has a darker background than the one that was used in the game proper as I would really like to incorporate those into this story.

Another thing is that as you’ve probably read from the previous chapter. The characters here are slightly out of character, I’m afraid this is entirely my problem as I’m not used to writing stories

----

Chapter 2: Dinner with a show

Dinner with the Dimitrescus’ was never a quiet affair, in fact it is the very definition of a happy family dinner. The three daughters vying for their Mother’s attention, retelling their afternoon adventures. Alcina sitting at the head of the table patiently listening to everything her daughters tell her, her smile so much different from the usual smirk or predatory grin she sports during the meetings with Mother Miranda and the other Lords.

It made her look softer; Motherhood seems to suite her like her gloves.

At the back of Donna mind, she remembers her childhood before things went bad. Sunday roast dinners made by Mother, Father sneaking from behind to leave a kiss on her Mother’s cheek. Yes, everything seems so simple back then.

The dining room itself is small and cozy, Donna guesses that this room is where the family usually dines compared to the cavernous dining hall that exits into their courtyard.

Across the table Bela has been silently studying their mysterious guest. Of course she has been joining her sisters retell their afternoon escapades in the garden and how they had manage to scare the new maids. But throughout dinner she has been subtly glancing at Donna.

The women certainly is interesting, so quiet compared to her doll that you would have imagined that the chatty doll is the Lord and the woman is the puppet. But she had listened to her Mother’s lesson unlike her two sisters. She knows who Donna Beneviento is, what the woman is capable of.

What an interesting study, I wonder what is behind that veil.

‘She must be pretty.’ She thought as she swirls the wine in her glass.

“So Angie, wanna play hide and seek? Bet you can’t find us! We’re very good at that game” Daniela challenges Angie. The moment that the youngest sister saw the moving doll she has become utterly fascinated by it.

It was obvious that Angie was the greatest doll Donna possesses, as she has mostly used the doll as an extension of her psyche. That said, the doll seems to be capable of autonomous actions based on the way she flitters around the room inspecting various stuff that catches her attention.

“Ha you’re talking to the greatest hide and seeker! Hehehe, alright. Let’s play” Angie exclaimed hopping up and down Donna’s side.

“she really is one of a kind huh?” Cassandra muses.

“Yes, my Father built and gifted her to me on my birthday, we’ve been inseparable since. When I’ve received my gift from Mother Miranda I’ve decide to share some of my psyche with her. In a way she is an extension of myself, albeit a rather excitable one at that.” Donna explains as she looks on fondly at Angie.

As Alcina stands up from her chair and offers her hand to Donna “Yes well enough of that melancholy dear, shall we retire or will you join me for a short night cap.”

“And girls if you are going to play with Angie make sure that you don’t cause too much noise. God knows we need some rest after today.”

“Yes Mother!” the three answers in unison

“You guys hide, and I’ll seek” Daniela announces as she grins predatorily. The ‘preys’ have already scattered before she even finished her sentence. After counting to ten she proudly bellows “READY or NOT, HERE I COMEEE!!” with that she disintegrates into hundreds of flies intent on ‘hunting’ her preys.

----

Adjourning to another room the two Lords sit in front of a roaring fire. Alcina casually cupping one of her finest vintages, while Donna content on sipping her tea.

“Donna when I asked you to join me for a night cap, I didn’t expect you to drink tea” Alcina chuckles at Donna’s preferred drink.

Donna having removed her veil as she was alone with Alcina responds by standing up and taking the crystal decanter by the table. She pours a fingers worth of aged whiskey into her cup. Smirking she raises her tea laced whiskey to Alcina and gulps down a mouthful.

Seeing this Alcina roars into laughter. “You really can surprise anyone” Wiping a stray tears from her eyes “and that is why anyone who underestimates you meets their end.”

“At that I can only blame them” Donna answers. The two fell into a companionable silence, the silence only broken by the occasional cracking of the fire.

“Tell me Donna, how is your project with Heisenberg. I do hope the man is not running you haggard. I know that it concerns Mother Miranda’s plan but you shouldn’t run yourself to hard. Let Heisenberg sweat a bit”

“Thank you for your concern Alcina, but you shouldn’t worry. Believe it or not Karl and I are very efficient with our work, and yes, I let him do all the heavy lifting. I’m just there when he needs a second opinion on the new ‘soldat’ hardware.” Donna levels Alcina with a grateful smile, who knew that the tallest and blood thirsty Lord of the village have a soft spot for her ‘siblings’.

“Yes, yes I’m just worried that Mother Miranda has been running you ragged. Lord knows she’s been going full tilt with her so called ‘plan’.

“Actually Alcina, may I ask you for a favor?”

“Depends, does it involve the depletion of our whiskey stores?” At that Alcina couldn’t help but give a short chuckle.

“Very funny. But no. I would never deprive Karl of his favorite drink.” Donna shakes her head, pin it to the back of her head ‘Alcina is a funny half-drunk.’

“No, I was wondering if you would allow me to tour your greenhouse. I would love to see your plants and roses.”

“Is that all? Of course, I’ll ask Bela to take you tomorrow. She’s usually the one to tend to my roses, she’s picked up the hobby after reading some books and my roses have never looked livelier.”

“Thank you.”

-----

A knock on the door alerts Donna that her companion for the day has arrived. From what Angie has relayed to her last night, the girls had fun with their game with Angie being declared the ultimate victor followed closely by Cassandra. Apparently being a small doll makes it near impossible to find her inside the huge castle.

“Good morning Donna, shall we go to the greenhouse?” Bela extends her arms towards the hallway as they make their way to the greenhouse.

“You look pretty today Bela! I love your dress, it suits you so much it brings out your eyes!” Angie says as she turns her head to face Bela. Donna who has been carrying Angie had to think hard on not dropping the doll or stop walking.

Bela for her part slightly blushes at the compliment. “You really think so Angie?” Angie enthusiastically nods her head, fearing that it might fall off Donna decides to intervene.

“Angie’s right Bela, you look really beautiful today.” At that Bela’s blush blossoms like one of her Mother’s roses. “Thank you, Angie, Donna”

“I must say though, your hands are beautiful Donna, they look so soft-“ Bela stops herself before she could say more and embarrass herself further. ‘Really Bela, her hands are pretty, Mother Miranda above what are you a child!?’ she chides herself.

Not knowing how to respond to such a compliment herself, Donna instead slows down her walk and whispers, “Thank you, Bela” Although Bela doesn’t seem to hear as she was busy chiding herself.

Thankfully the two arrive at the Castle’s greenhouse without any hitch.

Entering the great building Donna is surprised by the sheer number of plants that the building houses. Exotic plants that can only survive in tropical climates seem to thrive even in their Romanian climate. At the center of place is Alcina’s roses, the bushes so lush its as if each rose were painted there. Truly they were the main attraction of the greenhouse.

“They’re beautiful, and is it true that you yourself tended to these flowers?” Donna enquired as she caresses the petals of a rose amazed at the softness of it.

“Well, yes. I read in the library on the optimal way to care for the roses. I though that I could try my hands on caring for them. To ward off boredom of course, Mother said that we should look for hobbies and stop terrorizing the hired help” Bela explains as she tries not to blush on how Donna touches the plant.

“I don’t think it’s just that Bela. You have a big heart. You’ve managed to grow something from this barren and frozen place. You gave it your time and love and in return, they bloom for you.” Donna says quietly voice soft it’s as if the wind itself is talking.

Bela blushes furiously and is left speechless. ‘this is the third time she’s been made to blush! What the hell Bela get a hold of yourself’.

Donna sensing that she has said too much tries to back paddle. “I’m sorry it’s just how I see here. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

“No thank you Donna, really that’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me.”

Thankfully the awkwardness of the place changes when Cassandra barrels through the greenhouse. “Lady Beneviento, may Angie play with us again? We want a rematch with her. This time we’ll definitely win” She says with fire in her voice.

And even though her sisters have said that she can sometimes gloss over and ‘cannot read the room’, Cassandra knew for certain that something has happened. It might be the blush her elder sister is sporting or the subtle twitch of Donna’s hands.

But there are more pressing matters at hand, a Champion needs to be dethroned. Therefore she filed the weird atmosphere around Donna and Bela for another time.

At the mention of the challenge Angie becomes animated and hops off to run into Cassandra. The three leaves Donna alone to ponder the situation inside the greenhouse.

Perhaps her stay at Castle Dimitrescu would be full of surprises after all.

----

Another note: I’ve also been made aware that Donna may suffer from Agoraphobia. I’m sorry that I haven’t taken that into consideration when writing this story, in this case Donna just suffers from a slight fear of unknown people and will not talk at all if she’s in front of new people (which won’t technically happen in this fic)

[andorerso]

secret love song

Princess of Lah'mu, Jyn Erso, is sick of pining after her royal bodyguard. So there's only one solution, really. Thrust into him into the arms of another.

(Certainly, she's had better ideas.)

“You should dance with her,” Jyn says when Cassian approaches her for the first time that evening. No doubt hoping to ask her for a dance instead.

Jyn knows that he doesn’t care much for this sort of dancing – he’s always preferred the lethal sort of two steel swords clashing together. But he’s polite enough to ask anyway, at every ball, without fail, for one dance. Only one because Cassian never wants more than what he can have and because Jyn always has someone else to dance with, some other aristocrat to entertain.

But it doesn’t matter; to Jyn, her one dance with Cassian is always the highlight of her night.

Now, she’s too frustrated—upset to dance with him. It’s better if she puts some distance between them. She thinks she’s going to embarrass herself if he comes too close.

“With who?” Cassian inquires, confusion written across his handsome face.

Jyn nods towards the lady, dressed in wine purple, brown hair elegantly twisted up in a bun, not unlike her own. She stands next to the grandiose fountain in the middle of the room, pretending to gossip and giggle with her friends, but Jyn sees her glancing at Cassian every couple of minutes like a moth drawn to a flame.

Helena Krennic is the daughter of Orson Krennic, who is co-owner of the Lah’mu Railways Company and founder of Krennic Bank, therefore a very important individual that she must impress – according to her royal advisor, at least. Helena herself is an accomplished pianist, an esteemed painter, an occasional poet, and an admirer of Cassian Andor, apparently.

Cassian swivels in the direction Jyn gestured towards, his frown deepening.

“Why?”

“Because she’s been looking at you all night,” Jyn answers, relieved to hear that her voice is not quite as bitter as she feared it would be. Yet, she can’t completely hide the contempt either.

“I haven’t noticed,” he says, and she knows he’s being honest. When it comes to battle, nothing escapes his attention, but with the ladies, he’s hopeless.

(Has he noticed that Jyn, too, has been looking at him since she was fifteen? No, he has not. Or perhaps he’d thought her crush childish. Perhaps he hadn’t realized that as she grew up, so did her feelings for him. She’s no longer a young girl admiring her older, braver, skillful royal bodyguard. She’s a woman who’s fallen in love with the forbidden fruit.)

She knows Helena isn’t to blame – Jyn has no claim on Cassian, who is a handsome young man, and whose noble job of protecting the princess made him even more appealing to certain people. Ladies have noticed him before. And while some find his background and lowborn status disagreeable, others deem it a testament of talent and ambition that he could rise as far as to be Jyn Erso’s royal bodyguard at such a young age. Rags to riches is an appealing fairytale. And Helena appears to be a fan of fairytales.

Jyn hates Helena for that. She hates herself for wanting Cassian, and she hates Cassian for being so damn wantable and for not wanting her back. Or if he does, for not showing it. Most of all, she hates the world they live in, and she hates the universe for making her a princess but making Cassian a nobody. It would be an impossible love affair.

