#but on the other does she want to be freed from the weight of her historical name?

[lilislegacy]

okay i know im usually a pjo poster but i need to know how people feel about this. and why.

[gayspacepiratesss]

“Skipping Stones,” part 2 (because apparently Tumblr has an image limit, whoops! Part 1 here). 💕

Again, I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED MY OWN STUDY OF DOCK TOWN after approximately ten thousand years omg. If you also love analysis and camera angles and Neve Gallus, read on (or start here). Many, many sketches below the cut. ☠️💕 So many.

***

Rook hesitates.

And into the silence between them Neve throws another line of dialogue, like she can’t stop now that she’s started. Like she can’t plan this even though she wants to. As Rook tries to find a strategy, Neve is losing hers.

The camera is still zoomed out here, but I wanted to focus on Neve’s expression, which again is so full of longing it borders on despair. She wants this. But also she doesn’t. But also she does.

“There’s a lot to lose,” she whispers.

Rook’s expression in response is my favorite thing because Rook’s heart breaks for Neve, right there. Here is this woman who has spent her whole life trying to hold together a world on the edge of breaking, and she is warning you away from that edge with all her might.

And suddenly Rook understands: the strategy, the only strategy, is in fact a straight line. Don’t sidestep. Don’t go around. Let the wall crumble, let the world fall.

“Isn’t there always?”

There are two expressions in this scene that I almost couldn’t capture. This is the first.

Neve goes perfectly still. Rook’s words wash over her like a release, like a gift, like a threat. There is always something to lose. But if there’s always something to lose…

It turns out it is incredibly hot to be told you can just have what you want. 💕

Suddenly the stillness breaks, and Neve is running across the docks, crumbling, spiraling, surrendering. Like anything suddenly freed of a great weight, she ricochets towards Rook, almost in flight. The camera follows her lead and swoops in, framing just their two faces as Neve finally reaches what she wants.

And takes it.

… and then doubts herself, of course. 💕

Some people say that she’s awkwardly adjusting her hat here (which I love) but even without a hat you can see Neve trying to restore the cracks Rook just sent through her system of self-protection. Her hands go up to touch the head that just let her heart go crazy. Wait. What are you doing? Think.

Neve Gallus without her mind racing? We’d hardly know her.

But there are two expressions in this scene that I almost couldn’t capture, and this is the second. Now Rook goes perfectly still. The two characters often mirror each other with dialogue, but here it’s actually their silences that are mirrored.

It turns out it is incredibly hot when the person you have watched, and wanted, and waited for, throws herself into your arms. 💕

The force of Neve Gallus’s desire washes over Rook like a gift, like a release. Like a threat. Because here is the possibility that she might leave, be lost, as she pulls away to fix her hair. As she considers changing her mind.

There's no going back. Rook is already a lost cause. And so, as she lets out a little gasp and lets herself be pulled into another kiss, is Neve Gallus.

Here's what I love about this moment: being a lost cause, letting herself fall, that—as her racing mind lets go just long enough to get a second look at her city, another perspective literally and figuratively as the camera lets their kiss fill the entire frame—that will be the thing that saves Neve. From being trapped in shadows and sudden turns and dark alleys, from making the same move over and over on a rigged board.

As the kiss ends, she suddenly sees what she couldn't see: the missing piece. Aelia. Dock Town. It all makes sense.

There’s always something to lose.

But how do you find something, except to lose it first?

(Bonus elfy ear wiggles because Eann loves kissing Neve 🥰)

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Summery: You and Marcus clear the air. You get your first experience of the Gladitorial Games.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, allusions to smut (just lusting and dirty thoughts), enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius.

Word Count: 4, 449

Chapter 8 Games and Intrigues

The silence in the carriage ride home was crushing but even more so was the ache in Marcus' chest. Since arriving in Rome he'd got to enjoy watching you grow more and more confident in yourself. It was slow but steady, but in just one night, in just one conversation with a clod who should have kept his mouth shut, all the progress you'd made seemed to have deminished. Even now in his bed chamber Marcus can't shake the haunting image of your vacant expression as he assisted you down from the carriage. He can blame Geta all he wants (and he does) but he also blames himself. He doesn't regret telling the emperors, it would have been a mistake not to, but he should have told you, he should have been honest with you.

In trying to protect you he'd inadvertently hurt you, and worse, betrayed your trust in him. 'I trusted you and you went behind my back'. Guilt settles in his stomach like a lead weight as your choked voice echoes in his mind. Maybe he'd underestimated just how complicated integrating is going to be for you. He finds himself pacing his room, every attempt to settle for the night just making him more restless and anxious. He has to make this right.

*****

"Can I ask you something?" you say to Cassia as you watch her loosen the ribbons in your hair and brush through the locks gently in the mirror of your bed chamber. "Of course, Alia. You can ask me anything?" Her warm smile gave you some comfort to continue. "Are you Roman?" Cassia looked into the mirror at that point and you fear you may have overstepped. Not wanting to cause offense you quickly add, "Oh, I hope that wasn't inappropriate. It's just your accent differs slightly." Cassia continues brushing your hair. "There's no offense. I'm half Roman, half Brittanic. My father was a very important senator and my mother belonged to him."

"Oh..." you deflated, "I'm sorry." "No, it wasn't like that," Cassia shook her head and a wistful smile curved her lips. "They actually loved each other very much, but couldn't be together officially. He was very good to me, doted on me behind closed doors." Her smile suddenly dropped. "He uh... had to marry, and his wife was a horrible woman. But as long as he was around we were safe." "What happened? how did you end up here?" you asked, slightly uncomfortably. "Just before my father died he freed us both. He knew we wouldn't be safe in his Domus with his wife." Cassia's shoulders slumped and she sighed. "I just wish we could have been there for his passing, but as soon as we were freed his wife sent us away and he was too weak to stop her."

Your stomach hollowed out, knowing all too well the pain of losing your parents. "I'm so sorry," you sighed. "Thank you," Cassia replied softly. "A couple of years ago my mother became ill and we had to leave the workhouse. I was very fortunate to have secured my position here-" "So you earn a wage?" your brows raised in surprise. "I do. After she died I... I just couldn't live in our rented room anymore, it was too painful so I negotiated a lower wage for food and lodging here." "And are you happy here?" "Very," she smiled, "The General is kind." The corner of your mouth rose in a fond smile. "Yes, he is. Can I ask....? Do people ever look down on you, for not being fully Roman?"

Cassia pressed her lips into a thin line, a pensive expression clouding her features as she continued unweaving the ribbons in your hair. "There will always be people who look for any reason to put you down." "Yeah..." you mumble wearily. "I take it tonight didn't go to well?" A humourless laugh blew through your nose. "I'm not sure they'll ever fully accept me here." "Oh, Alia," Cassia soothed, "it's still early days and this was your first public appearance. You must give it time. Everyone in this Domus already likes you and I'm sure the more people get to know you, the more they'll warm up to you." Tears tingle behind your eyes as Cassia's kind words comfort you in a way you didn't even know you needed.

She continues, "I know this all seems strange to you now but you're not the first foreigner to settle here and you certainly won't be the last. I have every confidence you'll find your place here." A lump forms in your throat but you force your voice past it, "Thank you, Cassia. You and the General are the only people who treat me as a human being. I'm so glad to have met you." Cassia meets your eyes in the mirror, smiling warmly. "I'm happy you're here, Alia." A pleasant atmosphere of camaraderie filled the bed chamber and for the first time tonight you can feel the tension ebbing away. Cassia seems like more of a friend to you than a servant, and heaven knows you could certainly do with more friends.

Once your hair had been thoroughly brushed, Cassia helped you into your nightgown and turned down the bed for you. You wished each other a goodnight and she left the room. After a very stressful evening the silence is a welcome respite, giving you the chance to gather your thoughts. You know it's not possible to decline the emperors' invites without it reflecting badly on yourself and Marcus, and even though you feel utterly betrayed by him, a part of you can't help but feel a sense of loyalty to him, especially after everything he has done for you. So, you'll 'grin and bare it' for his sake and at the same time you'll show everyone, one way or another, that you have what it takes to thrive in this city and, as Cassia says, you will find your place here.

*****

It's been less than an hour since arriving home and Marcus is still strung as tightly as a bow. No matter how much he tries, he just can't unwind. Every second this remains unresolved he feels like he's crawling out of his skin. He was going to wait until morning but he can't ignore the inexplicable need to see you, to make amends and see the smile he has grown so fond of grace your cheeks once more; the very smile he smothered in his attempt to shield you. No, this can't wait until morning. He has to explain himself now.

*****

Sinking into the plushness of your mattress, your fingers absentmindedly twirl the edge of the sheets while you stare at the patterns on the ceiling, heavy eyed but sleep eludes you as your thoughts relive the past evening. Could you have done anything different? Something to make you less... you. Were you too harsh with Marcus? Maybe you should have given him the chance to explain. But you were angry and had every right to be, so why do you feel like you've been unreasonable? You groan as regret and confusion wage war with each other, bringing the heels of your hands to press against your eyes. A light tap at your door snaps you out of your mind. Strange, why would Cassia or Flavia come here this late? Opening the door, you're met with earthy brown eyes, holding a depth of remorse that momentarily leaves you breathless.

"Hi," Marcus began, his voice low and soft. "Can we talk?" Your heart softens as he stands before you, big pleading eyes weakening your anger. You offer him a small smile and nod, stepping aside while opening the door to allow him in. Your stomach is in knots as you close the door and turn to face him, the air thick with tension. This is the first time he's ever been in your bed chamber. It feels intimate, too intimate. The amber glow of the brazier's flames bring to your attention the warm tones of his skin, contrasting against the salt and pepper shades of his curls and stubble, while the shadows highlight the curve of his jaw and nose. The man is beautiful, there's no denying that anymore. But you also can't deny the awkwardness that has been lingering between you both since your argument. Unsure of what to say or even do right now, you hold onto your upper arm, nervously stroking up and down for a distraction.

"Please sit..." Marcus gestured to the Lectus. Ever the gentleman, he allowed you to take a seat before sitting next to you, so close his scent of sandalwood with a hint of honey flooded your senses. It's very... him and it seems to be having a calming effect on you. "I want to apologise for earlier," Marcus began, clasping his hands together between his knees, "For what Geta said and for breaking your trust. It was not my intention." Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you nod, and sigh, "Thank you, Marcus." Fidgeting with your fingers in your lap, you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I just... I don't understand why you felt the need to tell them." Marcus gave you a resigned smile. "It would have been worse for us if I didn't. They wanted to know everything about you and if I had lied or omitted anything it would look suspicious on both our accounts. And they would have found out soon enough. I didn't want to give them any reason to distrust you."

Hearing Marcus explain everything brings it all into perspective, well almost. There's just one niggling thing that doesn't make sense. "Okay..." you exhale lowly, "but why didn't you tell me? If you had warned me beforehand I would have been more prepared to discuss... that. The way he grinned at me..." your voice is tight now, just like the grip on your nightgown. Marcus sighed, watching you take your frustrations out on your clothing. His fingers twitch in his lap, hand suddenly feeling too empty. He longs to reach out, to take your hands in his and smooth out the tension from your knuckles. But he's fears if he holds you now, he'll never let go.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wanted to protect you. I thought the less you knew, the less you'd have to worry about, you've had enough to deal with..." His expression turns dark. "And I honestly didn't think that idiot boy," he spat those last two words out, "would have brought it up." Oh... oh, now you feel bad. It all makes sense now; he was just tying to do right by you as he always has done and you'd jumped to conclusions and believed the worst about him. Shame settles over you like a weighted blanket. "I failed you tonight," Marcus mumbled, his voice full of remorse, "And for that I apologise." You're a bit taken aback by that. "What do you mean you let me down?" you ask, blinking in confusion. "I promised you everything would be okay but it wasn't and it's my fault-" "No," you interrupt quickly to which he raised his eyebrows. "You didn't fail me at all. You did your best, you always have for me."

As if on instinct your hand reaches for his and holds on firmly. "I should be the one apologising. I should have given you the chance to explain instead of letting my anger get the better of me. I understand now why you had to tell them, but please promise me one thing...?" "Anything," Marcus declared, squeezing your hand gently. "Don't keep things from me again. If something involves me, no matter how serious it may be, promise me you'll tell me." Marcus' large eyes search your own, his frown lines softening before nodding. "I promise," he whispers solemnly. Then you smile at him, the first genuine smile you've given him since your falling out. "Could we just put this behind us now?" you ask hopefully. "Of course, I'd like nothing more." Marcus regarded you with tenderness and just like that all of the anxious strain in the air melted away, leaving a comforting peace in it's wake.

The silence in the room is now one of companionable ease. Marcus looked down at your interlaced fingers, then back up at you. He now looks uncertain, like he's holding something back he dare not speak of and for a split second his eyes drop to your lips. The air suddenly shifts, charged with electricity. It sends flutters throughout your belly as you hold his soft gaze, waiting, hoping for him to speak. Only when he does, it's not what you were anticipating. "I should let you get some rest," Marcus uttered softly, releasing your hand. Your heart sinks when he stands, the physical distance between you leaving an ache behind. "It's the first day of the games tomorrow and you'll want to be well rested. Goodnight, Alia." Hiding your disappointment behind a small smile, you reply, "Goodnight Marcus."