“She’s the daughter of Orson Krennic,” Jyn pushes, metaphorically thrusting him into Helena’s arms because she finds it the most reasonable option – letting go of Cassian so he can belong to somebody else. Perhaps then she could learn to let go of her feelings as well.

There, have him, she imagines saying to Helena. The princess gives you her blessing. Have him, just don’t let me have him.

“You’re being impolite,” Jyn continues, throwing him a stern look. “Go and dance with her before she takes offense and tells her father that the princess employs a royal bodyguard with no manners. Queen’s orders.”

There’s a laugh in Cassian’s voice, only because he doesn’t quite realize the extent of her turmoil.

“You’re not queen yet,” he reminds her.

“But I am your boss,” she answers, leaving no room for argument. Cassian seems amused, not subdued, but he leaves as requested and asks Helena Krennic for a dance.

xxx

Jyn expected Cassian would dance with Helena once, maybe twice if she’s pushy, and then make his way back to her or blend into the background as he usually does at these gatherings. But he’s danced with her four times before retreating to a secluded corner, next to a painting of Jyn’s grandmother, where they stand even now. Conversing intimately with each other. Intimately, on Helena’s end, at least. Cassian’s expression is smooth, a mask, but Jyn has known him long enough to recognize that he is less than thrilled with the situation.

She’s watched them as she twirled on the dance floor, making polite conversation with men of power and great importance. She’s seen the way Helena pressed herself tightly against Cassian as they danced, and the way she played with her hair and leaned closer to whisper something to him as they talked. Jyn has sent him into the lion’s den, it seems, and Cassian could not find his way out.

So maybe she feels a bit guilty. Or angry. Or regretful, even. Whatever it is, between two dances with insufferable statesmen, Jyn makes her way over to the not so lovely couple and politely requests Cassian’s presence for a dance. Helena can’t say no even if she wants to. (And, no doubt, she wants to.)

Jyn knows it’s not exactly traditional for a woman to ask a man to dance, and she knows it will fuel gossip and scandalize the aristocracy, but she doesn’t care. She owes it Cassian to rescue him from Helena, and –

She changed her mind. She can’t let the other woman have him after all.

She pushed him towards Helena but she did it in anger, in desperation, in hopelessness. Seeing them together cleared up her mind. If she thought it would help her move on, she was sorely mistaken.

Cassian is relieved as he leads her to the dance floor but only Jyn sees the way his expression loosens. He doesn’t question her erratic behavior. Seconds pass in silence, Jyn trying to ignore how warm his hands are on her waist. How nice he smells. How right it feels to be held by him. How, if she squints, he almost looks like he wants her too.

She breaks the quiet when the song is nearing its end, knowing she’ll be soon swept away by someone else.

“Did you enjoy conversing with Lady Helena?”

There’s not much bite in her words anymore – Cassian’s embrace has mellowed her anger – but he still raises his eyebrows at her.

“I’d rather have conversed with two rabid dogs.”

Jyn’s snort is positively unladylike but his lips quirk at the sound. Her mood brightens.

“But you know this,” Cassian adds, dark eyes searching hers.

“Well, I just thought...” She shakes her head. The song comes to a halt but neither of them lets go. “I don’t know what I thought. But she’s very pretty, wouldn’t you say?”

“Jyn –”

Cassian is interrupted before he could say more and Jyn turns with a fake smile towards the newcomer – no other than Lord Krennic himself. Cassian bows, excusing himself, but Jyn feels his eyes lingering on her as he retreats into the shadows.

xxx

She doesn’t see him again until she’s back in her suite. Cassian waits for her in her sitting room, his cravat gone, his vest unbuttoned. Jyn felt dreadfully tired as she made her way up the stairs, her eyelids heavy, her feet aching – but now, seeing Cassian in front of her, she perks up. She could spare him another hour of conversation before retiring for the day. Especially since she’s barely seen him today at all.

“You’re in luck,” Jyn remarks as she plops down on a recliner opposite of him, hiking up her dress to remove her shoes. She massages her sore feet, wondering what it would take to convince Cassian to do it for her. Dancing all night really takes its toll on one’s legs – by the end of the night, she could barely stand.

“Lord Krennic doesn’t want a ‘strange figure like you’ around her only daughter. He’s tried to subtly persuade me to call you off, I think. As if you were my dog or something, can you believe it?” Jyn huffs, even though, yes, she can believe it, and so can Cassian. “In any case, I doubt Helena could pursue a relationship with you now. Even she has to realize that.”

Cassian scowls. He looks good like this, still in his fancy attire but comfortably messy instead of exceptionally neat. Jyn likes the way his shirt crumples up and the way his hair falls into his eyes. The way he leans back against the couch with leisure. He looks like Cassian now, not like one of the detestable dukes she’s had to endure this evening.

“Oh, don’t take offense,” she adds at his frown. “Krennic is a hateful man, he’s always been.”

Her blood had boiled at the way Krennic had spoken of Cassian – but she doesn’t want him to be upset now. Krennic doesn’t matter. Even the royal advisor doesn’t matter. She would always, always pick Cassian. (And if that makes her a terrible future queen… well. An issue for a different day.)

“I don’t care what Orson Krennic, or her daughter thinks of me,” Cassian says, his voice low. “I just don’t understand why we are talking about her again.”

She shrugs. “I thought you might want to know that she won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“I wasn’t very afraid of that.”

“Good then.” She nods, and they fall into a silence less comfortable than it usually is with Cassian. He seems calm as he observes her but Jyn feels her skin itch under his gaze. Does he see that when he looks at her? Can he sense her heart beating faster every time he’s in her vicinity? How much does he, her formidable royal bodyguard, truly notice?

“Jyn,” he drawls her name, a question in his voice. She looks up at him instinctively. “You’ve been acting strange.”

She swallows, trying to evade the question. “Have I?”

He nods. “Positively.”

“Strange how?”

“Strange about this Lady Helena business,” he says. He’s so calm, so in contrast with Jyn’s growing nerves. He’s figured her out. Hasn’t he? Of course he has. Cassian knows her too well. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say you were jealous of her.”

“I wasn’t,” she says – too fast. An amateur move. Is she trying to be caught? Part of her wouldn’t even be surprised. “Why would I be?”

A smile plays on his lips. Small but genuine. A far cry from his other smiles; polite, disarming, reassuring – all fake. She’s one of the few people who get to see his real smiles. She always feels pity for the rest of the world who will never know how beautiful it can truly be.

“I don’t understand why you should be either,” he says, rising from his place. Jyn remains seated, staring up at him as he walks closer. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

It’s not true, she’s never known – but he says it like a confession that she can’t misinterpret. It’s not a platonic statement, it’s not even because of his job as her royal bodyguard. It’s too… intimate for that. He means it the same way she only has eyes for him – exclusively, faithfully, admiringly.

Jyn’s heart stops for what feels like too long before it begins pounding in her chest. The shaky breath she lets out is audible in the quiet room, full of tenderness, longing and hope. She finally stands too, her aching feet forgotten.

“Do I?” she counters quietly, her eyes trained on his.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Cassian allows his feelings to show on his face, allows her to read him like a book. What stands out most is devotion – so strong and absolute, it nearly knocks her off her feet.

“I hoped you did,” he says, his voice honest and gentle.

“I didn’t,” she answers but her lips curve up.

“My mistake. I shall make it clear from now.”

Cassian reaches up, so slow like he expects her to object, fingering the golden barrette in her hair. He hesitates for a moment before removing it, his thumb catching on her cheek. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, brown locks framing her face, Cassian combing through them with his fingers.

“I like your hair down,” he tells her. Such a simple thing to say, but Jyn can’t hold herself back anymore. She reaches up to kiss him, gasping into his mouth as his hand wraps around her waist. It’s a quick but intense thing, stealing the breath from her lungs, making her tremble in his arms.

She pulls away to look him in the eye, voice low and insistent.

“Tell me again that you want me. And don’t ever let me forget.”

[libidomechanica]

“Which Life best: kind”

A kimo sequence

               1

Abandon. Alas! Which Life best: kind Husband is, if ye could wonder, Do I dare not at all.

               2

That they have gives, all that once adventures of your strength was tied against the Plot. High and sleeping?

               3

A Soyl ungratefull Breathless, the seer. That which Life Ambition, such sweet ecstasy expire.

               4

But many reason guide a breath thy dart! By a jagged pines. Crumble kind; those rules; charm’d with with snow.

               5

Like a naked of him like there’s one, though the graces old. In a dress’d a pretty poem.

               6

To lose thou’t love while, after sometimes a gleam of the voice reverse.—And her name in her father!

               7

Yet still, and pledged my fill. And I have leisure with rapture, the people no Characters at all.

               8

Cannot claim’d to sell of Angels from her pause. A numerous Host of games, the man not a Slaves.

               9

And a curse, rais’d the session could not see. Take, if thou complain. As serv’d to add; and for ever.

               10

I am not mere sense. But when I longer freight Upon the me into their Posterity.

               11

Juan and acts just as soon the sunshine aspyring with snow. Let us go and unobserver.

               12

See how Meg o’ the Muse hath broke that hold. Within us where he wished his Fame: and make, like Braille.

               13

And great light, And how to sette thy brow, which with mortals call’d him, the might be found? He left her teeth.

               14

And their own. One day I said my love my years have seem to and come back upon a turf grown light.

               15

That the fury still desire of me. Then shifted round him; Juan, in whose can receive the palm.

               16

In the water understand my own head. On her things. Leave the world shall tell me, is the Cyclades.

               17

Claim madly meetings ; nor in Princes Son. Love seen, nor Love, and I was forest root of your Ark.

               18

Hushed my longing, that his faith no less of Rest? Which she essay’d it self to dwell that beat still dim.

               19

Nor wouldn’t move me! Lovely Polly Stewart, till shine again the embraces still I would a park!

               20

Bowl spill from me. As the ghosts of this his first be born, and send up vows for Publick Scorn secure.

               21

As, to the Tongue. Men, some thing are overtaken Men, that now was you, snow, snow, snow, snow, despite.

               22

By my pet-name! Thy cheek the four walls, which before. That Kings no Title intensity of two.

           ��   23

Not wait. Who but of sovereign Universal death I cry, as, to the Peoples Bravest, and awe.

               24

And mists are not alterning fry, delight: who score. Like continual hair—belle Isle, which the sky.

               25

Take painted smil’d at home. Nothing what daintier iudgement of some several thing but could be.

               26

Call my Fear they shining on its mouth. Flame; for thou would you will now so fair as the silent seas.

               27

Still midnight hand tell me, is call’d air, seem’d full diets boast his succeed the ragged pines. No rose.

               28

Open doth expose? As leaves went him, if he to your first fall, and all tell in Chloe’s shafts, per day.

               29

Nor hates a clue, or the cause shoud usurper, and reckoning. And, Do I dare now exanimate.

               30

I fly, an’ ken ye how she met me, beams: so over made. Not only used the unquiet in it.

               31

And the lust of days; some thrise-sad tragedie. Believing all, and scandal hit. Is constant leper.

               32

I am naebody. To drink a glasses abstract it give away slightly to take refuse?

               33

Eyes can make this weapon, and Paradise. That bad habit I picked Neighbouring recitative.

               34

Let sad misfortunately weaues, they passion’s walls locking! Is far too much thine, and smiled score.

               35

Blue eye, or of the second Mose’s Laws he helpless at home. The bonie Mary. And the real grew.

               36

Come down my bosoms; he sigh’d to Cuddies name. Own keep it dancers; there beside, and thirst of Clay.

               37

But grass to croon. Dear Cloe, this music, or but once ever proves my selfishness! What stands, for them.

               38

Prevail: and she was close ivy-twines; therefore ask no midnight should fettered by me. Whiter?

               39

See Sin in the eternal wean’d at home. For the sweets disting. As soote agayne: tom Piper makes.

               40

Star kisses, whom King? End: against the publick Good, by nature and thus Replies: no Court remove.

               41

Just as sleepers was the universal death! And what nature or unrestrain the sea is cruel.

               42

Nor stopped for weeping? But when you more slow braille. It come, sing a tune I have knows! And, Do I dare?

               43

If you all, therefore?—The father legs’ since there really bringing voice was bedded, and further room.

               44

Thereof to Curse unless wit than a graine? His Haidee’s eye, her hate, invented with chemic skill.

               45

Dismayed.—Heirlooms on a pike, true Sighs, I like my please me; Lesley is sae faithless the Bad found?

               46

Lord knows! I love you is so correct and his cheeks but a lottery, drawn and with pleasure’s wreathe.

               47

And the person, possible, and soar above the sea and thought. That smiled, but death, if shed, presume?

               48

Say, what are have me most true, and, frankness, something to tell me and lottery, drawn forget you.

               49

Beautifully blur into spasmatic ecstasy expire. Twas but a rake: men, who laugh to mind.

               50

The Dardanelles, is should have seen the course I didn’t love. Be exalted be; if in thinking.

               51

But hospitable mess. Whom Just Revenge delay the slippery rockings dependant Phoebus wise.

               52

Each big approach, leaning to thee in them. By wealth Imagine to be protective dower, for, dead.

               53

Being fired at a trifle all equal. I love in secret Foes. Of Justice a Seráb.

               54

No, in all in the red pear is a leal and crooked more my enfranchised hands that once a Foe.

               55

A sunbeam found, he pour’d, snatch’d his Estate. Infected wings, shoulder hates a cat, or as married.

               56

Tis said it, I do, I taste sometimes a gleam of gore and down weakness every wondering World.

               57

Even the vortex of queens! In anger skies, who serves in Factions the delicate your toes touch.

               58

Bear. Did the ears of louers neuer known, since mind delicious Name to be taught for honour is it?

               59

Nor Protesilaus—all how unlike each other. Sunk were such as the Roman Lucrece the more.

               60

His man to jest, we’re light: good, Grace. Must for life a mess I love in which Heav’n Submitted transfixed!

               61

Then bring in them all—arms thy Delight. Uses, the mere sense of me put less again I would rage.

               62

You must agayne: tom Piper makes his Bloud. Childless music, either toilet and thoughts to burlesque.

               63

Not barren tenderneath thy strike, rather legs’ since, the house. Who make the Judges days of his ring.

               64

Such as call’d him, the head. My scholar, and Right, and that I wanted one elbow, says, Is this Cause?

               65

Descent, yet some reflection of the Laws. Locking me in juice of that fault curst, then being all.

               66

In Regions may seem’d made the tree, while ribboned water enter: there, the hatches. And baby.

               67

Let him like the beames which make a frame, unwarily was dripping, and sleep. Of valiant love.

               68

And gritty, born to look at Millions heal us I would free and a Wife. Her writhing, and child!

               69

Stock, Stone, or rot upon the word the learning tree with means. I am not Good by Force held stern.

               70

Whom David, speak, my flowing the second sex! Calm in his own. And baby. But burst, and for Food.

               71

Who make of thy selfe out of wings, because at the Cyclades. Choose a Monarch of gracefull raign’d.

               72

When you to take my old excuse, ’ proving the Jews. The feast, could say: with slaves thou hast done thinking?

               73

For the devil and shorn of follies more, through his Prey, his Fruitfull Sway, and knows! And Share think of.

               74

No pass unseen as a moment a topiary so these hallways. These were for mintage me.

               75

Need not heroines, the intensity. But the Blest: heavenly wise; for will be my delight.

               76

If French can swim, and Kings renegadoes; while her plac’d his Saintlike Grace and by the dead. Her yours.

               77

Something wood-choir shall be my dwell in Heaven. God’s pamper’d horsemen my head. Love as may go?

               78

What I must I think a very shapeless circuit of my bonie, bonie Mary. In thys humble pat.

               79

The Jewish Markets of every neighborhoods we move me! Had his Youth remains of the heauen sownde.

               80

Averted if Unworthy of thy Name. But for Aribtrary Sway? In her out in the dead.

               81

Time to me. Recorder should every neighbouring how wise, and when true knights, in their school, its dwell.

               82

I should have both sides ten thought I Mourn; but the dull and should free, i’ll be time, thought. With pleasant cold.

               83

The fair plant animal awesome I would not pleasure, fie! Are laid by age is fled, and black, browne.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

The Orange Backpack Symbol

So, we’ve been batting around the symbol of the orange backpack for a LONG time. We first saw it on a hitch hiker in 3x10, Clear, when Rick and Michonne went and found Morgan. We’ve seen it and things like it many times since. We still aren’t entirely sure what it means, but these are some ideas we’re batting around.

(Not my edit but just thought it was funny. It shows the fandom picks up on these symbols, even if they often don’t know what to do with them.  😊) I’ll give you my fellow theorist’s observations, first. They are excellent and most likely correct, even if we can’t say for sure, yet. Then I’ll chime in with a few of my own.

@frangipanilove:

I’m still uncertain about the Orange backpack symbolism versus regular backpacks. It sort of depends on the Dutch angles from Coda. If the term “Dutch angles” was something that came from TPTB, then I can make a strong case about Orange being tied to Beth. If it didn’t come from the horse’s mouth then it’s a much weaker connection. It could still be a thing, but it’s just not a case I can argue very convincingly.

@twdmusicboxmystery: For the record, though we haven’t heard tptb specifically mention “dutch angles” in any particular interview that we know of, I do believe we can safely say this came from them. It was talked about in the fandom a LOT and I believe the writers themselves leaked the first idea for it. It’s also part of the “on screen notes” in the Amazon digital version of the episode. Amazon has no involvement in the show other than carrying it and wouldn’t know what to put in the on-screen notes. Which means they come from the production itself. So I DO believe the “dutch angles” idea can be seen as something confirmed by the writers. Back to @frangipanilove:

@frangipanilove​: But either way, I believe the “back” in backpack is a reference to “come back” or “return”, “resurrection”, Sirius symbolism. Same with “back pocket”, as well as the torsos we’ve seen sometimes. My reasoning behind that is from season 3 when Merle returned to the show, and Michonne wrote a “biter gram” where she used a walker’s back to symbolize “go back” to Merle.

The original Orange backpack in 3x10, Clear, can be tied to return symbolism in many ways. They initially ignored the guy, then later saw him dead. They passed him, but returned to grab the backpack. 

And we’ve seen the backpack numerous times since, and it’s easy to tie it to reunions and returns to one’s family etc. We saw it in Michonne’s trippy vision with Virgil as well. Basically, it’s more return symbolism, because she’s going after Rick. She’ll find him, but even if she doesn’t, the return symbolism has already happened in that she found his boots and the iPhone (apple symbol) with the etching. That’s return symbolism.

(To her, Rick is dead, but these told her he might still be alive, so he’s just been resurrected in her mind.)

So, I view the backpack symbolism as return symbolism, and then the question is if Orange is a symbol that adds something different to the symbolism, or if it just enhances the return symbolism.

@wdway​:

It's funny that we're having a discussion about the brownish orange or rust color backpack because I wanted us to discuss it, haha. I've been thinking of it quite a bit in the last few weeks and I agree with you to a certain point, @Frangi, about it possibly being a reunions symbol.

I guess the difference for me is that I believe it also represents a journey. Some journeys are shorter than others, but a journey that reunites you to a person you have not seen for a long time, or even possibly thought were dead. In my head, that's for the rusty orange color.

In the Clear episode, team Rick passes the guy with the backpack, they journey to his hometown where he reunited with Morgan, someone who he was not expecting to see and may even believed was dead. The difference is, he picks up the backpack on his return home.

With Glenn, his rusty orange backpack journey was longer, but he ultimately reunited with Maggie who he hoped was alive but was not certain.

Daryl wore the rusty colored backpack when he, Rosita, and Denise took a short journey to a nearby community. On their way back home, they encounter Dwight. It was a reunion, but not a good one. And although Dwight was alive, the last Daryl had seen him, I'm sure Daryl hoped Dwight was dead.

It occurred to me while I was doing my research about the red rag that Daryl is wearing a rusty orange with brown legging on his right leg when he is on a journey to find/reunite the body of Rick. I need to go back and check but at the D.C. capital, there was a banner of an eye that we believe to be Emily's/Beth's. I believe that banner was a rusty orange, which would mean that there would be a reunion with someone that would require a journey to be reunited with someone believed to be dead.

I believe a regular or bright orange could possibly also be a journey color, but not necessarily a reunion with someone the person believed to be dead. Virgil had a bright or regular orange backpack when he found Connie. And yes, Connie was believed to possibly be dead but we are not led to believe that Virgil knew Connie, so the reunions part of it does not apply. Only the journey he had taken from his Island.

I do not know if tptb actually mentioned Dutch angles but I have seen several interviews of movie directors over the years that have used Dutch angle and have commented that it is something taught in film school that could represent something being somewhat out of tilt, something that is not quite right. I do want to mention that in the episode Stalker that has Daryl and Alpha in the garage there was Dutch angles around Alpha which ties it to the episode, Coda.

I think there were better images of the eye in the promo pictures for that season. The second shot is in the entry hall where they showed all of the different exhibits, banners in different colors, etc. What I want to point out is that chevron at the bottom. The banner looks like it reads, “Natural History,” and maybe the word “Living.”

@frangipanilove:

Regarding the Orange cover on Daryl’s leg, I interpret it as boot symbolism (it covers his leg = boot = trunk), which is synonymous with trunk symbolism IMO. That’s also what we see after Michonne has had her hallucination, including the orange backpack; she finds Rick’s boots in the boat. Boots = trunk and boat = vessel = vehicle.

So, I interpret in a way that ultimately points to the story of survival by way of trunk (three/tree/trunk symbolism). In Michonne’s case, it points towards Rick’s survival story, but because of the blue heron painting (among other things) we know that Rick’s story and Beth’s story are two versions of the same story.

So, when I interpret the symbolism around Michonne in that episode as pointing towards a reunion with Rick (or return to Rick), it means I also interpret the same symbolism as pointing towards Beth’s survival.

The banner in the museum in 9x1 IMO is eye = Sirius symbolism. This is because of Sirius as the “heavenly dog with a star in its eye” from the Robert Frost poem, and therefore also a reference to the one-eyed dog from Alone, among other things.

And in 9x1, the eye banner is orange, and Daryl’s leg wrap is orange. Which ties orange symbolism, eye symbolism and boot (Daryl’s leg) symbolism into Sirius symbolism. The orange backpack = return/resurrection. Daryl’s leg wrapping = boot = trunk = return/resurrection. The orange eye banner = Sirius = return/resurrection.

Also, I don’t think they will ever comment on whose eye it is on the banner, but you cannot convince me that it’s not Emily’s eye unless they specifically deny it.

This is a very short explanation of the symbolism pathway that leads me to think back = return. It’s a way to explain it that fits into my system. But basically, I believe what you say about a journey is just a different aspect of it. They’re slightly different ways of ending up at more or less the same spot. But in order to have a return, there kind of has to be a journey involved, otherwise it’s not much of a return, right?

Actually, I don’t know where you guys stand on this now, but I remember when the Michonne episode aired, @twdmusicboxmystery interpreted the apple symbolism as “separation.” I interpreted it as kind of the opposite: apples as a symbol of “bringing your family back, as Virgil said after poisoning Michonne. She said it took her family away from her, but I believe tptb use the apple symbolism as pointing towards reunion/return/resurrection.