Once the door had closed you breathed a sigh of relief, your mind and body easing as if a physical weight hand been taken off of you. It was all a misunderstanding. He didn't go behind your back. You feel a little disappointed in yourself now for ever believing he would. You were wrong about him and you couldn't be more grateful for that. And while you do feel relieved to have cleared the air, you can't ignore the flicker of curiosity in the back of your mind. What was it he wanted to say? You can still see the image of Marcus' rich earthen eyes; eyes that, in that moment shone with not only uncertainty but softness and vaulnerability. Clearly there's more to Marcus Acacius than just a decorated War General, more than just his presentation of honour and propiety, and you long to discover what that is. You want to know all there is about him. Maybe, hopefully, one day he'll trust you enough with the deepest parts of himself.

*****

When Marcus got back to his room, he strode out onto the balcony, the night air a welcome relief from the heat burning under his skin. The ghost of your soft hand on his still lingers but it was the look you gave him that caused his heart to stutter and he almost forgot to breathe; forgiveness, trust and tenderness, a blessing from you he's not sure he deserves, not after failing to protect you tonight. When he thinks back to how the emperors humiliated you, how those around you snickered, he wishes he could turn back time and unleash hell on them all. Fury bubbles in his veins the longer he dwells on it. For them to treat you - you, who have done nothing wrong, caused no offense and just wanted to fit in - so cruelly is beyond endurable for him.

And after all that, and finding out from Geta that he'd told them your business and the resulting hurt that had caused - for you to walk back in there and pretend nothing had happened... well, he's simply in awe of you. Marcus has always sensed a quiet strength under your surface, but he didn't realise you were this strong. He's never met a woman like you in all his life; couragous, steadfast, kind hearted and... beautiful. He's always seen it, he'd have to be blind to not see your natural beauty every day and it shone no brighter than moments ago in your bed chamber as you gazed at him softness and dare he say it... longing? In that moment, with your hands joined he wanted nothing more than to engulf you in his arms and feel the softness of your plush lips against his own, to hold you against his chest and swallow the moans he imagines he could pull from you.

Fuck! Just these mental images alone are enough to fill his cock with blood, his erection now tenting his tunic as he tries his best to rid himself of such thoughts. You're his guest, you're under his protection. It would be wrong to want you, like he would be taking advantage. Marcus rubs his hand over his stubbly jaw, releasing a long sigh. The cool breeze is doing nothing to help him now. He walks over to his bed and crashes down onto his back, an arm slung across his eyes. He will not give in to what his treacherous mind craves right now. How would he be able to look at you again if he did that? Instead he focuses on the war, the anger he harbours for the emperors, the upcoming games, anything to distract himself from you. This is going to be a long night.

Thousands upon thousands of excited voices rise into the atmosphere as the trumpets blast, announcing the opening of the games. The emperors address the crowd but but you barely pay any attention as your brain struggles to accept the spectacle before you. The Collesseum is impressive enough from the outside but nothing cold have prepared you for what was inside. Sixty thousand people! That's the amount this miracle of architecture can hold, according to Marcus. It's as if the whole world has moved into one massive dwelling; one of heavily gated archways and endless rows of seats, reaching up and back. Long sheets stretch out across the top of the building on large wooden beams, blocking out the worst of the suns' heat.

The section you are currently residing in, the Cubiculum (imperial box), screams of wealth and station with it's golden chairs, steady supply of wine and delicacies and rich tapestries draping over the balcony. Why you are permitted here you have no idea. Marcus must have arranged it somehow, securing you a seat next to his. Many important people surround you, including Julia, sitting regally to the right of her sons. Once the emperors had finished their speech and taken their seats the trumpets sounded again and the crowd roared as the announcer introduced the warriors, who made their grand entrance on several thundering chariots, waving to the cheers of the mob. They bring their chariots to a stop in front of Geta and Caracalla, and with reverent bows bellow, "We who are about to die, salute you." They take up their starting positions and the fight begins.

it's more brutal than you'd expected. You don't know what's worse; the blood seeping into the dust or the bloodlust of the crowd. The gorier the death, the wilder they become. Being in the Cubiculum gives you a perfect view of the arena. In the commotion, three chariots lay on their sides, the drivers and co-riders battling it out on foot with their opponents, while five more chariots charge through the fray, cutting men down. One of the men throws a spear at a driver, impaling him thought the chest, causing the chariot to overturn, throwing both him and his co-rider. A bloodcurdling scream rings out as the chariot flips and lands on the skull of the co-rider, crushing it into mulch. Your hand flies to your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head away from the gruesome sight, bile rising up your throat.

In the corner of his eye. Marcus can see you trying to hide your repulsion behind a shaking hand, the other one gripping tightly onto your Palla. Placing his hand over yours, he leans in close to your ear. "Are you okay?" he whispers, giving your hand a light squeeze. "Mhm..." you force a small smile as you will stomach to settle. "Just wasn't expecting... that." Marcus nods, bringing his hand back to his lap. "I suppose it can be a bit much for someone unfamiliar with this type of entertainment, but you'll get used to it." You nod in agreement but deep down you don't think you could ever get used to this. Looking around, hoping no one saw your reaction, it's then you notice Julia watching you and you're sure you saw her mouth curve at one corner before turning her attention back to the games. The carnage continues, man after man falling to the glee of the spectators, until only one chariot remains.

The surviving men raise their arms to the boisterous crowd and bow to the emperors while the announcer addresses the audiance Throughout this whole display you'd been suppressing the urge to vomit while the emperors clapped and shrieked like hyped up children. Marcus remained mostly silent through it all. He's seen enough blood spilled and lives wasted to last two lifetimes. Before he'd been tainted by the cursed sights of slaughter on the battlefield he'd enjoyed these spectacles as much as the next person, but decades of witnessing and causing death and suffering weighs heavily on him and he could definitely do without seeing anymore death during his leisure time.

And he'd noticed how the colour had drained from your face when you'd turned towards him. If he could work his will neither of you would be here today. Alas, duty calls even when he's not on campaigne, and now said duty requires his presence at every social event, lest he insult Caracalla. When the announcer had finished speaking, Marcus turned to you. "So, what did you think?" He can see just from a quick observation you look a little green around the gills. "It was um... difficult to watch if I'm honest," you answer truthfully. "Difficult?" Geta's incredulous scoff caught yours and Marcus' attention, from where he now stands, leaning against his throne and regarding you with a smirk. "You haven't seen anything yet. You'd do well to prepare yourself for tomorrow, this was just a warm up."

Geta comes to stand beside Marcus, still wearing that smug expression. "You'll have to toughen her up, Acacius," he slaps Marcus on the back. Marcus gives a forced smile along with a neutral tone, "She's just new to the games, Your Majesty, I'm sure she'll come to enjoy them soon enough." It irks you that they are speaking about you as if you weren't even here. You know, with Marcus it comes from a good place (and you appreciate that) but you also realise that if anyone is to take you seriously you have to begin speaking for yourself, even if it makes your stomach roil with anxiety. "Actually, I'm very much looking forward to the rest of the games, Your Majesty," you add to the conversation with a saccharine smile. "I'm eager to embrace everything Rome has to offer." "Is that so?" Geta eyes you, thoughtfully.

Marcus watches the interaction between you both, unsure of where this conversation is going or if he should intervene. "That's good to know," Geta remarks, casually, but a slight narrowing of his eyes doesn't go unnoticed by Marcus. It's as if he's accepting a silent challenge, one he's intrigued by. It makes Marcus nervous. "I'm curious..." Geta continued, "What exactly did Germania have to 'offer?'" It's obvious he's trying to belittle you, wanting you to feel inadequate by comparing your life in Germania to your life in Rome. Well, if he expects you to defend your old life and the ways of your people he can go fuck himself. You owe them nothing and you refuse to play his games. He won't get a rise out of you. "Very little compared to all this, Highness," you answer coolly, as if it doesn't bother you to admit it.

You have to fight to suppress the smirk behind your words as you inwardly revel in the satisfaction of seeing Geta's smug face drop slightly. You'd just taken away any and all ammunition he had at his disposal and he knows you know it. Geta looks between you and Marcus, who now seems completely at ease compared to moments ago. You can feel the quiet satisfaction rolling off him. Geta gives you both a tight smile. "General, Alia," he nods and walks away, his face hardening as he leaves. Marcus stands and turns to fully face you, his mouth quirking up in one corner and eyes shinning with pride. "Well played. He underestimated you." Heat rises to your cheeks with Marcus' praise, a self satisfied grin creeping up but before you can reply, Julia appears beside you both, her sickly sweet tone like cold water to the warmth spreading through your chest.

"Did you enjoy the games?" she asked you both. "Very much, My Lady," Marcus smiled, nodding his head. You also bow. Julia places her hand on marcus' arm, leaning her whole body closer to him. A jolt of irritation flashes through you at the sight of her brazen behaviour, a part of you wanting to rip her jewellery laden hand off of Marcus so badly. "It's wonderful to have you back, Acacius," she begins stroking up and down his arm slowly. "Would you like to dine with me this afternoon, both of you?" she adds while smiling at you, hanging off of Marcus' arm as if she belongs there. Doesn't it bother him?! Or does he actually welcome it? The thought he might want her subtle advances make your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. Spending time with her now is the last thing you want.

Thankfully, Marcus speaks before you have to. "That's very kind of you, Julia, but I'm afraid that won't be possible today." Relief washes over you as Marcus politely declines her offer, her mask of affablility cracking ever so slightly as he continues, "I'm giving Alia a tour of the city this afternoon." "Really?!" Your head whips back to Marcus, the excitement in your voice palpable. You're finally going to get to explore Rome! "Yes..." Marcus titters fondly at your enthusiasm. "I realised that you've been here for a little over a week now and I still haven't shown you around your new home." Marcus turned his head to Julia, "You're more than welcome to join us."

"Thank you, but I have other engagements later this afternoon," Julia replied with a tight lipped smile, dropping her hand. Even Marcus has noticed the subtle shift in her tone, judging by the look of confusion on his face. "But I will call upon you soon, my friend." Her charming smile is back in place along with her claw - hand - on Marcus' arm. "Good day to you both," she gives his arm a gentle squeeze and glances your way. "Good day, My Lady" "Good day, Julia," you and Marcus say at the same time as she leaves to join her sons.

Series Masterlist Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than the others. I have a lot more written but realised it wouldn't make sense to end the chapter halfway through the next scene, so I ended it here. Thank you to everyone who's been following Marcus' and Alia's story, we're getting close to sexy times now, I promise 😉

@bbyanarchist @myownwholewildworldwhole @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29 @abbyanarchist @suzyface @missadangel @evyiione @longlivekingminnn @heramj @javiismyhsbnd @kxthxrinx0310 @inept-the-magnificent @liciafonseca @marrowfrog00 @moompie @anoverwhelmingdin

[burningcheese-merchant]

May.. may we get more yandere cheese? Maybe of her starting to write her own just as deranged letters to Burning Spice, but she refuses to send them. She can't. He doesn't need to find out that she'd let him do what he wants after all. But he does. He finds out anyway. Because he's Burning Spice. He's smart.

I already did something like that haha. She hasn't fully succumbed to her vices yet, but this is a start. The first step on the long, winding staircase spiralling down into Hell.

You're right, though... Burning Spice does find out eventually. Of course he does. He's far smarter than anyone gives him credit for; even his comrades often forget that the man's wit is as sharp as the blade of his axe, if not more so. But it's fine. Better than fine, it's wonderful. Perfect, if he's bold enough to declare it (and he is). Let the world brand him a fool. It makes carrying out his sinister plans that much easier.

And now, his number one priority is breaking into her house.

Very... simple way of putting it, yeah. Plain. Boring. But the less time Burning Spice spends on molding his words into something prim and proper - what, does he look like that annoying know-it-all jester to you? - the more he can spend on turning this dream into reality. The plan doesn't need to be articulate. It only needs to be done.

Six months now. It has been six months, on the dot. Half a year since that fateful day, and she still has yet to notice...

One would think that, no matter how proudly and desperately Golden Cheese strove to be crowned the greediest woman on earth, she would still have the good sense to rein it in when absolutely necessary. But apparently not. Truly, her greed had no equal, no hope of being humbled or vanquished. She simply had to have everything, regardless of who, what or where it came from. Even if it came from him.

The moment he first laid eyes upon the painting, Burning Spice knew she would be drawn to it. A lone tree, humble in its size yet proud in its stance, mercifully draping a blanket of shade over the teal and jade shrubs huddled around its base. Before them sat a pool of water, shallow but pristine, glittering in the light of the afternoon sun. A lovely desert oasis.

She would appreciate the symbolism, he thought. And it would seem that he'd thought correctly, for despite her usual huffing and puffing about their fights and the other gifts he always intended for her, she nevertheless abandoned him to their makeshift arena with the painting in tow, tucked under her arm.

Pretty little bird, and her love for pretty trinkets... if only she knew. If only she'd thought twice when she looked more closely at the painting, and took proper heed of the little snake coiled around a tree branch, a single beady eye visible to the viewer. If only she was paranoid enough to have the painting be looked over by someone besides herself - someone well-versed in magic, preferably, as they're more likely to realize that a spell had been cast on the painting. If only she knew that the poor man (or what was left of him, anyway) he presented her to was the one he'd stolen the painting from, and strong-armed into bewitching (and, for his trouble, Burning Spice gladly freed his burdensome head from his weak, trembling shoulders).