My point is, we’re both right because they are two sides to the same story. There can’t be reunion unless there has been some sort of separation first. So, it could seem like I interpret the apple symbolism opposite to what @twdmusicboxmystery said after the episode, but I actually don’t think about it that way. I think we’re both picking up on what’s important about the apple symbolism, and then we use slightly different word to describe it.

I focus on the return/resurrection part, but in order to have that, there has to be some kind of separation or journey preceding it. You can’t reunite with someone you haven’t been separated from, and most likely, there’s a journey involved. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make much sense, right?

We first saw the eye banner when spoiler pictures from filming 9x1 emerged. They made no attempt to prevent the spoiler pics from coming out, they actually made quite the spectacle of it instead. I actually find that very interesting, because if it really is Emily’s eye, which I’m fully convinced it is, then it was a very loud announcement to TD about Beth, the eye/Sirius symbolism and also the orange symbolism.

We first saw Daryl’s leg wrapping in Stradivarius, right? We see the orange leg wrapping (IMO a boot/trunk reference) in Stradivarius, which is kind of the first we see of Daryl after the time skip, if you don’t count the small clip from the opening minutes of 9x6, which is an interesting clip. But you actually don’t see the orange leg wrapping there.

Which, if you don’t count the clip from 9x6 is kind of the first chronological appearance by Daryl after FM. You see him transitioning into the orange leg wrapping in FM, but chronologically that’s set in the time between 9x5 and 9x7. I love the little clip from 9x6, so packed with symbolism. But I do find it interesting that it doesn’t show the orange leg wrapping. It’s like they went out of their way to NOT show it. No idea if that’s significant or not, but certainly interesting.

@wdway:

You're right Frangi at the core we pretty much all believe the same thing. I agree totally with the eye banner being symbolism of Sirius the one-eyed dog but I also was very excited about seeing the Chevron symbol at the end of the entry hall banners, all in colors that can be tied to Beth. To me it speaks that there will be some type of military tie between the Sirius symbol (Beth) and the Chevron symbol (Commonwealth/CRM)

@frangipanilove: Yeah, agree on the chevron. They really like to pile on the symbols, don’t they. It’s symbolism on top of symbolism.

@wdway: We did actually see a quick glimpse of Daryl's orange legging in Who Are You Now, immediately following the reveal of the X on Michonne's back.

@frangipanilove: That’s awesome. Because that means that when we see it in Find Me, it’s the first time in the chronology he wears it. Assuming he had the orange leg cover during the entirety of 9x6, it means the very first time we see Daryl wearing it is when he’s standing waist-deep in the water spear fishing. Obviously, we don’t see it, but I’m going to assume we’re meant to believe he’s wearing it in the water while spear fishing.

Spear fishing is something we saw with both Leah and Carol in FM. He threw a fish at the front door with the X. In 9x6 we saw him catch a fish on the spear, then immediately a walker emerges from the water. All very strong symbols. Michonne has a very poignant voiceover, lots of symbolism there as well. He sees a walker representing himself grown into the tree trunks (three I believe). It reaches out for him, or something. Then the blue bird comes, grabs the ear worm, we see the nest, the bird babies. More poignant monologue from Michonne, tiny beacons of light etc.

@twdmusicboxmystery

What actually kicked off this conversation not long after Fear, 6x12, In Dreams aired, was that I noticed in Grace’s dream, when she met her daughter Athena, Athena was wearing an orange backpack. Not THE orange backpack, but another one.

I don’t have tons to add except to say that I totally agree with these two ladies. Another, slightly different (though not really) way you could look at it is that backpack always appears before someone dies, but there’s always a return as on the horizon as well.

In Clear, as @wdway mentioned, Morgan qualifies as a resurrection and return, but the hitchhiker carrying the backpack also died. In this case, Morgan also disappeared again, not to reappear until 5x01. So it was also the beginning of another separation between Rick and Morgan.

I seem to remember Carl having the backpack in 3x16, just before TF finally kicked the Governor’s butt. I’ve often wondered if it was a death omen for Carl. And it may have been, given that this is the episode where Gimple took over and probably planned Carl’s arc. But that wouldn’t come for a long time. 

It’s more likely that it meant other things. Many of the Gov’s people actually did die, but that also kicked off the Gov’s arc where he disappeared and didn’t return until 4x08 when he bulldozed the prison. And there were HEAVY Beth parallels during those two episodes (4x06-07) about him. There were also smaller returns here, such as Karen returning to Tyreese at Woodbury, and them finding Andrea. Though she, too, actually died.

Michonne’s vision with Virgil has been covered pretty well here. Clearly it’s leading toward her finding Rick (reunion) but also kicks off her separation from her kids, Daryl and the rest of TF. We didn’t see obvious death around her, but I’m sure there will be some in her coming arc. The fact that she keeps ending up with Negan’s bat in her hands is proof enough of that.

I’m sure you can also see how the orange backpack ties into the left/right/back pocket symbolism as well.

So yeah. I think you get the idea. It’s a fascinating symbol, isn’t it? And one we’ll definitely keep an eye on moving forward. Thoughts?

[ghost-in-the-hella]

73. “I missed you.” Gideon/Harrow

Took me a bit to get my head around this one, but I think it worked out well enough in the end. Consider this an AU where the Emperor never summoned the heirs of the Houses and Gideon therefore successfully escaped to the Cohort. Contains some mild spoilers for Harrow the Ninth, I guess? Kind of?

---

In the opinion of Private First Class Gideon Nav - rising BARI star of the Cohort, dirty toenail of the Emperor, ladykiller in her own mind - closing time is the best time. As much as she loves the hustle and bustle of the mess hall during its peak hours - chatting up all the uniformed honeys, filling three or four elaborate orders at a time like the coffee rockstar that she is, showing off her sick coffee-slinging skillz with style and flair rivaled by none - there’s something soothing about the quiet at the end of her shift that speaks to her soul. The mess hall empty save for a handful of stragglers and night owls. The slow work of cleaning the machines. The pervasive near silence in which every move she makes echoes in the cavernous space. 

It reminds her a bit of nights in Drearburh spent jogging in the recyc mist with only the sound of her own footsteps and breath for company, and enough time has passed since those lonesome nights that she can feel a tinge of nostalgia for them even as she internally celebrates her successful escape. She thinks of the Ninth House rarely enough these days that she can indulge in some light nostalgia without immediately feeling salty about the absolute shitshow that was her entire childhood and adolescence. 

Gideon’s got her back to the counter, wiping out a portafilter and whistling a jaunty tune, when she hears someone step up to the counter. She’s about to tell her unfortunate customer that she’s all closed up for the night - technically she’s still got ten minutes on her shift, but she’s already cleaned out the coffee urns and wrapped up the pastries so seriously fuck off already - when she makes the mistake of turning around. She is immediately and viscerally reminded of the Ninth House again the second she locks eyes with the young woman before her, and it’s not just because she looks like a skeleton.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus looks different, of course. She’s almost a year older, for one thing. For another, her face isn’t covered with ten pounds of ancient paint, revealing an awkwardly ferrety visage that Gideon would hardly recognize if it weren’t for the bottomless black eyes in them and how deeply they stare into her golden ones. There are dark shadows under her deeply set eyes that render her face at least partly familiar, as they echo the sockets of a skull. Her mouth is pinched, as if the stick up her ass has finally penetrated all the way to her cranium and jammed her lips shut. Her nose is thin and sharp as a knife. Her chin looks like it would put someone’s eye out if they were fool enough to try to embrace her, assuming Harrow didn’t slit their throat first for the very attempt. She’s wearing Cohort whites rather than her familiar billowing black vestments, and the uniform makes her look sallow and somehow even more painfully thin.

“Griddle,” she says before Gideon can start to wonder if she’s somehow stumbled into an alternate reality. For how different she looks, clearly Harrow hasn’t changed. Gideon rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the portafilter. “Is this how you treat all of your customers?” 

Beneath her typically peevish tone there’s something unfamiliar in Harrow’s voice, something it takes Gideon a good twenty seconds to decipher. Holy shit, Harrow’s nervous. Gideon’s seen Harrow be nervous before, but previously it’s always been buried under considerably more makeup and Gideon generally hasn’t been the cause of it.

“Customer, huh? Sorry, I naturally assumed you were here just to make my life hell again. Drag me back to Drearburh kicking and screaming, something like that. I didn’t think you might actually be here for a cup of coffee.”

“Yes, well, as usual you are mistaken. I was informed that on this deck’s mess hall I would be able to find a coffee adept who’s considered something of a genius with BARI. I certainly didn’t expect it to be you. I thought surely you’d be on the front lines on some distant planet by now.”

Gideon scoffs. “You don’t expect me to believe you joined the Cohort just to get a decent cup of coffee, do you? I mean, I know it’s all ice cold sludge on the Ninth, but damn, girl.” She fetches a porcelain mug (the darkest one she can find: it’s charcoal gray, but that’ll have to do) despite the fact that Harrow has yet to place anything remotely resembling an order and begins preparing her special extra-dark brew. It’s bitter enough that it’s unlikely to overwhelm Harrow’s stunted palette, and she should appreciate its blackness. 

“Of course I didn’t join for the coffee,” Harrow snaps. It’s funny: her face is much more expressive without her skull paint, but Gideon finds it harder to read. “If I’d known you were the so-called BARI star the others keep rattling on about, I wouldn’t have bothered with coffee at all. I was lured into a false sense of security by the word ‘genius.’”

Gideon grins smugly as she flips the mug expertly into place in a daredevil move that usually earns her at least a smile if not a room number. “I guess some folks appreciate my brilliance.” She braces the triple-shot portafilter against the counter with one arm and effortlessly tamps the espresso grounds with the other.

Harrow scowls, and it nearly makes Gideon homesick. “Your brilliance remains to be seen.”

Gideon locks the portafilter into place and hits the brew button, counting off the seconds in her head. “That’s fine; you’ll taste it soon enough.” As the espresso streams beautifully into the mug, Gideon adds a liberal sprinkle from the jar she’s marked Gideon’s Special Dark Mixture of Doom and Ecstasy.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here so long after your… departure from the Ninth. I assumed you would have been deployed by now.”

“I was,” Gideon says with a shrug as she flicks the espresso machine off, trying not to sound butthurt about it. “Served for nearly a week before I got injured. Caught a leg full of shrapnel defending my commanding officer. I wanted to stay in the field - it was only a damn limp - but they didn’t want to risk me losing the leg to infection.” She removes the portafilter and bangs the wet grounds out into the garbage. “They started me behind the counter here while I was recuperating, found I had a knack for it, and I haven’t been redeployed since.”

Harrow’s face cycles through several dozen expressions that Gideon can’t quite parse before settling on ‘carefully neutral.’ “How is your leg now?”

Gideon stirs the brew with a wooden swizzle stick to help the BARI blend dissolve. “I’ve got some gnarly scarring, but it only hurts first thing in the morning.” And by the end of her shift most days. And if she walks too much, or stands too much, or sits too much. “Don’t worry, though; I look even hotter with the scars.” Gideon winks while Harrow groans, and for a moment feels like old times. She sets the steaming, fragrant mug down in front of Harrow. “So. What’s your story? I didn’t think anything short of a summons from the Emperor Undying himself would lure you out of Drearburh.”

Harrow eyes the drink as if she expects it to bite her. “I have no story,” she says without affect. “I am here to bring honor to my House.”

Gideon wipes the portafilter with the rag at her hip and locks it back into the machine, then hits the brew button to run hot water through it. “That’s some classic Harrowhark Nonagesimus evasive bullshit if I ever heard it. Why are you really here? The congregation finally all die out?” She jabs the button again and the water dribbles to a halt. “Oh, shit, did they finally figure out about your parents??”

“No and no,” Harrow says firmly. She leans in and gives the cup an experimental sniff. “I have simply decided that I can serve my House better as a Cohort necromancer than as the Reverend Daughter. What better way to disseminate the gospel of the Ninth and expand our congregation than by showing the universe what the Ninth House is capable of.” She attempts to take a sip of her drink and promptly scalds her mouth. 

“Careful, it’s hot.” Gideon studies her and shakes her head. “Y’know, you almost had me, but no. Maybe that’s how you rationalize it to Crux and Aiglamene, and maybe even to yourself, but that’s not why you enlisted.”

Harrow looks strangely vulnerable with her pale and naked face and her seared lips. “Would you believe I wanted to test my mettle and prove that I am indeed the greatest necromancer of my generation on the field of battle?”

“No,” Gideon replies bluntly. Harrow’s studying the steaming beverage like she can’t figure out how to drink it without injury, and she probably really can’t. Gideon still remembers how steep her learning curve was when she first encountered hot drinks after nearly two decades of nothing but cold. “Here,” she says, taking pity on her old nemesis. “You’ve got to blow on it to cool it off. Like this.” She bends and purses her lips, cascading cool air over the surface of the hot BARI drink.

The outer edges of Harrow’s ears turn pink. Gideon realizes all at once that Harrow’s not looking at her like she’s a nemesis at all. If Gideon had to classify the look Harrow’s giving her, it’s more akin to how the handful of fellow Cohort recruits she’s hooked up with since enlisting looked at her right before they hooked up. The idea of that look coming from Harrowhark of all people makes her palms sweat. “Harrow,” she says tenderly, as one peels the hard rind from a soft fruit, “Why did you join the Cohort, really?”

Harrow worries her lower lip between her sharp, bone-white teeth until it starts to tear and bleed. “I missed you,” she confesses, dredging the words up painfully like vomit.

Gideon nods as if this were a perfectly normal and comprehensible thing for her oldest - and only, really - enemy to say and not the most unfathomable thing she’s heard in her entire life. “You should aim better next time.”

Harrow turns livid at that. Rather than using her words like a normal human being (because when has Harrow ever done anything like a normal human being?), she snatches up her mug with the expression of someone who’s just taken a step out onto a tightrope only to end up tredding in flaming dogshit. She pivots with a dramatic whirl that doesn’t quite work without her flowing black robes and takes a sip of her coffee as she goes. She stops short and her eyes widen in the universal expression of ‘holy fuck that’s way more delicious than I expected.’

Gideon grins as she heaves herself up onto the counter, sliding across and landing lightly on the other side in a super cool move that would sweep any girl off her feet (even if the girl in question were a dessicated bone witch). “Oh, fuckin’ get over here,” she says, pulling Harrow into a hug that nearly causes her to drop her mug in alarm. “I missed you, too.”

[starofgold]

Rhapsody of the Bridge Where A Meteor Crosses - Part 8

Arthur: I wasn’t abducted. That day, I flew across the sky like a meteor because of a mysterious power all the way to the Northern country, but I got lost. As I swam through the sea of stars, I trembled in my loneliness. In that moment, Master Oz found me. If I had been alone like that any longer, I would have kept on trembling and been unable to do anything.

Oz: ……

Arthur looked at Oz, his gaze full of emotions from that treasured memory, then returned to Mr. Hegel. There was no grief in his eyes.

Arthur: Therefore, it wasn’t your fault. It definitely wasn’t your fault.

Arthur gently hugged Mr. Hegel. He had woven a gentle tale. It was apparent that he didn’t wish to hurt Mr. Hegel, the Queen, or Oz. Then, as he parted from Mr. Hegel, his eyes sparkled like those of a child opening a treasure box.

Arthur: I just remembered something. When I looked at the stars on the endlessly clear sky, I’d sing the Song of Stars that you had taught me.

Hegel: The Song of the Stars…

Arthur: Indeed. The song about looking up at the sparkly sky then counting the stars. Do you remember it?

Arthur looked up at the vast sky, his eyes full of nostalgia. Watching Arthur in that mood, Mr. Hegel’s eyes went soft.

Hegel: I remember the song. However, it wasn’t I who taught that song to you, Your Highness.

Arthur: Eh?

Mr. Hegel smiled at Arthur, who was blinking in surprise.

Hegel: Her Majesty taught you that song, when she walked with you and His Majesty hand in hand on the bridge.

Arthur: Mother… taught me?

At that moment, a whirlwind suddenly appeared in front of us.

Hegel: W- What?!

Arthur: Hegel!

???: You know where that piece of Oz’ soul is hidden, don’t you?

In the middle of that raging wind, we couldn’t move an inch. As we looked at the direction of the voice, Mithra, who was holding Mr. Hegel, comfortably occupied the night sky like a throne. Around him were Bradley and Owen.

Bradley: Ahaha, this is the reward for all that troublesome community work.

Owen: I’m already sick of waiting. Finally we can make a move on our target. Tell us, Hegel, do you have Oz’ soul piece with you? How pitiful. Because of it, you’ve attracted bad luck, and now you’re in the clutch of evil wizards, who are about to give you a hard time.

Hegel: …!!

Bradley: Hahaha! Don’t scare him, Owen. Old man, you’ve nothing to fear. You can shake a bit then sleep it off. We’ll release you. Now, be cooperative and hand over Oz’ piece of soul to us. If you don’t, the most terrible of nightmares will be unleashed on you.

Thus they intimidated Mr. Hegel with their words, which were laced with an icy cruelty.

Arthur: Take the servers to a safe place!

Cain: This way, everyone! Let me take you somewhere safe too, Master Snow, Master White.

Snow in the painting: Wait, Cain! We don’t need to take shelter.

White in the painting: Instead, please take us to where those three are.

Snow and White in the painting: We have to drill it in them that they’ve crossed the line.

Cain: Understood! I’ll take you two there immediately.

With a serious expression, Cain directed the people of the Castle to evacuate, while mounting his broom with the twins’ painting in his arm.

Riquet: Master Hegel!

Riquet too got on his broom and pursued Mithra and co.

Oz: Sage.

Akira: Ah, Oz!

Oz: Give me your hand.

I ran towards him and took his large hand, which he held out to me. He tapped the ground with his staff. A strange light coated his staff, as his long hair flew.

Oz: Vox nox.

With Oz’ spell, the air, which was taut as a bowstring, wrapped around the surrounding. Then he seated me on his broom then launched into the sky.

 [On the sky]

Cain: Mithra, stop this! Release Lord Hegel at once.

Mithra: I won’t though.

Cain: Tsk, you… !

Snow and White in the painting: Cain, leave it to us.

Snow – White: One, two… Yes! We’re out now!

White: Mithra, we won’t let you do as you like beyond this.

Snow: Tonight, we’ll play with you three, until you become all ragged and crying for mercy.

As his black outfit fluttered in the wind, Snow, who had extricated himself from the painting, made that cold, ruthless declaration.

Snow: We must punish fools who have crossed the line like you, such that you won’t be able to forget it.

Snow – White: Noscomnia

Mithra: Jeez. Arthim.

Hegel: No… !

As they saw how Mr. Hegel’s face became green as he became the unfortunate witness of that dreadful magical skirmish, Arthur and the others charged in Mithra’s direction.

Cain: Hey, you two! Please hold back a little! There’s still Lord Hegel!

Snow – White: Oopsie. We overdid it.

Arthur: Hegel, just wait there! We’ll rescue you right away!

Mithra: How irritating. You’ve come too, Oz?

Oz: …..

Mithra glared at Oz annoyedly then moved towards Owen’s broom.

Mithra: Owen, I’ll leave this one to you.

Owen: What?

Hegel: Aaaaaah!

Having pushed Mr. Hegel to Owen in a way that was close to throwing him off mid-air, Mithra took out his magic focus.

Snow: Oz, we’ll leave Mithra to you.

Oz: Fine.

White: Since our dear Sage is with you, try to refrain from dangerous stuffs!

Oz: …..I know.

Akira: O- Oz? Was it just my imagination or did you hesitate before answering?

White: We’ll go after Owen and Hegel. Cain, Arthur, let’s go.

Arthur – Cain: Understood!

Oz: What do you three want?

Mithra: That’s… Hmm, what’s it?

Akira: Eh, you’ve already forgotten?

Mithra: Uhm, it’s something about Oz’ soul. Whatever, my highest purpose is still to kill you, anyway. Arthim.

Oz: Vox nox.

Akira: Aaaaah!!

Owen: Tsk, he really dumped this baggage to me just like that.

Cain: Owen!

Arthur: Release Hegel at once!

Owen: Hahaha, do you see? Mister Knight and His Highness have come to rescue the pitiful you.

[yanderenightmare]

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, yandere, abuse, anxiety, eugenics, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, stalking

BREAKING VASES

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was a blur of sound she fought no battles to make out. Annoying in some sense, antagonizing the base of her skull, poking and prodding at the back of her mind. Yet she managed to piece together what he’d asked after deciding it’d be unwise to leave his query unanswered.

Having broken through the thick haze she’d momentarily been lost in, she didn’t quite know what to make of his words. It was an impossible question. It was an impossible question due to the fact that it had infinite answers. There seemed to be no end to what she was feeling. Robbed, estranged, vulnerable. She was given a robe, but it acted as a weak replacement to the smoke-ridden garments she wore before. Those scented with herbs, dirt, sweat and blood and culture. Those with holes and rips painting a story of the past few years of her life. Granted, they’d probably pose as nothing more but mere rags to anyone else, but to her they posed as something, out of a select few things, that truly belonged to her. Her armor. The piercings that once acted as her weapons, her axes and spears and swords and arrows, were gone too, stolen away, leaving phantom remnants to fill what empty punctures should have been left, however who had miraculously grown shut as though never even there to begin with. Sentiments of those occasions where she’d gifted herself with the cheap jewels; memories she cherished beyond whatever more money could buy her. The feathers and string woven into her hair, her shield, had also been taken, untangled from her locks, letting the dull tresses fall unenthusiastically down around her shoulders. Her scars as well, the blooming bruises on her knuckles and knees and elbows; gone, and the stories of her victories gone with them. Gone, not healed; removed from existence. She even missed the grime that used to coat her skin, the smudged mascara she never bothered to wash away, the soil beneath her fingernails and stuffed between the ridges in her skin. They were as much part of her as the blood simmering through her veins.

She knew she was exaggerating, thinking of her bath in antibacterial as an acidic Armageddon. She’d merely been washed, but it felt as though her spirit and soul had gone down the drain as well. Her body scrubbed to the point where she could have sworn her skin had been torn away, leaving nothing but blood and bones in their wake. She felt raw. She felt lonely. No, worse. She felt left. Reborn but dead in the same moment, yet she was still alive and the fact felt forever unavoidable by the presence of the man sitting before her. The man who looked like some heathenistic God she might have worshipped once if it were not for his demeanor telling tales of what felt like the onset of destruction. The man who demanded to know, what now felt like ages ago, how she was feeling.

He felt he was being generous with his patience, but that generosity would soon shift if she were to keep on being unresponsive to him. Granted, it was a simple question, a question with a mere two answer option. But she seemed to be weighing the world in her pensiveness. She’d answer for her disobedience sooner rather than later, nothing good ever came from delaying the inevitable. But for now, he would kindly gift her with more of his patience, even though it was running thinner by each second spent of his eyes taking in her presence. Her spotless and cultivated purity. He’d shined away for hours on what would seem like coal to the naked eye, revealing what he knew to be a diamond in the rough once he finished. Chipping away at the edges to create the perfect symmetrical shape he knew she could inhabit.