If only she knew that, whenever she loomed closer and stared curiously at that snake, it wasn't the snake that was staring back.

And how curious it was, when Burning Spice caught her sitting at her desk one evening. Her pen gliding over paper with increasing speed and fury, the weight of whatever devilry had possessed her bearing down on her in such a way that her hunch grew more pronounced with each passing moment. One paper, soon crumpled with a shake of her head and a breath of frustration, became two. Became three. Four. Five. Six.

Alas, the painting hung a little too far above Golden Cheese's head for Burning Spice to see her work clearly. He'd been born with outstanding eyesight, as all apex predators ought to be, but there were times where even it failed him. The angle just wasn't quite right, and her handwriting was simply too small. The muscles in his face began to ache from how deeply he was scowling, such was his righteous indignation.

But far be it from him to shrug his shoulders and live without his questions being answered. He has only given up on something once in his life, and it wasn't this. He would never give up on anything related to his beautiful bird. Perish such a blasphemous thought!

Enough straining, enough squinting, enough parsing of the words and letters, and he saw it. Two words. One name.

"Burning Spice."

It was him. She was writing something about him. For him. TO him.

His heart thundered in his chest so loudly, so painfully, so beautifully at this divine revelation - but not as beautiful as her, no. Nothing could ever hope to be. Golden Cheese, HIS Golden Cheese, so stunning and delectable, so unbearably gorgeous in every way imaginable. So hypnotic in her movements - in the balled fists that battered the poor desk in a fit of rage, deep cracks springing forth and marring the otherwise flawless, polished surface. In the way her wings fanned out to their fullest size as she rose to her feet, shoving her chair away as though it was cursed. In that lightning fast heel-turn and leap across the room, that twist of the door handle so strong and erratic it nearly came off, the feather or two left in the dust as she vanished from the room and Burning Spice's sight entirely. Gods, he could watch her do anything. He could watch her forever.

He wants to know exactly what it is that she wrote. He must know. He will.

In his excitement - and it hasn't waned in the days since, not even the slightest bit - he had hunted down a piece of blank parchment and jotted down his own letter in immediate response to hers. It sat comfortably tucked away in his dhoti, near his hip; keeping it on his person at all times gave him strength, hope, a reminder of the holy mission he was destined to fulfill (although he probably didn't need it).

He can still feel his fingers itching as he lays in his bed, still wide awake well into the wee hours of the morning. He obliges them as he always does, and carefully plucks out the letter, a monstrous grin unfolding on his face as the letter unfolded before it:

"Golden Cheese, my little thief, my pretty bird, my delicious prey... I see you. I see you in your little nest, in that precious kingdom of yours, fluttering about to and fro. You dance and tiptoe so elegantly upon the winds that I curse myself every time I'm forced to blink, and be robbed of a single glance of you and your beauty.

"Little bird... I know what you've done. What you've written. I have witnessed it with my own eyes. And I love it. I love it as much as I love you. I waited so long for this day, for the day you truly acknowledged me. My heart mimics the beat of a war drum every time the thought dares to cross my mind... But it isn't just a thought anymore, is it? It's as real as you and I. As real as our bond. Once a dream, now a prophecy. One I intend to fulfill.

"You don't need to worry. Don't lift a single finger or feather. I will come to you, as I always do, and then I'll steal your letters away. They fill you with the same excitement as me, don't they? I still remember the look you wore on your pretty face while you wrote them all down. The fire that crackled and burned in your eyes. I can't wait to see for myself the way you carved into those pages, and drained your pen of its blood. Gods, you drive me insane... We truly are meant for each other, aren't we?"

Perhaps, in the future, he can tell her the fun little story behind this particular letter, if she's curious. If she asks. If she remembers to do so, if she remembers it exists, if she even remembers her own name after her brain has already been completely fucked out. Yes, he wouldn't mind doing that. He loved doting on his little bird and feeding that insatiable appetite of hers.

He tucks the letter away again, and casts his eyes to the ceiling. Tempted as he was to reactivate the spell and gaze upon his beloved... No, not tonight. In brutal honesty, watching her from afar was beginning to cause him genuine pain. It wasn't enough; he wanted to see her face-to-face. More than that, he wanted to touch her. Trap her in a tight embrace and smother her lips with his own. Never let her go again, no matter what. And he would slaughter the whole world to have her, as he hoped she understood by now.

Sneaking into the kingdom would be no easy task, never mind her bedroom. But what were life and love without risk?

Who knows, maybe she'll defy his meticulous planning and be there when he arrives, instead of anywhere else so his entry and exit could go quick and smooth. Maybe she can hand him the letters herself. Maybe she'll grow bold and read them aloud. Maybe she'll become enraged and beat him to within an inch of his life for daring to set foot within her little sanctum (not that he wouldn't put up a fight; that was half of the appeal of their duels); maybe she'll weep with joy at finally being able to express herself, and pour out all the contents of her aching heart, begging him to take them all for himself. To take her. (Which he most certainly will, without a moment's hesitation.)

Some unholy mixture of all of the above would be quite nice, honestly. Such was his own insatiable greed.

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

I know the previous entry says "marble statue", but I'm changing it to a painting instead. You're less likely to think a painting is watching you than a statue. Statues are creepy. Paintings are a lot less assuming, I think. He's watching her through the little snake's eyes in the painting, the end

[lisupandowntown]

The Plea Deal

A/N: Lot's of tangled emotions here. Making Gabe the sickie and also using his POV meant that I was able to skim over some of the explanation about how the others are handling everything. That was on purpose. More will be slowly revealed and explained. I know I ended it kind of abruptly. Like Gabe, I just needed to be done, lol. Be comforted that he's not done throwing up, lol.

“So explain it to me again because I don’t get it; they let the guy who attacked Noa go free?”  Gabe didn’t know if he was asking Rory, or Avery, or even his sister.  He just knew the news was making him feel vaguely nauseous. They hadn’t even started the trial when the judge had dismissed all the potential jurors and called Noa and Rory back into her chambers with a bunch of the lawyers.  When they’d emerged half an hour later, Rory was looking angrier than Gabe had ever seen him.  He’d refused to say any more, other than the guy’s gonna walk, so Avery had offered a quick explanation while Noa asked them all to come back to her and Rory’s condo.  Her face had been unreadable and even now that they were here, Gabe wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

“He agreed to take a plea deal.  He’ll avoid jail time in exchange for testimony about his drug supplier and going to rehab. Plus probation.”  Avery sounded almost apologetic. Gabe tried to understand.

“Rehab and probation; what does that mean, exactly?”  He started to pick up one of the beers Noa had put out and then put it back down. She was still puttering around the condo, now offering food and drinks to Drew and Jeremiah.  Logan was with her, which freed him up to stay with Rory. Divide and conquer, so to speak. 

Adam was there too, being oddly quiet, for Adam.  Their parents had gone back to their hotel because their dad thought he might be getting a migraine. 

From across the room, Logan offered him a small smile and shrug, so he figured she was learning as little as he was about what was going on.  Noa and Rory were normally fairly private; they practically communicated without words sometimes. But now they seemed . . . Unaligned.  It was disconcerting.  Gabe rubbed his temples.

“It means they didn’t even ask for home confinement.”  Rory’s voice sounded slightly fuzzy - whether from anger or his third bourbon Gabe wasn’t sure.  “He can leave whenever he wants.  Drive around or whatever.”  He glared around the room as if daring anyone to disagree with him.

Avery - who was probably the only one there who understood the details - leaned forward.  “He’s got supervised release, Ror,” he said mildly.  “And the rehab is at least a month first.  And he’s going to be all the way on the other side of Boston - in Worcester practically.”  He stared at his partner, clearly waiting for him to acknowledge what he’d said.  Instead Rory took another sip of his drink.

Gabe thought vaguely that he should jump in the conversation somehow.  After all, he’d known Rory longer than anyone here, and had witnessed his and Noa’s relationship almost since the day it began.  But he was feeling strangely lethargic. His stomach was sour too, making the food Noa had put out completely unappetizing. The diner lunch he’d shared with his parents and Logan earlier clearly wasn’t sitting well.  He burped softly under his breath and tried to pay attention. 

Rory was deep in conversation with Avery.  “They could have taken his drivers’ licence,” he groused.  “Or made his check-ins hourly to confirm his travel patterns. He’s got a car; he could easily drive here and then make it back in the three hour window they gave him.  It’s careless.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Rory,  don’t you think you’re being a little over dramatic?” Adam plopped down on the sofa next to Gabe and gazed across the coffee table. “There’s no danger here; Smith’s not coming after Noa.  Stop being such a worrywort.”  

Adam’s sudden weight bounced the sofa cushion and made Gabe’s stomach slosh uncomfortably,  He gulped down and tried not to burp again.  

“Oh yeah, definitely listen to him, Rory, since he’s apparently the expert on danger now.  I didn’t realize they’d inducted you into the FBI, Adam.”  Avery’s expression was closed off, but his tone spoke volumes.  

More than one drama was clearly going on here, but Gabe had to give in and belch.  He wished his stomach would stop rolling already - the queasiness was annoying and making it hard to concentrate. He wondered if he could grab some Pepto without making too much of a scene.  

“‘Scuse me,” he mumbled.  Burping helped relieve some of the pressure in his chest and he sat up straighter on the sofa.

Adam ignored both the burp and Gabe’s apology because he was glaring at Avery.  “I’m just repeating what you said, Morrison; I thought you’d appreciate the support.” 

“Why don’t you leave the law enforcement to those of us who wear the badge, okay, Calder? I was stating the facts about the plea agreement, and last time I checked, you’re not qualified to decide what’s dangerous or not.” 

Avery’s voice was still mostly calm, but also loud enough that the other conversations in the room quieted.  Noa walked out from the kitchen carrying a tray of cut-up vegetables and bowls of dip, looking concerned.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”  Noa’s eyes darted back and forth between her boyfriend and Avery and then finally landed on Rory.  “Figuring out what’s risky and what isn’t?”  

“It’s all risky,” Rory practically growled.  “He was supposed to be locked up and now I don’t know how to keep you safe.”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “Maybe I should take you out of town for a while.”  

“Holy fuck,” muttered Adam.  “Why don’t you both just move to Indiana or somewhere?”  

Gabe and Jeremiah exchanged a glance.  Adam’s method of blunt force when he disagreed with something rarely worked with Rory. But before Gabe could try to intervene his stomach gurgled angrily and he palmed roughly at his side.  Fuck, he needed Pepto. 

“I took this week off work,” said Noa carefully.   She sat down on the loveseat next to Rory and Adam huffed impatiently.  Gabe couldn’t pay attention to the drama between his sister and brother while his stomach was this upset.  Logan had stayed tactfully out of the way at the edge of the kitchen and he slowly headed towards her.  

Logan’s smile at seeing him dimmed as soon as he shuffled closer.  She peered critically at his face, her hand going up to cup his cheek.  “Migraine?” she asked, voice low.  “I’ve got some of your meds in my purse.”  

Gabe gingerly shook his head.  “Not . . . not a migraine,” he said through another soft burp.  “I’m kind of nauseous.”  He opened the cabinet where Noa and Rory kept their medicine.  “I think lunch isn’t agreeing with me or something.”  

“You’re sick to your stomach?”  Drew appeared in the kitchen and immediately put his hand on Gabe’s forehead.  “Since when?”  

If Gabe hadn’t been so queasy he would have laughed at the way Drew always seemed to know when someone needed nursing. Instead he just shrugged.

“It’s been kind of gross since before we left the courthouse,” he admitted  He pressed his hand to his middle and grimaced. “I think it’s something I ate.”  

“You’re a little warm, but not officially feverish; do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”  Drew took his wrist and began counting his pulse.  Gabe shrugged again.  

“Just . . . uhhrp . . . just burping a lot so far.”  He swallowed a glug of the Pepto and tried not to gag.  The taste normally didn’t bother him but now his entire mouth felt coated and sticky. Noa had set up cans of soda on the counter and he grabbed a Sprite.  The sharp flavor helped clear away some of the chalkiness in his mouth so he took another swallow.  “How are things in the living room?”  

“Tense.”  Jeremiah walked into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Drew from behind.  “And I’m not only talking about Rory.  What the hell’s going on with your brother? That’s mostly a rhetorical question, by the way.”

There was a burp stuck in his chest so Gabe’s response was clipped and his voice deeper than normal.  “Adam doesn’t like being reminded he’s not always the smartest in the room.”  He pressed his belly against the edge of the counter to try to force out the air.  

“Especially when the person doing the reminding is someone he refuses to admit intrigues him,” added Logan.  She thumped Gabe lightly on his back. The vibration made his stomach slosh uncomfortably but it also moved the bubble of air up.  He leaned forward. 

“Well his sexual tension theatrics aren’t helping right now,” Jeremiah said grimly.  “Noa’s stressed.”  He looked at the people in the room and then nodded, as if making a decision.  “She was so uptight she was vomiting earlier,” he revealed quietly. “And between Rory over-worrying that Smith is scheming to come after her and Adam acting like it’s all no big deal, it’s only going to make her more sick.”