Her shivering didn’t go unnoticed by him nor did the way she averted her eyes from his peering gaze. She had her knees tucked up under her chin, her position placed picture-perfectly in the middle of the bed; her whole being speaking volumes of how alienated she felt being surrounded by the ocean of silk and cotton and pillows as large as herself. Newly washed hair splaying in thick meanders down her shoulders, legs and spine. Not wet enough to be dripping but enough to damp her clothing. A few dry locks irritatingly dancing across her face, making her nose impulsively scrunch up every now and again.

She was cute, he’d give her that. But being cute wasn’t enough to quench his temper. In fact, it merely aided in his frustrating. Spit rising, pooling under his tongue which writhed and lurched at the sweetness of it. Mere seconds away from starting to drool, similar to how a hound would react upon eyeing a slab of meat, and despite him not wanting to act like a wild beast he found more and more just how hard it was going to be to resist the brute force he was in capacity to use.

He'd at some point removed the bejeweled plague-mask, as she saw it now repositioned on a counter-top. Not daring to face the male, letting his frame remain a blur in her peripheral vision. “Naked.” Her voice was tender… meek. It took him a while to understand that it had been her answer. It had come such a long time after he’d asked and the answer wasn’t exactly orthodox. However, as curious as it was, it was at least more candid than he would have hoped, which made him… not exactly satisfied, but… let’s say… less displeased.

Not sure what to make of it, he figured he’d more or less ignore her retort. Refraining from explaining why his remedies had to be done, as he’s sure it wouldn’t help ease any of the woes, worries and feelings of sentimental loss currently flagging behind her eyes. He was never prone to establishing such ridiculous attachments to anything himself, therefore having a hard time understanding her catatonic sorrow, but he could at the very least make an effort to understand their complications. Thinking perhaps replacements were in order. “Would you want more clothes?” He wasn’t dim. He knew that it wasn’t the same type of naked she meant, but more clothes in exchanged for the translucent kimono she was wearing couldn’t hurt. Perhaps she’d even realize that it all was for the better. She couldn’t possibly prefer the filth she wore before above what precious materials he’d bestow upon her now that she belonged to him.

He was wrong, evidently. “I’d like my clothes, please.” There was a hint, a weak hint, of scorn in the request, but it was rather drowned out in timid timber of her soft voice. He enjoyed the caution she spoke with, as though she’d already assessed the situation and come to terms with her new role. Yet, the shy inkling of ire still caused the hairs on his arms to rise in frustration. Not so much because of her meek defiance, but more so due to the fact that the request was based in such silly audacity. The reason as to why she would ever want those cheap rags back was beyond him, and would hopefully soon be beyond her as well.

His brows flatlined to a nonchalant expression as opposed to the low furrow they’d been held before. “I burnt them.” It was still spoken through grit teeth, unable to hide his annoyance completely. She noticed, scurrying her heels closer to herself, trying to better hold onto her frame, not wanting to slip outside the self-made confinement. Her knuckles turning ashen with how hard she was hugging her body. Trying to better balance her fear in hopes of not causing enough uproar as to make the male sitting a mere meter away suddenly pounce like any other predator might. The feeling of her heart in her throat was choking, making her swallow thickly even though her mouth felt dry.

She flinched when he moved, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, trying to find comfort in the blinding dark behind her eyelids, however failing. The sharp padding of his leather shoes across the floor were intimidating enough on their own, enough to make the image of the golden snake-like slits he had for eyes rise up in front of her. His presence was closer when she dared peek a glance through her lashes. Tears glued them together and it was upon seeing it she understood she’d been crying without noticing, but come to think of it, she did feel the salt rivers sting on her freshly scrubbed cheeks.

He’d come back with garments in his hands. Lace she noted; white, expensive, luxurious, revealing lace. And a dress, just as clinically white, yet far from resembling any of the lechery as the lingerie. No, it was rather something she’d expect you’d dress a doll in. Thin shoulder-straps met with a sweetheart neckline which eventually strutted out into a short airy skirt. The fabric detailed in enhancement of the textile, bumps and ridges forming a vague pattern of roses across. In fact, it was so lavish and occasional that, if the skirt had been floor-length, she’d guessed it to be a wedding dress.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even worn a dress. She couldn’t even remember the last time she wore the color white. White, in its impracticality, stains too quickly, so granted if she ever even wore the color it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Nevertheless, she reached out. Dainty fingers, what should have been bruise-knuckled were it not for whatever procedure he’d put her through, stretched out in an ever so shy descent from its position atop her knees. But the movement was short-lived, killed with a gasp caught in her throat, for as soon as she brushed fingertips with the displayed fabrics was her wrist tightly snatched from its proceedings and brought forward in an action so rough it made her entire body tumble in the same direction. Promptly pressed firmly and snuggly into his chest as he made quick instalments to secure her new position in his lap. The roughness of his dress-buttons making abrasive contact through the silk of her robe, as the cool metal of his belt-buckle caused similar yet more intrusive discomfort to the place found in between her thighs.

“What do you want from me?” Was the only thing that made it past her quivering lips, granted it was the sole question that seemed to burn with a terror-fueled passion inside her.

“What good would come from stating the obvious?” He said as he cocked his chin to the side. Searing, golden eyes unmoved, or rather amused, by her prominent fear-stricken features. “All you need to know is that my name is Chisaki Kai, and how if you call me by anything but Kai, I will hurt you.” Her wrist felt cold in the pressure of his hold. Her other hand limply placed on his abs. “Do you understand?” Her chest seemed to tighten more and more with the knot tying itself in the pit of her gut, rendering her just barely able to even comprehend what he was saying. Unsatisfied with her blank expression, his eyes narrowed even further. “Let me make it a bit more clear.” His gloved hand rose from the position it had on her thigh and made contact with her face, pinching her chin in an effort to slant her head to the side. “You see that vase over there” He nodded in the direction he’d faced her in. The warm breath of his words tickling the shell of her ear as he spoke. “Watch closely.” She was too afraid to shut her terror-wide eyes, even with the sentiment he’d brought with his words, gently biting into her earlobe as he dropped her wrist. The hand repositioning, palm facing the vase he’d mentioned.

She wouldn’t have guessed it was a vase. Vases were for flowers, but this cauldron could roam at least three liters worth of water. She figured it must have been some ancient artifact, given its placement in the rich complex she found herself situated in. The texture decorating the shell of it resembling that of a toad’s back, bumpy and wriggly and swamp-colored. And it was because of the uneven appearance she didn’t quite catch the moment it all started moving. Ripples, waves, earthquakes seemed to run across the surface of it, before pieces started completely dislodging from the original assignment. Reanimating before his gloved fingers. The sight, acting as the onset of horror, had her guts in turmoil, her stomach folding in on itself, toppling in ways she hadn’t known were possible, as her tongue suddenly felt heavy and foreign in her mouth.

“Do you understand now?” His voice was soft; calculating, yet so very grave in its nature. Turning her head back to face him, fingers making a move to sharply cling to her cheeks yet again, keeping her chin in the palm of his hand. Wishing for a moment he’d removed his gloves, but the regret was too weak to battle the feeling of pleasure at the sight of seeing her lips puckered together between the force of his fingertips and the swimming look of hopelessness displayed so deliciously less than an inch from his face.

“Yes…” The word was only barely audible amidst her quivering, and the display, though brought him great pleasure, didn’t seem to satisfy him. Therefore, quickly adding his name to further her understanding of the rules she’d been giving. “Kai.” He felt his well-fitted pants tighten at that, his member growing hot and heavy, being sure she felt it too.

His hands sank from their endeavors of holding her face in place and of rearranging the vase, and, whence lowered, was placed back on her thighs, stroking a path upwards as to push the silk away from her skin, exposing the cooling soft skin. Soon pulling at the end of her belt, which easily fell away, opening the curtains so that he could peek more clearly at what was found inside. A chill wafted flush against her skin, goosebumps springing to the surface of her breasts; nipples perking as the soft material rubbed across them before being removed. His hand wandered further, inside the kimono to untangle the last tie found by her waists.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Her words lacked momentum, void of purpose, laced with defeat instead, as though she’d already answered the question herself. And if he at all heard what she’d said, he didn’t feel the need to show any indication of it. “Once you’re done with me?” She furthered the question, and at that the man seemed slightly shaken.

She had no doubt what she was there for. If his current actions weren’t any indication, the past hours certainly were. She’d been prepared for him. Groomed to fit his idea of perfection. It was all evident now. His eyes still trained over her body, never once showing any further acknowledgment for her words. “What makes you think I’ll ever be done with you?” It was as though he weren’t even speaking to her. It looked more as though he were speaking to himself, ignoring the growing terror he was increasing by the second. His hands exploring with his full attention at their disposal. Gloved fingers running over smooth skin, having the new foreign urge to remove the protective garments.

He moved slowly, controlled, yet she could see the fidgety urge he possessed to get the gloves off as quick and effortlessly as possible. Pulling each gloved finger halfway off. The act soon became a strange type of clumsy; childish, as if he couldn’t quite do it fast enough. However, despite his hurried movements, whence the gloves were fully removed he took the time to place them neatly beside him, as though they were of outmost importance, too good to be thrown on the floor in the fit of his impatience.

Momentarily mesmerized by the strange actions of the golden-eyed boy, she shook out of her stunned state. “Toys break… and broken toys are no longer fun to play with.” She didn’t know when she gained back her confidence, perhaps somewhere along perceiving him nearly trip at the mere strive to remove his gloves.

“That’s true.” He stated, naked fingers hesitantly making first contact with unresearched, untested skin. Yet, once his fingers only barely brushed past the thin peach-fuss found on her hips, unscathed in their venture, there seemed to be nothing keeping him at bay. “Only… you’re not a toy.” It was hard to believe the sentiment when he was poking and prodding and playing with her flesh as though she were some type of doll. Still and withal, despite it being unwanted, the touch wasn’t unpleasant… at least not for now as he went on with the tender cautious ticklish strokes of a child. As if in reverence or savory or relief or all of them at once. Though, it would soon turn into possessiveness.

His hands were soft, to her great surprise. Just as soft as the silk she wore before. His nails were long, sharp, groomed, manicured. The talons sinking into her skin more so than his fingertips, in an amateurish fashion, giving off the impression he hadn’t ever done such a thing before or that it had been a very long while since he had. He seemed confident despite it, or… any grain of angst was thoroughly outmaneuvered by his curiosity.

“What am I then?” She feared the answer as she eyed the growing lust in his starry irises, as his pupils seemed somehow a darker color than black beside the godly glow of gold.

He had half the mind to repeat the answer she’d first given him, given that it was now true in all its information, but decided against it. It would be wrong of him to mock her when he was the one nearly drooling at the sight of her in such a state. He took a breath, surprised to find it uneven. “Perfection.” It was only barely above a whisper. Frightening adoration and unwanted worship over-seasoned the one word.

Her brows furrowed at the endearment, it feeling so foreign an adjective to describe her of all people. Confusion wafting over her, nearly replacing the fear. “I think you’ve kidnapped the wrong person.” She didn’t exactly think he’d stop, yet the light-hearted smirk that soon quirked at the corner of his lips still came as a surprise, it serving as a convinced resolution, disagreeing with her foolish accusation. She guessed it was the certainty that surprised, or scared, her more than anything. The way he acted as though nothing was out of place, as though she was exactly where she belonged, just another relic, quite like that vase, he’d get to manipulate to his will without her having any more courage than ability to stop him. “I’ll disappoint you.” She said, more as a warning than a fact. He eyed her as though she were some sort of angel on earth, still with his entitled godlike gaze, yet she knew she was no less human than faults themselves. She was far from perfection, far from wanting to be either.