“What does Avery say? He knows as much of what’s safe as Rory, right?”  Logan moved her arm to wrap casually around Gabe’s waist.  His stomach was actually churning now, and little prickles of sweat kept erupting on the back of his neck.  He swallowed hard.

“Exactly,” Jeremiah was saying.  “He should have been the voice of reason here, but he’s caught up in trying to prove god knows what to Adam.  It would be amusing watching them dance around each other if it wasn’t catching Noa in the middle.”

 “And Adam doesn’t usually play games,” said Gabe thickly.  He wanted to say more, but his stomach turned over, and by the frown on Logan’s face he knew she could feel it too.  He gulped down air, trying to force up the burp he could feel in his throat, but it seemed stuck. 

“Drink more Sprite,” she ordered under her breath. 

Gabe did as he was told, but after two sips he was too full to swallow any more.  Logan pushed on his lower back, pressing his gut harder into the edge of the island. Gabe felt an intense wave of discomfort   and then a pocket of air finally worked loose from his chest.  The harsh belch brought up a mouthful of thick saliva too, and he had to lunge to his right to spit into the sink instead of down his shirt.  His nausea ratcheted up a notch. 

“Yeah,” he sighed when he turned back around to find Logan, Drew, and Jeremiah all watching him.  Logan’s eyes were full of concern and Drew and Jeremiah’s were critical. Clearly they’d already diagnosed him.  “Probably gonna puke up my lunch at some point.” He swallowed past the lump that had replaced the bubble of air in his throat.  “Hopefully not until after Rory and Adam decide if they’re going to kill each other or not.”  He held out an arm and Logan snuggled back into his side.

“Or Adam and Avery,“ said Drew dryly. His mouth twitched; clearly he was enjoying their dramatics. “But sit down, Gabe.  You’re as white as a sheet.”  He pulled out a chair and before Gabe could say a word Logan marched him over to it. 

Once he was sitting the nausea receded a bit. Gabe hiccupped.. “He says . . . uhllp . . . he wants to take her out of town.”  He tugged at the collar of his shirt, wishing he could change out his button down.  “And I think she agreed.  Maybe it will be good for them to get away.”

“It’ll be good for Rory at least.”  Avery walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of pretzels off the counter. “And Noa’s going along with it until he has time to think it through.  He just needs a couple of days to realize he’s being ridiculous.“ Avery ripped open the bag and shoved a handful in his mouth and then retrieved a beer from the fridge. 

“So this guy’s not dangerous?” Logan asked.  She stood behind Gabe and began massaging his shoulders.  He leaned his head back against her stomach and tried not to think about food. 

“He’s not as dangerous as Rory wants us to believe,” Avery corrected.  “And not as innocent as . . . Adam thinks.”

Logan gave an amused huff at Avery stuttering over Adam’s name.  It made Gabe’s head bounce and he had to gulp down the saliva that suddenly flooded his mouth.  He knew he was starting to feel pukey, but Avery kept glancing in the direction of the living room and again Gabe felt responsible as the person who knew all the players the best. He took a deep breath.

“So why’s he being . . . Hicurrp!. . . ridiculous?” he asked, though a hiccup that was more like a wet burp. Drew shot him a look but Gabe waved him off and kept talking.  “I’ve known Rory a long time, with and without Noa.”  He had to stop and take another breath as a wave of prickly heat washed over him.

Logan’s hands squeezed his shoulders. He wanted to say a lot more, but his mouth felt sticky again, and the last words came out thin and reedy.  “So why is this . . . diff’rent?” 

Avery’s lips tightened and Gabe hoped that whatever he had to say would be quick.

“Look, a little vigilance - even a lot of vigilance - is important in our line of work. But so is a realistic assessment of risk.  Normally Rory’s good at balance.” He gave a small shrug.  “I always knew - more or less - that he was a little less reasonable when it came to Noa, but I’ve never seen it to this extreme.”  

“What’s extreme?” Asked Drew.  “He’s rightfully angry that the guy is going free, right?”

“Supervised release is not ‘going free,’ and Rory knows that,” explained the agent patiently.  “There are a number of safeguards in place . . .”

Avery kept talking - something about Noa being more protected than Rory wanted to admit - and Drew and Jeremiah and even Logan were listening intently, but Gabe just couldn’t anymore.  There was a roaring in his ears that matched the waves of nausea in his belly, and he had to spit again.  When he pulled his head back out of the sink again he tugged on Logan’s hand.

“Can you come sit in the bathroom with me?” he asked under his breath. He didn’t have to say anything more.  Logan nodded quickly, and when Gabe lurched in her direction, grabbed him around his waist.  Conversation stopped.  

“I’ll umm, be right back,” he said weakly.  His stomach gave a noisy gurgle and he tried not to wince. For the first time Avery really looked at him.

“Damn, what’s wrong Calder?  You look like you’re about to pass out.”

At the moment, passing out sounded kind of appealing.  Gabe grimaced, lips trembling.  “S-s-sorry,” he managed.  “I want to . . . uhhlp . . . to hear.  NoaN’Rory.”  He gagged into his hand and Avery’s eyes blew open.

“Yeah, this can wait.  Go puke or whatever and everyone else can fill you in.”  

“Thanks,” Gabe muttered.  He let Logan usher him through the living room, where Rory and Adam seemed to be arguing, and into Rory and Noa’s guest bath.  It had doors leading out to the hallway and also into the attached bedroom and Logan carefully locked both while Gabe paced around the small space and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t about to get sick. 

“Do you need privacy?” Logan asked gently.  “You said it was something you ate.”  She gestured at the toilet.  He shook his head.

“Just nauseous,” Gabe groaned.  “It’s going to come up, not down.”  He leaned over and spit into the bowl but didn’t move to kneel in front of it.  “But . . .not yet.  Gonna try burping more first - m’ so uncomfortable.”  He finally untucked his dress shirt and lifted up the bottom to show Logan how his belly rounded out above the waistband of his pants.  “Can I take these off?”  Without waiting for her answer he undid the button and zipper, pushing the bottoms down his legs and then kicking them off.  It helped, but even the pressure from his boxer briefs felt like too much around his middle right now.   

“Wow babe, you really are bloated.”  Logan rested her hands gently on the sides of his belly.  “Would a rub help or make it worse?”  

Gabe dropped his head to her shoulder.  “Rub please.”  Maybe it was the hours of listening to people talk about threats and plea deals and his little sister’s safety, but he was feeling more out of sorts than just his stomach ache.  “D’you feel like you want to crawl out of your skin too?” he mumbled into Logan’s neck.  She pressed her thumb gently into his side and he burped.  “Sorry.”

She chuckled.  “Trying to make you feel better here, so keep going.”  Her hands traced gentle circles, adding pressure that felt both good and terrible.  He gulped down, not sure if he should tell her to stop.  “And yeah.  It’s not as bad for me though, so lean on me as much as you need.  And Noa’s wound so tightly, trying not to upset Rory more than he already is.  I’m not sure what it’s going to take to get her untangled.” 

Gabe leaned away to spit into the sink.  “They’ll figure it out,” he gasped.  “They always do.”  His stomach rolled again and he braced himself on the counter, fighting nausea and drooling into the bowl.  Behind him, Logan’s phone buzzed.

“Drew’s checking in,” she announced.  “Wants to know if you’ve vomited yet and if I want company.”  She chuckled.  “I kind of love having a nurse in our friend group.  Usually I’m the one the least fazed by people throwing up.” 

Gabe blew out a queasy breath.  “Tell him . . .” He stopped and swallowed hard.  “. . . Tell him ‘no but soon’ and I don’t care.”  He looked over his shoulder at his girlfriend.  “He can come in if he wants.”

“Already told him that,” Logan grinned.  She cupped his cheek.  “You look terrible.”  

“Feel terrible,” Gabe agreed.  He shakily lowered himself to the ground just as Drew knocked on the door.  

“Looks like I got here just in time.”  He crouched down behind Gabe and rested his hand on the side of his neck.  “Clammy, pale, and pulse racing.  Don’t fight it, sweetheart.”  

“Trying . . . trying not to,” Gabe panted.  His stomach hitched and he reteched dryly.  “How . . . how’s out there?”  Saliva dripped into the toilet. His breathing sped up.

Drew huffed with amusement. “Apparently Avery has a date tonight; he just left.”  When Gabe lurched forward with another dry retch Drew slid his hand onto his forehead.  “Don’t face plant on the back of the seat,” he warned. “Do you want to hear the story now?  Adam doesn’t know what to do with himself and Jeremiah’s about had it with him.”

“He wants to focus on Rory and Noa,” Logan pointed out.  

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut.  Like earlier in the kitchen, the conversation continued to float around him but he was too nauseous to participate.  His next retch morphed into a burp and he spit up a mouthful of bitter liquid into the toilet. 

“Okay, here we go.” Drew’s hand rested on his back.  “Get it up, and then Logan has a nice damp cloth to wipe your face after.”  

Gabe buried his head in his arms as the nausea surged again.  “This sucks,” he groaned before throwing up a much more productive amount of his lunch.  He started choking, trying to catch his breath and Drew calmly patted him on the back.  The choking turned into coughing, until Gabe finally burped harshly, spraying spit and stomach contents all over the inside of the bowl.  His stomach clenched again, the nausea not even a little better. He rocked back and forth, miserable.

“Are you done for now?” Logan’s hands were even more gentle than Drew’s.  Gabe wordlessly shook his head.  He gagged emptily and then burped up something that tasted vaguely like the eggs and coffee he’d eaten for breakfast hours earlier.  Exhausted, he rested his head on the side of the seat while Drew flushed and Logan wiped the half of his face she could reach.  

“Any better?” she asked, wiping sweaty hair off his forehead.  Gabe shrugged.  He felt completely drained, not sure he was empty, and just wanted to lie down.  “Can we go home?” he rasped.  “Please?” 

“Logan kissed his head.  “So polite,” she soothed.  “Of course we can.  But you have to put on your pants first.”

[itz-pandora]

i hope u know that i am so so fascinated with ur android shadow in the misc au, i love him dearly and i need literally every morsel of lore about him please infodump about him as much as you want 😭💖

-🤖

AW IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE HIM, THAT MAKES ME FEEL SO JOYOUS!!

In his debut, he's mostly following directives, trying to be the soldier he was coded to be, until Amy helps him remember his original directive, to help others. It activates his failsafe, MARIA, and he's flooded with false memories of her. This causes him to help the rest save the day!

Shadow doesn't learn he's an android until Heroes, (which he might learn through Neo), and it's a TOTAL mindfuck. It really makes him feel awful, and that negative feeling gets multiplied exponentially after Prime, where Shadow gets reprogrammed by Nine (which causes him to be deathly afraid of Tails). Shadow, who had grown very close to Amy at this point, decided to separate himself from her as to not hurt her, since he feels like he can't truly ever feel love like she can love him, because of how heavy the weight of being an android isn't him.

SHTH rolls around, and him and Hazard are the protags! This is where Shadow learns he's partially organic, with Black Arms dna. They both end up getting briefly mind controlled by Black Doom, which is TERRIFYING!!!! Shadow literally can't remember anything while being controlled because it doesn't register in his system! Just results in corrupted files. This cements to Shadow that he's never truly free, that the most autonomous part about him is still something that's controlled, just another drone.

He projects his insecurities onto Emerl when Sonic Battle happens. I think I might make this the part where Shadow gets really broken down, to a point the self-repair of the black arms in his circuits just takes too long, so despite protesting, Sonic brings Shadow to Tails for repairs, and Shadow has a PANIC ATTACK. He's actually so terrified of Tails tampering with him that his system overheats and he crashes. After Shadow is repaired, he's less afraid of Tails, because he realized he'd been too harsh, but he's angry at Sonic, and he feels so violated from getting repaired without his consent when Sonic KNOWS what happened with Nine!

Mephiles in 06 doesn't help the feeling of being artificial LMAO, but I don't have specific ideas yet! Shadow gets MAULED in Unleashed by Sonic btw lmao. Also, I don't have ideas for forces yet!

I dunno when this happens, but Shadow does Sonic's top surgery! Shadow wants to go into the medical field so doing this didn't take too much convincing.

After Forces, Metal is freed from the Eggman Empire, and Amy finds her. Amy gets Tails to repair Metal, and she ends up getting cosmetic upgrades to look like Neo! Shadow feels conflicted about Neo, but takes solace in the shared artificialness. Neo dates Amy, and Shadow feels conflicted, since he wants them to be happy, but a part of him never quite got over Amy. Neo and Shadow become close, and Neo is the one who suggests the polycule! They're all nice together 💕

Shadow, Amy and Metal move to Earth when Sonic retires as a hero! (Mobius is different from Earth). Shadow takes college classes to be in the medical field. Even though technically he could download information directly into his memory, he prefers learning in an organic way to feel more real.

When Eclipse comes to Mobius, Eclipse wants to be social with Shadow and Hazard, but struggles. When Eclipse loses his temper he accidentally mind controls Shadow and Hazard in the same way Black Doom did. After a while, he stopped, and Shadow and Hazard were terrified of him. Shadow spent so many years trying to convince himself if autonomy just to be stripped of it again and needing to start back at square one. He has to take a few days off college because it leaves him barely functional due to the sheer stress and trauma he relives at once.

And that's most of what I have planned!!!

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Fucked up Alastor headcanon

What if Alastor's mother was a very religious person, someone whose cruel life had seen her turn to the lord and the angels and the saints to help her stay sane in a world that wanted to drag her into the mud?

What if Alastor's existence was a curse and a blessing, and she felt pride for him but shame for... everything.

What if, when she realised where her husband had gone... she realised a pattern of behaviour in her son. One that repeated when others went missing.

He was still young, she was still young... when she took their hunting dogs, dogs he had trained alongside her from abandoned mutts in a side alley in town, into the bayou. On a dark night when a storm raged, and the world was hard to discern, she knew the Lord led her footsteps.

Better she end this tirade of sin, than pretend not to see. Her footing was sure as she stalked her boy, too cocksure now he was in the swamp with his latest victim. The screaming drew her to him.

The other man was too far gone when she arrived, but no matter. The dogs, attuned to her commands first and foremost, dove for him; their tails did not wag, their ears flat, but they obeyed as they were trained to do. His leave-off commands fell on deafened ears.

They tore into him, forced him to the ground, and left his wide lovely eyes to focus on his betrayer. She levels the gun at him, tears streaming as she feels the weight that surely JAcob once felt when raising the dagger over Isaac... and knew, in her pure heart that this would not be a time that a sacrificial ram would wander by.

This was her duty, as a mother and as a righteous believer in goodness. He was her sin, but it would be alright if she stopped him now. Yes? The Lord may forgive him... her beautiful, damaged boy and his sins.

Murder was murder, unless it was commanded from on high. His hands could never be clean.

His last words die in the echo of the shot that pierces his forehead.

She feels sadness, but no remorse. Her job, her task, that which the Lord sent to test her... is done.

And when she does pass, years from this day, she will ascend. Confident that all was well in the world, that she had fulfilled her purpose. Rewarded for her blind faith despite the cost.

And deep in the Pit, Alastor rose to power, a flicker of agonised betrayal always alight in his heart.

He distanced himself from others, unable to feel completely safe, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Vox proved the pattern true. Then Mimzy, and Mimzy again. And Again,she couldn't help herself.

He was a thing to be used and discarded, to be reviled and disgraced, disavowed when the convenience no longer suited.

His mother had loved the freedom when his father had Vanished. But, to keep up appearances, had tightened her commitment to the church... and in time, it had consumed who she was.

Hard to fault her, for that faith... hard to forgive her, the lack of it in him. When it was by his hand that they were freed. That others were...

And she was given Winner status, despite her crime?

How can one believe in redemption, or the fundamental merits of the sorting system, under such circumstances? It was all one long, unfunny joke!

So perhaps he tried out helping the Princess's foolish dream as a joke, a jape, a whim to see things fall. But then... when the King came, another parent so mildly interested in their child and willing to let her fail just to prove himself right...

It set off a need to grind the archangel into dust. To be the better parental figure, to show Charlotte that while he didn't believe in her goal he would still support her and be there.

If he also enjoyed the fury on Lucifer's face... that was merely a delightful bonus!

He fights for the hotel, and is forgotten. Another cruel little betrayal... but what can one do but return to their attention, play the role of hotelier? What else can Alastor do but play up being absent for a minor reason, and smooth over the barely-there query in Charlotte's eyes?

Once more, the angel has taken the spotlight, rebuilding when Alastor was laying half dead in his radio tower. Swearing will not help, but it would certainly make him feel better...

Ah, but then the news arrived. The forgettable snake... an angel.

Disgusting. Delightful. To think a sinner could get up there? Witht he hypocritical mass murdering exorcists and angels who would sooner piss on hell than help those below? The holier than thou?

And so it sparks the vile conversations of redemption, the queries about who they have in Heaven awaiting them... and it turns his stomach. The injury isn't helping.

"...my sister, Molly. I just wish I could see her again... rest of the family's down here, 'cept my nonna, I guess. Though it could've gone either way with her... she was a greak cook, but a better interrogator."

Alastor can't help but laugh at the idea.

"Hey, the fuck you laughin' at, asshole?"

"Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't understand... but it seems that there's a pattern of people who did very unheaven-like things still being ushered through the gates. Yet there are people down here whose only sins can be as minimal as stealing food to eat when they were poor or striking back at the people who owned them like property..."

"Hey, my nonna only did it to protect the family!"

"I'm sure they all have different reasons and rationals."

"Okay, how about we all take some deeeeeep breaths?" Charlie intervenes.

But Lucifer is in Alastor's face, grinning in cruel curiosity. "Oh no, I think Bambi's about to tell us why he's so pissy when we're all supposed to be celebrating. Go on Alice, tell the class which Winner has supposedly wronged you bad enough to have them here...?"

Alastor blinks at him, the smile never wavers. It can't. He leans closer to the king, flaring his death mark.

"Why little majesty and first errand boy to a capricious deity... I don't think you would enjoy hearing the truth about what lengths people are willing to go to in the name of your God."

Lucifer certainly looked slightly less cocksure. "What are you on about Bellhop?"

"If you felt that the only way to regain your dear father's approval was to kill Charlotte, for the sins she accrued, even if you benefitted greatly... how swiftly would you plunge the angelic dagger? And would you live in resolute belief that your actions were justified, if you did receive that reward?"

"I-... I would never..." Lucifer choked, horrified. "They demanded it before she was born and we went to war over it... what kind of parent would-..."

"Then perhaps... you are a better parent than I took you for." Alastor concedes. "Little matter, however... for now it appears we have a means to get the Sinners into Heaven. I wonder... how hard it would be to force a Winner into Hell? Surely some deserve it... Adam would have been in my top ten choices, along with that annoying subordinate... Banjo or whatever her name was..."

"Lute." Vaggie growled, automatically gaining attention with the venom in her voice, as Alastor had intended.

His exit into shadow goes unnoticed, save for the attention of the King and the Starlet.

-----

"So that was fucked up. Smiles... seemed pretty pissed, in a way I ain't recalled seein' him since he's been here." Angel shrugs, hopping up on the barstool and staring pointedly at Husk.

"Yeah, what's his problem? Accusing me of-... of-..." Lucifer can't even say it.

The bartender rolls his eyes, and checks no lingering shadows have sported nefarious grins in the interim. "Listen... I've known him a while, and I know things about him because we was some kinda friends before he got me on a leash. There's stuff you can get out of him when he's absolutely obliterated, like when he and Mimzy go on their months-long benders... they don't do that no more, thankfully cause the destruction gets dangerous... but I can say I know more about both of 'em than I ever cared to know."

"And we should... start alcoholics anonymous and invite smiles?" Angel tries to keep up.

"No, that's just how I know some stuff. Listen... sometimes he tells you something without telling you properly, or in plain words. It's who he is. Most overlords are paranoid motherfuckers anyway, they don't share personal shit." Husk shrugs, flinging a towel over one shoulder and popping away another glass below the bar. "Think about what he didn't say and what you was talking about."

"Pentious got redeemed. We talked about people waiting in Heaven we could see again. I said my Nonna got up there despite what she did. He had a go at the Short King about Charlie. And, uhhhhh..."

A vague picture was forming, but Lucifer's ancient brain managed to focus long enough to snap it together first.

"Someone he was close to in Heaven did something terrible to him, and still got Winner status. I'm assuming a parent, because of the way he posed that question about Char-Char. That person was very spiritual, I'm assuming."

"Hit it in one, your Majesty." Husk replied.

"Well, do you KNOW what they did? Or which parent it was?" Lucifre prompts.

"Yes."

"Tell me, Whiskers!" Angel says, half reaching out to shake the cat, who dodges.

"Not worth my hide. But there's someone he'd never punish... NIFFTY!"

The red and white blur is suddenly THERE.

"Are we talking about Sir?"

"Yeah, can you tell these two about... why he got mad about that conversation we had before? About redemption?"

Her pupil goes too wide. "Oooooooooooooh... you mean about how Sir's mother got to go Up even though she killed him? Even after he made all the nasty men stop hurting her and the others? She wasn't very nice... so how did she get Up There? Is it 'cause she believed God told her to kill Sir?"

Lucifer made a soft choking noise. Mortals had clearly lost it.

"...dunno Niffty, thanks though. You might wanna check Room 5, there's something under the dresser there."

"Okay!" chirped the blur as it left.

"Okay, that might explain why he's..." Angel made a gesture. "Like that. But... if those sorts are Up There... then what the fuck are we being judged on to get sent Down?"

"Something's really wrong here... that sort of thing shouldn't have gotten past the judgement barriers." Lucifer mused, brain whirring at the idea. "It was designed to measure all sins, not just cover those associated with religious mania... this doesn't make sense unless someone is manually deciding who can and can't enter the gates."

"Well, we gotta figure that out, then." Angel sighs. "But not tonight, I'm tired as hell and ready for a long nap... you go deal with Smiles' emotional wellbeing or whatever the fuck you can do to make sure he doesn't annihilate the hotel."

"Why me?!"

"Uh, ain't you indestructable?!"

"Oh... yeah, you guys can't really hurt me. Forgot that for a moment."

"Good luck," Husk grumbled as Lucifer reluctantly portalled upstairs.

----

Above, a very special Winner was being gifted Exorcist status and trained for a special task. Only the most devout, who had Proven their Loyalty and Devotion could take the rank.

She was trained to fight the powerful ones, under the guidance of Lute, a matyr to Heaven.

Sera would command them to return to Hell soon, Lute was sure. And then she could follow her divine purpose, once more, to remove her son from the world below and deliver him unto oblivion so his soul could find peace.

It was the Lord's Will after all. Lute couldn't lie...

The angels had never lied to her before, not when she was alive and never once since she became a Winner. They had guided her, steadied her hands and ensured the events lined up as needed to ensure her beautiful broken boy was removed from Earth as needed.

Her sacrifice to the Goodness inherent in the world.

---

Additional ideas but its 3am so im not doing a ficlet

>Lots of sinners find family who met the criteria for hell had gone Up, but assumed they died in exterminations

>Exterminators were brainwashed and conditioned into killing even loved ones when confronted. Their Purpose is too strong.

>Alastor has to choose between killing his mother or being detroyed and the decision has to be made for him by those he dared not trust, because he'd been betrayed before so violently that even Rosie was still under the mental category of Potential Threat after all these decades.

>Lucifer discovers that Sera and the others like Adam have been making Exorcist through maniulating humans for centuries.

>They are manually judging, which makes no sense and there's no consistency.

>Lillith found out and was forced Upwards, manually resorted and bound.

>Probably go to war for this etc.

>Found family & Hurt/Comfort because that shit is fantastic right to the veins.

[Also a headcanon about exorcists, and how they are chosen]

[adracat]

GWitch: A Tale of Two Calibans

In the Tempest, there is a character called Caliban. If you've seen episode 21 then this will sound familiar to you. We're told Guston and Belmeria need Suletta to pilot this monstrous gundam and it's without a permet filter. A true cannibal. Dire stuff, and not what we want for Suletta.

Yet I'm not entirely sure she will. Though she has some characteristics of Caliban, bound in servitude to Prospero, he's a symbol of impotent wrath beneath a slaver's chains, the injustice of colonialism, and failed revolution.

He loathes Prospero and is routinely tortured by the man's magic. Yet Suletta, even while outcast by her family, never succumbs to anger. Hers is a heart filled with love even as her Miranda (Eri) and master forsake her.

Caliban by contrast is unable to forgive Prospero for his misdeeds and scorned by Miranda's harsh treatment of him after her rejection. You can interpret that his love was true and he did not intend rape, but his affection for both Miranda and Prospero has soured into hatred.

It's a bit ill-fitting to place Suletta in the Caliban machine as a monstrous gundam capable of devouring its pilot. But then if it's not her, who else?

The Tempest describes Caliban as the son of a witch whom Prospero took as his servant. 'Hag-born, not honour'd with a human shape'

Elan 5, like Suletta, is the unnatural progeny of a 'witch', in this case Belmeria. And also subject to the injustices of Peil, his Prospero. He rankles beneath his fetters and wants more than anything to gain freedom. We're told Peil steals orphans to be used as research, the effects of space colonialism. He's the closest to a true Caliban this show has.

And like Suletta. he was rejected by Miranda. Only his was an attempted violation. It's no coincidence as I see it that 5lan aggressively harasses Suletta either. They are specifically invoking the Caliban parallel. And it's the same for his sympathetic moments

5lan wants freedom from his chains, to live freely without sacrificing himself for a corporation's whims. He's sly and angry but not without cause. And there's a certain weight to how he was forced into servitude wearing another man's face. It's like Suletta, but unlike her he does not serve with love. Only discontent.

As with Caliban, who allies himself with Trinculo and Stephano in the hopes of killing Prospero, I see 5lan doing the same. Him using a brutish path to freedom because it's all he knows and throwing it all on using a gundam, even if it means his death, would be fittng. We know he wants to live but in the wake of Norea's demise I wonder if he's concluded death is inevitable so why not take Peil down with him? This is just speculating on my part, but I did find his change in attitude strange. He's weirdly calm, it reminded me of 4lan. And that's not a good thing. Most tellingly, while Caliban rails against his master, he isn't freed; a message none of us want for Suletta.

I may very well be reading into things, as is my habit, but the fact these two are juxtoposed is significant. We do have two unanswered gundams coded with a black name, one male and the other female; Calibarn and Schwarzette.