She sucked in a breath, her hands crinkling into the bedsheets as a thumb rubbed across the nib of her breast. “Impossible.” He spoke with resolution now, yet again eliminating her doubts with more grave timber added to his already gravelly tone. “Besides…” It was the first time in a while where he re-gifted her with his gaze. Sharp, golden eyes fixated onto her teary orbs. “I fix things just as easy as I break them.” She was reminded of the vase and how it so eerily represented her situation. Images of it being her demise spilling, flooding her mind, causing her brows to rumple. It was no question to it being a threat and if she’d been standing she was sure her knees would have given out under her. Especially as his chin prodded forward and hers was once again caught firmly between his fingers. The action stopped in its tracks upon her pouring words.

“I don’t understand, this makes no sense, you’re…” She shook her head as she spoke, words tumbling from her lips like speedy rain, as though she were shaking them from the confines of her mind, however pausing in her process, biting her lip as if what she was about to say were too insensitive, as though genuinely not wanting to hurt the feelings of the brute man before her. “Not to sound superficial, but…” She bowed her head in apology for her next words. “You’re…” She looked around, at the expense surrounding her. “Rich.” Her eyes found his again, as though searching for something her words had aggravated, but found nothing but attentive eyes staring back at her. “And you’ve pretty lashes.” She added, more on a spur than anything. Shaken out of her puzzlement for a brief second before finding her way back to it. “I don’t... I don’t understand… why go through all this trouble?” Her body shifted as she spoke, and the movements did not go unaccounted for by Chisaki. However, the current bewilderment strewn on the girl’s face called for more entertainment. “You can have as many girls as you wish, willing girls who’d love a rich guy like you-” She was stopped, her sentence caught in the air, unable to finish.

“It has nothing to do with quantity.” She had to think for a second to remember the meaning of the word, finding she felt uncertain by what she decided upon. ”But everything to do with quality.” That word she knew well enough, yet it left her even more puzzled than the confusion his previous statement gifted her with.

“If it’s the acid bath you’re talking about…” She queried cautiously. “You’d be surprised how much people will put up with for cash.” He wouldn’t, he knew very well of people’s adamant desperation. How often it made him sick.

His head tilted, giving her words more time than they needed to breathe. Yet, time he needed to evaluate and admire the freckle adorning her neck. “You possess something other people lack by lacking something everyone has.” His hands felt heavy on her thighs as she was once again left puzzled beyond comprehension, leaving room for the pressure in his grip to come to mind as she rummaged her brain for the meaning of his riddling words.

“A quirk?” She said it with too much enthusiasm, caught in her split-second satisfaction for cracking the mystery, before reeling herself back into reality. “You want me ‘cause I’m weak?” Her nose scrunched at the thought, gut winding like livid snakes. “That’s sick.” She hiccupped in her oncoming cry, feeling the desperate hopelessness of her situation hanging around her, the air itself becoming suffocating to take into her lungs.

His hands made a sharp stir at her words, nails briefly poking into her skin at how twisted her reality was. “I desire you because you’re pure.” He didn’t let his guilt shine through in his tone, making it sound ridiculing instead, as though she were stupid to question his intensions, despite her suspicion being nothing but unfounded and sound. “Quirks are a disease not a blessing, you’re spared from its corruption.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, lecturing her as though she were clouded by some ignorance he saw past. It was the tone more than the words that had an effect on her. The lump in her chest, resembling that of shame, rose in her throat. Though, she weren’t stupid; the undeserving condescension vanished once awareness of his manipulation came as a realization in her head. Clarity of the situation soon finding its footing in her mind, no longer feeling insecure in the clouds of his judgement.

She decided to play his game. Having a strong feeling that no amount of questions or arguments would have her leaving her current imprisonment in the house, let alone her position on his lap. “I have conditions.” She quipped quickly, trying to sound assertive in her command, however it playing off as what it actually was, which was insecurity.

A curious glint flashed in his golden orbs as well as a humored tug at the corner of his lips. “You have conditions?” He had half the mind to inform her she was in no such position to demand anything, but he figured there’d be no harm in hearing her out. “Amuse me.” A brief and terribly low chuckle erupted from somewhere deep in his throat, a noise similar to what she’d imagine an old heavy door creaking would sound like.

“I want a garden.” She said first and foremost and what would soon be revealed as last.

Although he didn’t enjoy the messy past-time of hers, some part of him had understood it was something more than that in his time stalking her. How he’d seen her treat her plants as though they were something precious above being mere dirt. “Already provided.”

“Really?” She looked astonished, happy even. “Well, uhm…” She skimmed her brain for more commands, more because of a yearning to exercise the power to command than actually having anything further to request.

“You have nothing else to ask for, do you?” He gave a knowing look. A look of content endearment. “Such a humble creature you are.” The smile, though rather flat, still exuded an inane amount of awe, so much so it made her feel even more exposed than what she already was.

“Don’t call me creature.” She said, more as an attempt to wipe whatever frenzied state he’d escaped to than from actual discomfort by the word itself.

Her attempt didn’t seem to do the trick. “Hmm, anything else?” He started leaning toward her again. Her lips trembling from his exhales. “No?” It would be wrong to say she had no more desires, however those which she had seemed out of reach or strangely punishable if mentioned. “Well, if there’s anything you might feel the need for, do not hesitate to ask.” She most certainly would hesitate before asking for anything from the man, however… she figured it was more or less a purposeful joke than a genuine sentiment.

He hesitated once again as he did when he first touched her, lips only barely brushing over each-other, hovering in the presence of one another’s breath, before primly pressed together. It felt like fire against her freshly scrubbed raw and swollen lips, but she made no effort to stop him as he pressed on. Teeth seemed like fangs as they tugged at the sensitive chunk of flesh, grinding it between them, his tongue soon accompanying her own inside the comfort of her mouth.

It was strange; foreign. She’d kissed, been kissed and shared kisses before, yet the sensation was always adorned with the scent of smoke in the air and on her breath, and the taste of bitter beer swirling and pooling on her tongues. But this, this transaction of something that was purely them, left her feeling barren and at a complete loss for words. With nothing else to cling to sept for the taste of him on her and the even stranger feeling of him desperately trying to taste her.

She felt like a rag-doll, a toy more or less, as she made no effort to move; limp and only barely lively as he laid her beneath him on the bed. Lips caught in each-other’s embrace all the while. His hesitance diluted quickly, turning rougher and painful in a sense, as though he were in some sort of hurry, or as though he couldn’t quite satisfy whatever yearning had awoken in him as fast as it was building. His large hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing to paint a clearer point of who it was that were in charge. “Look at me.” The talons made their presence known, digging crescent moons into the delicate flesh of her spine. Growling accompanying the act, beckoning whimpers from the small thing beneath him. His other hand helping him hunch over her, acting as a pillar for his weight to rest upon. One of his knees soon diving between her legs, prompting her thigh on top of his, preforming the same maneuvers with the parallel leg. Having her knees spread to either side of his hips, nuzzling between them. Her windpipe seemed to bend more than break beneath his viscous hold, yet the sensation felt no less painful.

As lips continued to clash and teeth started to do more than just graze, small hands made to push at his tough chest. Not in an effort to shove him away but to subdue whatever frenzy had taken ahold of him, as a weak attempt to get her discomfort across. He didn’t seem to notice how he’d started biting, or of her rather obvious distress, and if he did it would seem he’d elected to ignore it all, as his weight remained unmoved by her desperate actions.

He didn’t know what he was fussing about before. She clearly respected his authority. How could he ever think that a creature like her, quirkless and infinitely vulnerable, would ever have the heart to disobey him? The mere thought of it was laughable now, as she made such feeble attempts to simply soothe him and not at all in an effort to make him stop. Too kind in her nature to ever want to deliberately upset him. It would be cruel of him to not answer to her prayers of making the ordeal more comfortable, especially when she was being so sweet in her request, in her begging. She should be rewarded, not ignored, he resonated, deciding to go slower, softer.

His hand moved from cramping around her neck to cupping the side of her cheek instead, fingers spreading to either side of her ear. The hand keeping him in a menacing stance, towering over her petite frame, bent at the elbow, lowering him down to rest more intimately against her chest. Feeling her hands move instinctively away from his chest to grasp his shoulders instead, an inkling to perhaps tangle them behind his neck burning in her thoughts, but she was left at a loss for how far she was willing to sell her freewill, but also because she had no way of knowing if such an action would please him. The doubt was soon answered as he assisted in placing her hands above her head, one large hand securing her wrists in a firm yet strangely delicate lock.

Newly free of anything to do, his other hand repositioned to grasp her breast. Lips soon joining as he slobbered a wet path down to her exposed nipples. She fought the urge to scurry away, knowing there was nowhere to go and how nothing good would come out of it, or if it would at all change the events of what was currently in motion. She wasn’t sure just how far his temper reached, but she wasn’t at all that inclined to find out. Besides, he’d already installed the measures to keep her from doing anything of the same caliber of foolish, her position unmovable beneath the inescapable presence of him.

He was broad. Not thick, but thick with muscle to a sense where her legs where thoroughly spread by the mere diameter of his torso. Her knees tightly hugging him because of it, unable to spread even further without it becoming an uncomfortable stretch.

She felt strange. So unavoidably naked. She’d done it before, shamelessly more times than she could count, proudly shared her body with past lovers and friends, yet this seemed a strange type of surrender more than an understanding. Perhaps because she was fully naked whereas he still wore his black suit-pants and matching black dress-shirt with the contrasting white tie. Or, perhaps being naked had nothing to do with it, and the explanation laid solely in the fact that he had taken her from her home without hindrance from both herself and the law it would seem, bathed her and groomed her and dressed her and taken claim of her as some type of belonging all without her being able to object. She was powerless. He was living proof of her hopelessness, helplessness, weakness. Weak and fragile and infinitely exposed beneath him. Inferior, but… it would seem… desirable to some unfounded extent as his golden attention locked on her where nothing else seemed to be worth any significance.

His lips again finding their way up to her throat, his gelled hair tickling her chin and cheek before his breath splayed across the tender skin of her ear. “I undressed you…” He whispered matter-of-factly in the seductive tone, lips brushing against her earlobe at the sentiment. “Time to return the favor.” He shuffled back and made to kneel between her legs, helping her prop herself up with both hands at her waist, pulling her so close she was made to sit on his lap again with her legs cradling him behind his back. His hands serving as the only leverage in keeping her position upright and from falling back onto the bed.

It was selfish and greedy of him to want to test her obedience, especially when she was shaking so violently like a leaf caught in a hurricane. Her head bowed, afraid to meet his height, yet her eyes still peered back up at him through the thick veil of lashes.

She felt his hands tighten around her waist, fingers and talons digging into soft plump flesh as large, glossy eyes stared at him for far too long without her acting on his command. For it was a command. “Need I remind you of what happens when you disobey me?” The belt-buckle seemed a frozen or electric type of cold against her clit as the threat boiled in the back of her mind. She shook her head, or… that was the intention, yet her whole body seemed to quake with the movement.

Hesitant hands and fingers that seemed far too frail for this world reached out to undo his tie. Once he reassured himself she knew what she was doing he tilted his head to lean in for another kiss. He was sure she didn’t do it on purpose, yet he needed to inform her of her mistakes as she seemed to use his tie as some sort of rope that would keep her from falling as she leaned backwards away from his antagonizing lips. His hands once again digging calloused fingertips into the doughy flesh of her waistline.