[lochnessie]

Thoughts on The Secret (Animorphs #9)

i love cassie so much. she really emphasizes how much this war weighs on her and the others and doesn't try to hide it from the reader at all. Got scared when Rachel seemed scared of the termites and took note of the borderline panic attacks she and marco were having about this. Hates lying to her parents, wants to help the skunk mom because it got caught in the war's crossfire. The weight of responsibility is something she just can't let go of. Feels the fear of dying in termite morph+the predator instinct+her own relentless desire to care/nurture. ough cassiiiiee

Is there a reason none of the kids have morphed Ax before? Why shouldn't they have an andalite morph on hand just in case? or even just for this distraction? Seems like an oversight to me but lmk if there was a reason given before.

loooove how Berenson 2 immediately takes over as leader when Jake steps away. So good. and the way she wraps her arm around cassie when they all group cuddle to hide and morph. god these poor babiiiesss. let them have a normal sleepover pleeease!!

I've got nothing to say but how quickly i read through this. anxiously. knowing this is one of rachel's worst fears--not being in control of herself/her body. but she still got out when cassie freed her, and hold cassie down and stroked her hair when she panicked hard after escaping. gods i love applegate. she never shies away from the psychological quencies. and i looove how much cassie admires her best friend.

Wow i'd completely forgotten the detail that Tobias got to one of the skunks oh man I love these books. I love Cassie's big picture perspective and how it serves her well but also hurts her to her core to know the scope of all the pain in the world. How she gets up and does what she can anyway, for whatever slice of peace, whatever teensy bit of good she can do. Even with how rocked her worldview feels after killing the termite queen [i cant get enough of her when she feels ruthless tho she's so fascinating], even after Jake (adorably) got so angry about her falling asleep in skunk morph, even with Marco making fun of her being an environmentalist all the time. Though i do love his friendship w cassie and how he comes around to the skunks for her.

Anyway, big fan of cassie books. i almost expected her internal conflict about how humans fit into the world to be resolved at the end of this book, but i'm glad applegate didn't do that and hope she gets back to it in a later cassie book. Can't wait.

[imagionationstation]

so I would like more ideas on the whole “2012 Donnie ends up in prison dimension” au thing.

if you don’t have any it’s completely okay!

just maybe…how are the 2012 turtles (and Splinter) holding up? And how would the 2018 turtles react when 2012 Donnie has to go back home? Does he? Or does he stay? I think it’d be fun if their were two alt endings. One where 2012 Donnie stays in the rise universe and one where he doesn’t. Idk

Srry I’m yappin’ lol

Oh, don’t worry. I’ve been poking at this AU all day.

I have, like, five scenes overlapping each other. Because I’m normal.

*ahem*

“So what if instead of merely erasing him, she decided to put him somewhere that no one could ever reach him? A dimension from where things are known never to return? A place where April could never get him back without her assistance?”

Lil’ miss overpowered demon would have wanted April to know that she shipped Donnie off somewhere instead of outright murder. Then, she could hold it over her head you need me to get him back to prevent her from ever shattering the Crystal. But considering that’s blackmail and April knew that the longer that freak was in her brain, the more likely it was that she’d obliterate New York- well, she was determined to find Donnie back without her help.

And so April assures that brothers that he’s alive. And they immediately begin a search ✨

I’m sure that there would be a lot of tension, fear, and worry, but they KNOW he’s alive out there somewhere, (probably suffering if Za-Naron’s vague taunts were true), so they’re going to get him back, and the sooner the better. *Insert car chase music*

And the best part is that the 2012brothers have never actually been separated for more than a few hours. Like, in any episode.

Imagine days apart not knowing if Donnie is even alive.

At least they have each other. Donnie, on the other hand…

I think how the Risebrothers react to their arrival to bring Donnie home would depend highly on how long Donnie remains with them. However, it’s not through an “we adopted him” standpoint.

Remember, Leon and Donnie were stuck in a crippled dimension for weeks. They were barely surviving, avoiding Krang at every turn, convinced that they’d never see their families again. Leon would have told Donnie about the prison dimension’s purpose and how no one could ever risk coming. How his family had to see to it that no one ever came through for the sake of everyone in his dimension.

They had to live with that knowledge for a time period that probably felt like an eternity.

A seed of doubt was planted and they coped in different ways.

Donnie, keeping them both alive and his flickering hope burning through each passing moment, holds to the stubborn belief that if they wants to make it out, he only needs to, “Try harder.”

And Leon, willing to fight for Donnie but unwilling to surrender to the pipe dream of getting freed, assists the fight with a timid, but unbudging, “It’s not about me.”

Then, when they get out, their perspectives will be entirely different.

Leon will be home, but a part of him, the part that was counting down the minutes ‘till he dies, will still be in the prison dimension.

Donnie will be safe, but everything in him, every minuscule cell in his being that prayed for release, will be yearning for home.

So, we have two options. And no, I do not believe one of them involves him permanently living in the Rise verse. (Many apologies.)

Option one: Angst ending (They find him fast.)

Okay, so, if the 2012brothers were to arrive within days of Donnie getting free, I have no doubt that a desperate Donnie would go home without a second of hesitation and Leon would lose his anchor. He’d be stricken at the thought, aware of how much Donnie needs to leave, crippled under the looming weight of that sacrifice. He only suffered lived so Donnie wouldn’t be alone in that hellhole nightmare, and now Donnie is abandoning him leaving.

He’d be stiff, silent, barely managing a weak “okay” when Donnie shares the news. The conversation distracts anyone from really noticing his state of mind. It’s only once the 2012 gang leave the room that Raphael makes the mistake of touching his shoulder. After they barely calm a flash-back induced panic attack that leaves him wheezing and pale, crying and bleeding on the floor where he’d attempt to flee from them, the Risebrothers decide that they can’t let Donnie walk out. Raphael and Michael are torn, because Donnie needs the familiar sights of home as much as Leon needs Donnie, but Don has no such limitations. I almost want to say the same for Lou. He sacrificed the world for his kids. This is nothing.

As you can imagine, family fights for custody never go well.

Option two: Happy Ending (Finding him takes time)

If the brothers were to arrive several weeks/month or so into the future, long enough for Leon to readjust to society and no longer need Donnie as a reminder that he’s home and not completely delulu in the brain, it would go much smoother. Obviously, Donnie would be more desperate than ever to get home. The kind of desperate that leaves him broken in their arms when they finally appear, promising through sobs that he tried so hard to get back to them he did he swears he never stopped he tried-

And considering the Risebrothers don’t have a single cruel bone in their body, they wouldn’t hesitate to let him go home. He’s welcome any time, of course, and Leo makes him promise to find a way back during one, big goodbye squeeze, but they accept that right now, he needs to go. Donnie kept their brother alive and helped truly bring his scattered brain home. Why shouldn’t they return the favor?

[peachyfnaf]

I'm sorry but "MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS WITH A DISORDER<3" really made my day and I needed you to know

🤣🤣🤣

I can't believe Nexus is bullying peepaw war criminal.

Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?

(Please talk about baby cringe Lord Nexus, I want to hear about your blorbo 🙏)

That's because Nexus IS my beautiful princess with a disorder, I'll have you know <3 they're diseased but it's okay I can give them their tetanus and flu shots and it'll all be better I GOT THIS

But. ahem, okay, blorbo yapping time. I'm not even gonna say "I'll try to keep this short" because I know it wont end up that way HAHAHAHAHA

"Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?"

I... have absolutely no idea!!!1! (and also it took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize peepaw war criminal was Ruin KJDFHSDF)

The most frustrating thing about canon Nexus is how his morals, motivations, and goals seem to see-saw back and forth all the time. at first, he became how he is now due to Solar's death. he spiraled in his grief, identity-issues, and abandonment. but... now his motivation is to become an all powerful god??? while it's most likely that NSP is at play and affecting his thought process, it's... well, it's really hard to take him seriously as a villain because of it, lol. for an audience to enjoy, and even sympathize in some cases, with a villain, their goals and motivations have to be concrete. they have to be relatable, or at least understandable, but Nexus' whole thing is... not, Imho. and I know I'm not the only person who feels this way!!!

I see a lot of people calling Nexus "cringe", and the thing is, when it comes to canon Nexus, they're not really... wrong??? The worst thing Nexus has done so far is make Old Moon see his past victims, which is fucked up of him to do, but.. so far, that's kind of it??? other than that, his "villainy" consists of saying empty threats and cheesy evil one-liners. hell, he was supposed to kidnap Sun yesterday but instead spent the whole episode yapping and venting to him, chasing Sun around in the worlds darkest game of tag before getting some lead right in the face dkfjhsdfsd

Also, notice how he's only targeted Old Moon when it comes to actual physical violence? not Lunar, Earth, Solar, or Sun, but Old Moon? yeah, I did too. we already know that Nexus does everything because he's lashing out, but as of rn the only target he's gotten his hands on physically being O.M...? well. I think it says a lot. cause' yeah, he sure as shit scared the life out of the other Celestials, but he's never put his hands on them!! the only other one of them he harmed physically was Earth- and not only was he not aiming for her, she was just in the way- he felt immediate regret for his actions once in space, and has yet to even see Earth ever since that day.

So, I really have no idea if he's going to be "redeemed" or not. one second he's showing signs he might be, and the next he's falling further down the "pretty badly written villain" rabbit-hole. if he does get something akin to a redemption arc, he'll prolly mostly be accepted in the eyes of the viewers, considering a lot of peeps sympathize or at least understand where he's coming from, but I seriously doubt the other Celestials would take him back. the only one's who might see him as family/a close friend again are Sun and Solar, but even then, nothing would ever be the same.

I hope he gets redeemed, or at least freed from the hold Dark Sun has on him and he's able to live his own life, I really do. at his core, Nexus is a good person. a good person who was crushed under the weight of the shadow of the man he was born under. and we know this because he used to be New Moon. sweet, dorky New Moon.

New Moon, who made inventions like sentient knives and whoopee cushions. New Moon, who had matching My Little Pony stickers with his best friend. New Moon, who bought a whole ass island-luxury-house for Sun because he wanted to make him feel better and give him the proper space to heal. and New Moon- the poor freshly-baked A.I who gave his all to make sure he could do everything that Old Moon could, but it just wasn't enough. he tried and tried and tried, but it wasn't enough.

So yeah, idk if he's getting one in canon, but to me, he more than deserves a good ending, for the life he was given. let him be at peace.

[iridescent-solstice]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 . . . 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨. (Asra x my arcana oc) ⤷ {ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴜᴘʀɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴏᴜᴛᴇ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ} ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴇꜱᴛʀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴜᴠɪᴀ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴇ

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Asra murmurs but she merely shuffles even deeper into her side of the bed. She could hear the sound of a drawer being opened and a comb passing through his hair. It was comforting to finally feel him around. His aura exuding the calm confidence that soothed her anxious one. Yet even this comfort was short lived. He'd be gone soon. That's why he's currently getting ready. Tonight's plan is to go out and explore Versuvia. All of versuvia. A standard evening adventure for the white-haired magician, only this time he'd be going with his newly freed parents in tow. The ones that he’s been missing all his life. The ones he’s been looking for left and right. And now he finally has them back, and with the devil defeated and out of the way . . .

No one could take them away from him again. There is so much catching up to do too! Not just with them but all the people Asra pushed away and out of his heart. Just to focus on Estrella. On her recovery. So, she would be alright . . . It really wasn’t healthy in the slightest, hence why she so heavily urged him to reach out to more people. Focus on others. Not just himself, Faust and her.

But to her dismay, his parents just so happen to be the most important people from that crowd.

Estrella knows that. Yet for whatever unknown reason, she couldn’t let her guard down around them at all. Just the sight of their warm eyes gazing at her with such affection in them . . . Deeply troubled her. Some hidden urge to lash out at them would immediately surface whenever they even so much as spoke to her. It was troubling. Inner turmoil inducing because she didn’t want to act like that at all. Especially not with them, not with the people Asra cherishes most. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing or act in a way that would push them away from him. He loves them. So instead, she made it her life’s mission to avoid them in whatever way possible. Bit her tongue whenever possible even holding her breath at times.

Which is a tough decision to stick to considering the love of her life is oh so eager to finally get to know them. While she’s running away from them. He doesn’t know that, and she doesn’t bother to correct him either. Sighing at his insistence. Estrella shook her head no, but faint humming of an old nursery rhyme under Asra’s breath alerted her that he was once again lost in his own head, like he usually is when he’s excited. She knows that, which is why she doesn't bother to answer back right away. Estrella knows exactly how these types of situations end, the ones where she inserts herself where she doesn’t belong . . . They’re HIS parents. Why would they want HER around? They must be doing that for Asra’s sake . . . Cause he loves her. It’s okay, she’ll take on that painful decision for them instead. She'll be the one to draw that line.

It takes a while to muster up the courage to respond, but she does even if it's through quivering lips. “I’d rather not intrude. “Short and brief, is all she can pass through them before her throat feels like it's being crushed. Crushed under the weight of her own insecurities multiple sleepless nights.

He can’t help but bark out a laugh at that, “you? Disturb us? Never! They adoreeee you, you do know that right?” And she’s quiet now, feeling a bit silly for saying that. “I don't believe you,” she huffs. “For all I know you’re just saying that so you openly baby me in front of them for your own amusement like the rascal you are! Embarrass me even more in front of them.” She burrows even further into the bedsheet with defiance. The act must have been too convincing because he doesn’t even bother to respond.

Her heart sinks at the eventual sound of the bedroom door opening. He’s leaving now. She’ll be all alone for the first time in what feels like ages. Surprisingly, its not something she’s looking forward to.

“Suit yourself then, just know there’s always room for one more. The more the merrier! Er- . . .That’s what mum said anyways haha.” He gives an awkward laugh before continuing on, “A place next to us with your precious lil name on it. Reserved just for you so . . . Please, try to join us sometime.” With that the door shuts and he’s gone.

She could almost hear the painful restrain in his voice. He so desperately wanted her there. Wanted her to leap out of bed and rush to join them. Hold his hand as they descended down the stairs to where his parents were waiting. But she doesn’t. At least not tonight she won't. That’s all he wants nowadays, but Asra has never been one to be pushy with her. Maybe he was on to her, maybe they were too. You can see where Asra gets his reluctance to share his thoughts from. Neither of them ever voiced their thoughts out loud. That . . . She doesn’t have what they have. She never will. A family? Pa-lease, she’s not the family type. She’s barely even a people person type. However, despite these pressing thoughts, her mulling over them is abruptly cut short at the sound of the front door closing.

While she didn’t exactly want them close, its not like she wanted them to leave. The door locking from the outside is the only thing echoing in the house before she finally lets her heavy heart open itself up. Sobs that she’d repressed for god knows how long. The tears she’s held back for weeks finally emerging. What for? She doesn’t really know why. What she does know is that his parents being around the shop more often than not upsets her deeply. But Asra looks so happy with them around . . . So how could she possibly deny them visiting?

{ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇ}

[rita-rae-siller]

Into the Abyss

(Please, feel free to listen to the song before, after, or during reading) TW: Suicidal ideation, talks of suicide

Alura stared down at the ground far below the roof she stood on. The courtyard of the city’s keep was littered with dead from both sides. Many were White Cloak soldiers. Warriors that trusted her with their lives, worshipped the ground she walked on, gave their lives to defend and uphold her. What was the point of all this? How many more would she have to bury before the killing ended? Before her part was played, and her price paid? 

“It’s a long way down,” Eyre’s voice whispered in her ear. Her presence felt like a cold pressure on her back and a ghostly hand on her shoulder.

“Not long enough,” Alura replied. It was only six stories high. She’d be lucky if she died on impact. “Is it time, yet?”

“Not today. Do you truly wish for oblivion that badly, Golden One?” Out of the corner of her eye, Alura could see the goddess’ spectral form. She looked like the heavens on a new moon. A faceless, formless mass of pure darkness, whose shape changed randomly between animals and humans alike. 

“I want peace. I want an end to the madness. Is that so terrible?” Alura asked. 

“Which one? The ideal, or your means of achieving it?” Eyre asked in return.

“What difference does it make in the end?” Alura shrugged helplessly. She was being pulled in so many different directions, hanging on by a thread which was only moments from snapping. When would her own desires fit into the equation? What remained of her own life to claim for herself?

“Look at where Grandmother Shadow has led you; to ruin and misery, as she has with countless mortals before you.” Itep chimed in with his wicked laughter. His voice brought the smell of brimstone, death and rot with it. “You will go down a tyrant and a murderer no matter what you do. Why not simply end it here, on your own terms?”

“The Undying wants you to die for nothing. The root of his evil will continue to fester unchecked in Eredahl. Until Gora is freed, you will never be free, even in death,” Eyre said.

“His madness will bleed into you and like all the others that have come before, you will be consumed by him. Do you think your death will break the cycle? That some other warrior will not come along and take your place, as has happened for the last thousand years of imperial history? All this work will be for nothing. Their deaths will be for nothing. You will die for nothing.” Itep countered. “Gora does not care about you, and you cannot save him from himself. I have tried for millenia.”

“What happens next doesn’t concern me,” Alura said, unsure which god that was truly aimed at. Her race was run. Matilde had outplayed her at every turn. There would be no returning to Eredahl. The White Cloaks had lost over half of their numbers and were now powerless against Itep’s Red Legion. Morvaara refused to even acknowledge the work she had done for them. She was a dead woman walking no matter what she did.

“The world you leave behind for your little boy doesn’t concern you? What kind of mother are you to not want a better world for her child?” Eyre scorned.

“This isn’t about him,” Alura replied. Achaedon was safe now. She’d done her part.

“No, it has always been about you. Your pain. Your suffering. As though the entire world does not suffer under the crushing weight of your empire’s ceaseless hunger that you have fed violently for years. Just like every Shepherd before you, you are violence and murder incarnate.” There was a mocking sting to Itep’s words. “You are pathetic. Weak. A wicked little girl, full of greed and blind ambition. How many thousands have you killed to get to this moment? And only now does the sight of their blood horrify you? You are Gora’s through and through.”

Alura closed her eyes.  Not a single thing he said was a lie. In her youth, she was proud to serve, took awe in the privilege that was her life. The first woman in imperial history to take the title of Rahmut, to bear Gora’s holy tahlivora. For so long, she viewed battle as a game. Proving her might was a sacred sport. Why should she get to walk freely out of the hells just for tearing down what she helped to build? 

“Still thinking about jumping, hmm?” Eyre asked. “It is a shame, really. You showed such promise.” When Alura did not reply, she continued. “And my poor Mara. What will I tell her of your end? That you have been planning this blaze of suicidal glory from the very beginning? I don’t think she would be very happy.”

There was an ache so deep in Alura’s chest, it felt as though her very ribs were breaking. “One day she will understand.”

“She loves you.”

“I know.” Holding back the tears, Alura prepared to take the last step off the edge. 

“Look upon the setting sun,” Itep told her. “Why not see your lord’s brilliant glory one last time before you spit in his eye and spurn his gifts?”

Alura opened one eye as the sun broke through the burning haze of the city. It was nearly touching the horizon. Something stirred in her chest as she opened her other eye. Her tahli began to glow faintly, and a fire began to build in her belly, warm and comforting. The wood beneath her feet began to smoke and sizzle before bursting into white flames. 

“Gora has not given up, Child. Inside of you, he rages on,” Eyre’s voice whispered in her ear. “Embrace him, and free yourselves.”

“Just jump and end this foolishness. Gora is not worth saving. Why not save what is left of your soul?” Itep hissed. 

Alura was hesitant at first. The last two connections had gone wrong. Gora was wild, his fury untamed. It swallowed her whole in its endlessness. But now, in a city surrounded only by enemies, there seemed little to lose in the situation. What better place to let him take a swing at the forces of his oppressor? They could burn down Itep’s holy city together.

She spread her arms to embrace the setting sun as she teetered on the ledge. Somewhere in the distance, Red Legion war horns called for a retreat, and White Cloaks sounded the beginning of an offensive push. 

They will all burn,  Gora told her as she closed her eyes. The Undying forgets that We are the Sun, not just War. Let them taste of our divine fire. Remind the world that the Sun cannot be chained forever.

Every night we fall, and every day we rise anew, Alura replied.

And she jumped.

taglist (Ask to be added or removed): @gabeorelse

[unholydeukae]

In order to not make the last post too long, here's part 2 for the 2yoo scenario :)

(have some Yoohyeon to drool over)

Somehow, Yoohyeon does not fall asleep immediately after her third orgasm. Technically, she could take more - her record counts 17 orgasms after all - but that doesn't mean that she always needs that many. More like the opposite, she's usually most satisfied with two to eight orgasms and today is no different. She looks at Dami, who still hovers above her, her weight resting on the arm that's not in between Yoohyeon's legs and isn't surprised to see her girlfriend's eyes already resting on her.

Yoohyeon in her post-orgasmic state might be Dami's favourite thing to look at. It's a perfect mixture of a fucked out expression, satisfaction, contentment and an indescribable glow emitting from her body. When she notices Yoohyeon looking at her, she smiles, then pulls her hand from her legs. For a moment, she contemplates if she should have her lick her fingers clean but decides she'd rather have another taste herself.

An inadvertent moan escapes her when she sticks her tongue out to lick her index finger. Yoohyeon watches her in awe, the fucked out look on her face gone in an instant. It's not the first time that Dami does something like that and not the first time for her to moan either, but for some reason, it's still amazing for Yoohyeon every time it happens.

Once she's done, Dami shifts around a bit until she sits against the headboard of the bed. She pats her lap; Yoohyeon often likes to rest her head there after they had sex, to relax and get some scratches but today she doesn't lay down. Instead, she clumsily - her legs are still kind of jelly - sits up and moves around until she straddles Dami's thighs. The latter looks at her curiously but closes her eyes and smiles when Yoohyeon carefully places her hands on her waist and strokes up and down. Hair tickles her nose when the girl leans forward and whispers in her ear.

"I wanna make you feel good, too."

Dami's hands make their way to Yoohyeon's back, then up until she cups her face with her hands. She opens her eyes and is met with Yoohyeon's expectant ones. Sometimes, Dami would do anything to make her girl feel good but is not in the mood to be touched like that herself and Yoohyeon knows and respects that. That's why she always asks or tells her that she wants to touch her, to make sure that she doesn't cross any boundaries. Dami smiles and gives the tip of her nose a little kiss.

"I'm all yours, baby."

Yoohyeon can't help but beam a bit at those words and immediately catches her lips in a passionate kiss. Usually, she's not one to take control like that but from time to time, she likes to play boss and Dami, of course, lets her. Their tongues touch and the smaller one moans when she feels short nails scratching her back. Yoohyeon is clearly spurred on by that and slides her other hand under the back part of the sports bra, using her nails to scratch the skin there as well.

Dami's fingers are entangled in Yoohyeon's hair and even though she'd never admit it, she loves to see her so eager to please her. A moan escapes the taller one when Dami grabs a fistful of her hair and lightly pulls. Yoohyeon breaks the kiss, a bit out of breath, and sends her a slightly offended look.

"Hey! I'm the one who's in charge! Don't distract me like that..."

A smirk and some head pats are the immediate reaction.

"I'm sorry, princess. You know I can't resist you when you're passionate like that. Please, go on, I won't interrupt you anymore."

Back to looking satisfied, Yoohyeon places a peck on her girl's lips that are still curled into a smile before she scoots backwards and pulls the flannel off Dami's shoulders. After tossing the garment to the side, her hands roam over the freed shoulders and she can't resist sucking on the skin until a bright red hickey appears. Her expression becomes even more satisfied, although Dami is not sure how that's possible, and she begins pulling up the sports bra, urging her to lift her arms so that she can slide it off.

The bra joins the flannel somewhere next to the bed and Yoohyeon's attention is completely drawn to the newly revealed boobs in front of her. Dami grins - she knows she probably looks just the same when she sees Yoohyeon's breasts but that doesn't make it less endearing. Hands cup her chest for a moment before Yoohyeon leans forward, sticks her tongue out and flicks it over the slightly hardened nipple. It's hard for Dami to not grab her head and push her against herself, the need to feel her mouth all over her boobs is great but she takes a deep breath and forces herself to calm down. A chuckle.

"Seems like it's hard for you to stay collected, huh? Don't worry, I won't make you wait."

Lips close around one of her buds, finally. Truthfully, Yoohyeon didn't wanna wait anymore either. Her tongue taps against the tip of it before she starts circling around it, playing with the two knobs of the piercing that has been adorning Dami's nipples for years. While she sucks and licks, she starts pinching and pulling the other nipple with her fingers, well aware that the piercing makes Dami feel everything even more intensely, so she's not surprised to hear quiet groans from her. She's just about to switch breasts when Dami lays a hand on her cheek and looks at her with a surprisingly needy expression.

"I feel like I'm about to burst, please, baby... I know you want to make me feel good."

Yoohyeon contemplates for a second. Teasing Dami like that is great because it's not a super regular occurrence, but she's also at least as impatient to taste her as she is to feel her. She continues her way to the other boob, leans forward, gently bites the rock hard bud and nibbles on it for a moment - a moment that makes Dami nearly see stars - before she lets go and starts travelling downwards.

A few hickeys on slightly quivering abs and she reaches the waistband of Dami's boxers. Yoohyeon hooks her fingers under the rubber and slowly pulls them down. Once she reaches the hips, she's surprised to see Dami struggle for a moment to lift her hips enough for her to slide the boxers further off but they manage eventually. Dami's eyes are slightly foggy and one look at the undergarment explains why.

"Fuck, babe, you're absolutely drenched. I don't think I've ever seen you this wet, what happened?"

It's hard for Yoohyeon to not let out a gasp while she pulls the boxers down completely. Thin strings of arousal connect her girlfriend's glistening pussy to the garment that's pretty much soaked in the centre. Dami looks at her with a partly pleading, partly excusing expression.

"I told you I'm about to burst... Are you really gonna make me wait even longer?"

Yoohyeon is still in awe - the girl is so wet that it not only ruined her boxers but also got smeared over her outer lips, glistening in the neatly trimmed hair. A hand on her shoulder snaps her out of trance. She looks up, sees Dami slightly tremble and decides she has waited long enough. Yoohyeon shuffles back until she lays on her stomach, then she squeezes her hands under the girl's thighs so that she has a firm grip on her. One last glance up - Dami's eyes are halfway closed and she clearly tries her best to breathe calmly - and she leans forward, one lick with the broad of her tongue before she immediately starts sucking her clit.