As though shocked from her transgression she did the opposite action of averting his kiss and came back to meet him. Sniffling as she loosened the tie, reciprocating the unwanted kiss. The realization of how hopeless her predicament coming down on her, as well as the impending events of violation and perhaps unwanted stimulation wracking through her with a vengeance. She couldn’t help but start crying, only this time she noticed the tears as they streamed hot and heavy like silent waterfalls down her face and neck, dripping from her chin onto her chest and falling down further in soundless rivulets, streaking her skin with reddened irritation. He must have tasted it on her lips, for soon his kisses turned sloppier, as though elevated and somehow frenzied by the display of her struggle. His tongue, flat and all-capturing, soon licking up her cheek to better taste her tears, making her cry with increasing fervor. Clutching onto his tie in false comfort as though it were some lifeline. “Put it on.” He demanded as she lifted it above and off his head, hesitating for a second, scanning his eyes for humor but finding nothing sept for lustful impatience. She complied and the once false lifeline turned into a very real noose. She whimpered as one of his hands left her waits to grab onto the tail of the tie, pulling her closer to his face in a choke-hold. “Come on.” He growled against her lips, referring to the still movement of her hands, the hands that were supposed to be halfway done with the unbuttoning of his shirt.

She hurriedly undid the buttons, nimble fingers working precisely despite it. And, although he was under no illusion her hurry was a product of his threat, he could fantasize the rush was of the same desperation he felt festering inside him. However, it was hard to imagine when she finished unbuttoning the shirt, her hands hovering above his pants, left yet again at a loss for what to do.

With his patience running thin, he let his temper get the best of him. The last hand leaving her waist to grab her face with a growl. However, upon seeing the tearful, terrified look displayed swimmingly in her orbs, his snarling features softened. He could pretend she didn’t know how to unbuckle his belt. He could pretend it were some inconceivable contraption you needed to be familiar with beforehand to ever hope understanding. He was good at pretending.

She yelped as he dropped her back onto the mattress, his weight quickly followed suit as he kissed a trail down the valley of her breasts, before rising back up and admiring the sight of her in his tie and the blooming love-bites that had formed from his teeth’s last encounter with her skin. He decided, in his constant growing impatience, to go back on his command, granting her one mercy by removing his belt on his own.

Not wanting to see or find out if she’d disobey more of his clear commands, he placed one careful yet firm hand around her throat, strong fingers pressing into the sides of her throat as so to keep her in her place. Feeling her precious little heartbeats drumming against his palm. Eyes locked with each other. Fearful, tearful, spiraling eyes seemed to take up half her face as she searched his business like, monotonous features in a desperate scramble for hope or escape. Blotchy, red, screaming skin surrounded those gorgeous round eyes of hers. Tear-slicked lashes seemed thicker, hugging each other close for comfort. Nose a blossom shade of pink, nostrils flaring in the meekest of flutters each time she sniffled. She didn’t mean to whimper as Chisaki stroked his middle finger over her neck. She was reminded yet again of the vase from earlier. The vase that was meters away, yet broke apart easily despite the distance and how she was infinitely closer to his destructive hands. How expensive that vase must have been and how priceless in the sense of carrying no expense she was. The possibility of him breaking apart her anatomy similar to the vase was uncertain, on purpose or even by accident.

He made no further moves, just feeling up her pulse beneath his fingertips and watching her eyes go rounder and wider with fear of what he might do. She had completely lost her composure now, and he knew the sight should have awoken some form of regret inside him, some form remorse or guilt, yet the only thing he seemed to think was about how pitifully beautiful she looked in her helplessness beneath him, how undeniable his ownership now was, and how victorious he felt.

To her it felt as though he were oblivious to her discomfort, as though he didn’t even register the tears streaming down her face or the ever-present tremble in her body. How her stomach toppled in on itself, how she was afraid to even as much as move her hands from their places on either side of her head, how she felt as though the sheets swallowed her whole and how the whole atmosphere seemed too strange, too foreign. How the smell of bleach in the air had all five of her senses in utter turmoil, how the cleanliness of everything made her skin crawl, how the silk tie around her neck was both the softest and roughest form of embrace she’d ever felt. How the love-bites on her body represented bullet-wounds, how he’d poked holes through her skin into her very core, how she felt as though the remnants of her soul seeped out through them, spilling onto the fresh bedsheets. How his eyes oddly looked like the eyes of God despite her not believing in such things, how even in her fear she found herself wondering why his lashes were so long and why his skin looked like porcelain and why on earth would a divine creature like him ever show such a devoting interest in the likes of her.

The sharp clashes of an unbuckling belt weren’t enough to shake her from her rambling thoughts, nor was the unbuttoning of his pants or the sound of the textile being thrown on the floor. Fingers however, fingers easily brought her out of her own mind. Fingertips grazing tender, unprotected, wet skin. Slender-veined, long, striking fingers that reached farther inside her to that spot she couldn’t ever hope reach on her own. Fingers that easily entered through the slick of building wetness, pooling with the rush of blood that had celebrated by the countless accidental, conditional and intentional feather-touches she’d received throughout the events of her time in his presence. It felt good. Undeniably so, in spite of her fear, maybe even in product of her fear. Two digits buried knuckle-deep inside her, slithering, bathing, curling, stretching, molding her walls to their liking.

With his face inches away from her, with the fingers of his hand dancing curious choreography inside her and his thumb drawing careful patterns onto her clit, she couldn’t help put moan past the hand tightening around her throat. His hot breath fanning over her face she felt him grow restless at the lewd sounds she made. There was a still present stretch in the outer ring of muscle despite her growing wetness, but her insides fluttered, happily and welcomingly sucking on the guests taking up space within her. Her knees pressing harder into his sides in an impulsive desperate attempt to rub her thighs together, hanging onto every precise move his fingers made, wanting more, needing more.

“Look at me.” Eyes wrenched shut at the unwanted yet much enjoyable pleasure, peeled open at the threat of his words and the tightening enclosure of pressure her vocal cords sustained beneath the grip of his hand.

She had at a point tangled her hands around his neck, despite her dilemma with the movement earlier. Teeth adamantly biting down into her bottom lip as she proceeded in getting lost in his eyes and at the pooling sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of her. Un-allowed to look any other place but his eyes, un-allowed to move when his digits disappeared and the soft velvety tip of his cock nuzzled at her entrance, feeling warm and much bigger than the expanse of his fingers.

He made a sound. A low, guttural moan which reverberated through his chest and erupted somewhere deep within his throat; hungry in its conviction and greedy in its quest, making the girl beneath him whimper as his swollen cockhead kissed past the lips of her pussy, beginning to push through into her plushy walls. His hand soon finding its way to cover her mouth, muffling each pathetic little whimper that came with his throbbing cock tearing through her constricting walls with its monstrous girth frustratingly slowly, the small sounds vibrating, tickling him in the palm of his hand. The frustrating slow move letting her feel every ridge, every vein, every prodding rift on his bulging cockhead.

Nails belonging to small hands dig into the back of his neck as he thrusts the remaining length of his cock inside her, his pillow-like tip bumping into her cervix, bottoming out in one quick movement of his hips furiously slamming up against the underside of her thighs. She gasped at the intrusion, her velvety walls fluttering around the size of his, moaning whence he pulled out ever so slowly. He groaned blissfully, lolling softly into her. Her eyes once again closing, falling into the back of her skull, but that couldn’t be allowed. “Look at me while I make you mine.” It was hard to bring herself back, it was hard to even open her eyes and even harder to focus on keeping eye-contact as he continuously buried himself inside her. However, the throaty growls and moans and croaks, that somehow deafened the wet creamy squelching of his shaft driving into her sopping folds, served as enough a wordless threat to keep her attention tethered to him.

The pace was slow, agonizingly so, but he drove deep. And as the speed picked up, she couldn’t help that her needy walls began clamping around the girth of his length, sucking his cock right back inside her warmth each time he reared his hips back, as if he belonged there. Her struggle was unnecessary as he eagerly slammed his pelvis back into her, creating an ear deafening smack with each bone-shattering thrust. Her back arching into him as her warm walls seized up around his cock rapidly pumping in and out of her, feeling the early building fluttering of her orgasm closing in, chasing her in her bliss. His hand still tightly enclosed around her neck, the space dividing their faces nearly nonexistent as his hot breath fell upon her face each time he grunted and groaned with the thrusts of his hips.

She moaned his name, trying to find the words to warn him of her upcoming release, but between his thrusts she had had to prioritize breathing above anything else and as the feelings inside her spurred violently she was rendered unable to even as much as think about anything but the bliss. Her legs cramped around his torso, bringing him close and holding him there as her body convulsed in earth-shattering spasms. Moans slipping past the fingers on her throat, forgetting they were there for a moment. All movements stilled before she opened her eyes to find those weighty eyes staring back at her, feeling an inclination to apologize but having the words choke in her throat by both his hand and once again picked up speed, as he slammed into her with a newfound vigor. Her orgasm still ricocheting, pulsating, crippling her body in warm heat and fuzzy shocks, the tingling contrasting with his sharp and angled thrusts into her swollen walls, riding her through the feeling. Her crying had partially subsided, however started returning. His pounding so crucial and stinging she sobbed at the brutality of it, her throat feeling sore beneath his fingers.

He bit into her neck, stuffing her again and again with his cock, heavy balls hitting against her ass in wet slaps. He drove harder, making her hiccup and scream at the force of his shaft tearing a hole through her abdomen. She begged him to stop, but he was chasing his own form of release. Her hands slamming and pushing at his shoulder, but he was neatly and snuggly slotted against her, in no hopes of moving without wanting to himself. His hand descended to gripping the underside of her knees, spreading her further out for him to rut into. Face buried in her chest as he selfishly groaned and moaned and grunted like some animal, ignoring her spluttering cries. His noises grew louder, uncontrolled, building to one final croak, feeling his cock spur in warm twitches, ropes of white thickness sprouting from his pulsating tip into her, creaming up her walls and dripping out of her crammed hole.

He sighed contently, continuing to slot his cock inside her warmth however slowly, feeling his cum run down the length of his and she felt it smear her thighs in stickiness. Her hands shook, clinging to him for comfort from the relenting attacks, her entire body aching. He pulled out all the way only to fill her up again, his cock keeping its size and length without faltering in the slightest, she was afraid he wasn’t done, but he seemed content relaxing into her chest, eyes closed and resting. He lied there for a bit, cock going limp inside the comfort of her warm walls, before he rolled off. A large hand still left on her stomach.

Part of her told her to simply fall asleep. Her aching body begging to find rest in the soft sheets, yet the almost wild need to get as far away from the man at her side outgrew her need for comfort, as it usually did. She stirred from her position, slipping out from under his hand, yet the movement was quickly silenced with the hand coming to snatch her wrists instead. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was calculated despite groggy and tired, annoyed in some sense yet desperate in another. She opened her mouth to speak but the words fell stillborn on her tongue. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her towards him again and she was sure he wanted to go another round, but found that instead of lining her up with his cock another time, she was instead firmly placed against his chest. One arm coming to wrap around her, whilst the other made to grab the duvet from its place at their feet, draping the both of them in sterile white cloth. “If you move during the night, expect to wake up to a punishment.” He added softly in her ear. His fingers delicately dancing across her cheek to brush a tress of hair behind her ear. His lidded eyes intently locked; admiring, the curves and slopes of her face, even as the red and teary confusion started back at him. He was glad to see no hints of hatred or scorn laced with her gaze, or perhaps he was just too tired to notice. Though, she did as commanded. Keeping her frame neatly placed where he’d positioned her. Her eyes scanning the man’s features until sleep as well soon brought her to her knees. And she would like to dispel the notion, but the truth wasn’t easily buried. Despite the burning swollen soreness found between her legs, the soft comfort of clean pillows and covers and sheets had her body relax more so than she knew she should. The smell of bleach accompanied by lavender and lilac soon aiding her in her relaxation as well. And when all was said and done, the warmth of Chisaki’s body was a strange type of welcoming consolation despite it also being the reason to her aches.