The smaller girl groans so loud, Yoohyeon is sure the neighbours heard it. She knows Dami cums fastest when she sucks on her clit, so she keeps doing that, additionally dabs it with the tip of her tongue. She knows she cums fastest that way - but she wasn't aware it could happen that fast. It couldn't have been more than two minutes when Dami's thighs start to tremble heavily, her breathing becomes fast and shallow and suddenly Yoohyeon's head is trapped between her legs. Her moan is loud, loud enough for Yoohyeon to hear it even though her ears are covered by thighs and it takes quite a few seconds for Dami to stop spasming.

Slowly, the grip on her head loosens and Yoohyeon looks up, only to be pushed back down.

"More."

The desperate, yet demanding tone in her voice makes the older one moan into the pussy in front of her. Not wasting a second, she gets back to stimulating her girlfriend, licking around her entrance and inner lips instead of immediately sucking her clit again. Still, it seems to work Dami up, brings her closer to the edge- quiet mumbling makes Yoohyeon prick up her ears. For all she can make out from where she lays, her girlfriend silently curses.

She can't help but grin, it's rare for Dami to become so worked up that she gets vocal enough to curse. At the same time, a proud feeling spreads in her chest, after all it's her, Yoohyeon, who managed to drive her over the edge like that. With new energy, she focuses her attention more on Dami's clit again, only occasion licks further down and soon enough, her thighs start trembling again.

The curses become louder, Yoohyeon hears her clearly now.

"Fuck, God, I'm- holy shit, yes, fuck-"

For a moment, she contemplates lifting her head and teasing Dami when she's so close, but as if she could read her mind, the latter grabs her hair close to her scalp and presses her deeper into her pussy. Yoohyeon barely manages to breathe in before her nose is pushed into trimmed hair and the possibilities for getting air into her lungs become nonexistent. It turns out, it's not as big of an issue as she initially thought because the additional pressure against her clit makes Dami cum nearly immediately.

More curses spill from her lips. Yoohyeon thinks she hears something like "fuck, feels so good" but her ears are already covered by thighs again, so she can't be sure. Dami slowly moves her hips to rub herself against Yoohyeon's tongue while she rides out her orgasm but the curses turn into unintelligible mumbling until the only sound left is deep, heavy breathing.

The hand in her hair stopped gripping and now just lays loosely on her head, Dami's thighs are relaxed again and her whole body stopped quivering. Gingerly, Yoohyeon starts licking up the wetness and cum from and around her pussy, careful to not overstimulate Dami who's clearly exhausted, but still manages to softly pat her head. When Yoohyeon's done, she lifts herself up, groaning quietly due to the position she was in. She looks at Dami and sees that her eyes are closed and her breathing is even and relaxed.

"Babe..? Are you asleep?"

Dami mutters something she can't understand but it at least tells her that even though she's not completely asleep yet, she's about to be in probably less than a minute. Trying her best to not stir the worn out girl, she carefully moves her into a horizontal position before she lays down next to her and covers them both with a blanket.

"I love you."

Dami doesn't answer anymore but her hand, that's holding Yoohyeon's, squeezes hers almost unnoticeably. Yoohyeon smiles before she drifts off to sleep as well.

[xxsycamore]

Maid, Butler, Chamberlain

╰┈➤ 🖤 On any other day, she's Nico's princess to be worshipped to the utmost degree. It takes a chamberlain with a very dangerous imagination to reduce her to the harlot she's being right now.

Giles Christophe x MC x Nico Meier; • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Threesome - F/M/M; Established Relationship (Nico and MC); Discipline & Punishment; Dom/sub; Light Sadism; Face-Fucking; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex; Rough Oral Sex; Come Swallowing; Come Sharing; Maids & Butlers; Master/Servant; Sexual Roleplay; Riding; Orgasm Control; Sexual Training; Glove Kink • wordcount: 1,821 • masterlist

a/n: On August 26, 2024, the Midnight Cinderella app is shutting down and won't be accessible anymore. The news saddened me greatly as the game is very dear to me. This fic was in my drafts as I told myself I'm going to try and complete the rest of the '22 kinktober and post everything in order, but I figured this here is more befitting as a parting gift. Of course, I'm not gonna treat MidCin as a dead game - for all upcoming requests openings in my blog for drabbles and other short writings I plan on including the characters in the roster as always. Thank you for all the emotions, Midcin <3 Let's not be sad now, let's fuck Giles and Nico!

Visions of Temptation 2022, Day 30: Maid/butler kink + Glove kink + "That's it, there we go…just like that."

"Nico. I believe I made myself clear when I told you to train the new maid thoroughly. Your job is lacking."

Giles' judgmental tone penetrates through the mind fog of Nico's mind, brain long deprived of rational thoughts in favor of the blood pumping hotly towards elsewhere. Right when he should be most aware, too. His job really is lacking, truly - has Giles ever scolded him unreasonably?

A plastered smile on his face, Nico is fast to regain his composure as he moves one leg forward and puts the other in perfect line with the first. Hands previously clasped behind his back in perfectly diligent butler posture now act with the presumption of having gained permission - Giles requires a more hands-on approach to training, does he not? - and he is gentle when he touches MC's shoulder.

"Princess—" Oh, shoot, the habit is a persistent little thing indeed, punishable only by tasting copper on your bit tongue. "MC. Not like that."

Her reaction comes as soon as he corrects himself, clearly doing her best at paying attention to the rules now. She withdraws from Giles, slowly, letting the weight of his hard cock leave her mouth inch by inch. It remains in front of her, standing at attention, swollen and glistering with her saliva that's been coating him for a good handful of minutes now. With the mental note to attend to Giles as soon as she learns her lesson and not a second more, she turns her neck to gaze at Nico.

He's so, so gentle in comparison, evitable by the softness of his hazelnut-colored eyes if not by the tone of his voice. His hand is stern and precise but never rough in guiding her towards his own member, now freed from its confines as if by a snap of his finger.

Nico's other hand resting on her hair is very consoling, and he even sneaks a little additional pat, all while under Giles' watch. He doesn't want his precious princess to suffer another punishment due to his personal incompetency, oh no, but his heart sings and leaps at the opportunity to dote on her. And so, he is gentle when he guides her to wrap her warm mouth around his own cock.

"That's it, there we go…just like that."

With him, the size she is accommodated with, every vein and curve she is familiar with, it's a different story. She lets his aching erection rub and poke against the inside of her cheek, the way he loves it, she swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock, all flushed pink. With the proficiency Giles was hoping to see. Or rather, with the one of a lover.

Tonight is more about following orders, however. And he really, really wants her to do well, when hasn't he wanted the best for her? So he moves on to the brand of pleasuring Giles claimed to be dissatisfied with, beginning to slide his cock in and out her tight cavern in earnest, and MC's eyes water right away. Nico removes his hands from her, letting her be on her own for a while. He places them on his hips instead, a rather bossy stance befitting more of Giles, and the sight makes her clasp her legs tightly together. As if afraid that a gush of liquid wanton would escape from between, with the way her poor heat clenches every time Nico hits the back of her throat.

She rests her eyes closed, focusing on taking in his cock, and the crease between her brows gradually smoothes with that too. Nico's cock creates hot friction on her stuck-out tongue without missing a beat as it slides further down her throat. She surprises both of them with the capability of taking him like this - they've never done that, after all - never this roughly. On any other day, she's Nico's princess to be worshipped to the utmost degree. It takes a chamberlain with a very dangerous imagination to reduce her to the harlot she's being right now. 

That's what makes their little arrangement so intriguing. It took a couple of accidents to spark his interest in joining their amorous sessions, but after the third time of catching them sharing forbidden trysts in shadowed corners of the castle, he took it upon himself to teach them discipline. And they were so eager for it too, all it took was a little pressing and they both confessed to secretly getting off on Giles of all people catching them red-handed. Who is Giles to refuse an opportunity to show off his tutor skills on a couple of sickeningly sweetly in-love perverts?

She clasps her legs even tighter together, wondering if she can get away with getting just a tad of forbidden pleasure, the tempo of Nico's thrusts sending her whole frame rocking until it's almost enough for her to reach orgasm without touching herself at all. Or, if she's lucky, she will get fingered by one of them. Would it be Giles? Or would he allow Nico to get her off just as he knows best?

They're both still wearing their gloves even after leaving all formalities before the double doors of Giles' office. The mere sight of the fabric covering their hands makes MC drool, almost able to feel the delicious scrape against her inner walls. Memories flood in of Nico's deft fingers clad in white touching her during the day while they're in a hurry yet not being able to keep their hands off each other. Somewhere amidst those stolen trysts, it became another guilty pleasure of hers.

Being the passive end of this obscene act, the withdrawal of the hot object in her mouth is sudden and it's not like she can do much about it. Her eyes only begin to open when the pause stretches out for a little too long, and then suddenly the hand gripping her chin is a foreign one.

Carmine-red eyes bore into hers, watching her from above, a neglected hardness pressing needily against her agape lips and smearing a bead of precome on them. She tenses, posture tightening in seconds as she prepares to receive Giles' thrusts and show him what she's learned.

Giles' indifferent face is normally a dreadful sight. It's only because she's never looked at it from her current perspective kneeling in front of him. It's an ideally new eagerness to impress him now, a very different one. A very arousing expression, if she has to be honest with herself. The few glimpses she steals at it are enough for the fire in the pit of her belly to be sparked to life again and threaten to burn her down at a dangerous speed.

Giles must've deemed her technique acceptable this time around because gone are the comments she was too lightheaded to quite catch on, previously. Instead, a grunt there and there, and the wild throbbing of his cock are present to signal his upcoming orgasm.

He reaches behind MC's head, wrapping waves of silky hair around his fist, ensuring that she stays in place - and in the process, ruining the neatly combed hairstyle that Nico did for her earlier in the morning.

MC braces herself for Giles' upcoming peak, hands fisting the skirts of her maid dress she put on for the purpose of their playtime, almost digging into the fabric in an attempt to reach the pulsing source of her own want underneath. But she is a good maid, she'll wait for her turn.

"I'm coming—" Giles warns but without fervor to his tone safe for the slight hitch in his breath giving him away as he comes undone. He combs through his hair with a hand, pushing further back the purple-tinted strands falling on his face and exposes his forehead. The inside of MC's mouth is heaven, one that is nice and hot and wet and that little can surpass. Safe for one thing - but that's for another lesson. Depending on his darling pair of servents' current performance.

Listening to MC's little whimpers resonating deep in her throat, Giles' reason snaps and his hips buckle. He feels himself letting go, hot spurts of cum shooting down her throat with nowhere to escape. She is so good to him, managing to take it all without choking once, and he lets his alertness subside for a second while hormones rule over his otherwise razor-sharp mind. 

He grabs the base of his cock and tugs on MC's hair with the other hand, until even the tip of his cock is withdrawn from her hot mouth. A thin line of come mixed with saliva connects them.

Giles' hand makes one swift shift from gripping her hair to cradling her face and caressing her cheek. That's her praise.

Finally letting out the repressed little cough that's been pestering her lungs even now that she's meekly smiling with lust clouding her gaze, MC feels Giles moving away from her.

He slumps in a nearby armchair that makes for a perfect watching point, MC and Nico fully presented in front of his shiver-inducing gaze.

Nico cuts the still air of expectation with a request tactically before Giles can give his next order.

"May I kiss her, Master?"

Giles smirks and nods. The kiss unfolding before him is hungry and twice as sloppy, with all the slick occupying MC's mouth interchanged between them between low moans. It's Nico's own personal way of praising her without getting caught, always the sneaky one. Giles finds himself keeping the satisfactory smile on his face nonetheless.

"Now MC, you're to demonstrate your riding abilities. Hands behind your back."

Seeing Nico eager to take position lying on the floor, hands outstretched to welcome MC over him, Giles lets the devil in him speak a little more. He's been going too easy on them.

"Whoever comes first can consider this their final orgasm for the night."

He watches as two pairs of eyes widen at each other, one identical thought sparking behind both. Each of them wants pleasure for the other more than they do for themselves, that's just the type of lovers they are. The type of lovers Giles would gladly come in between with the heavy whip of his discipline because it's that much fun for him.

Ah, but that's not even all there is to get out of their wonderful little arrangement. It's not every day that Giles finds the luxury of indulging himself possible through his own workaholic tendencies. As the leisure carried by these afterwaves of pleasure kinks in, he casually gets up to pour himself his preferred beverage. A show like that is best watched with a glass in hand, as much as he hates sounding like a certain information broker with a penchant for hedonism. He's becoming more and more able to relax by the second, and after all, isn't this what having servants should be all about?

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita @justpeachyteastea Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[howlingday]

swashbuckler au pyrrha flashback episode where she is saved by the long blade and swears to marry him when she was a few years younger with jaune having no idea she was serious or who she was .... why does that make her more interested!?!

1 2 3

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

Aquadian Romance

It was supposed to be a simple tour. The rising star, Pyrrha Nikos, would tour across Remnant with her friends and rivals in order to maintain favor in her coming years. "Nothing would go wrong," she'd told her worrying mother.

But it did go wrong. Her team was trapped inside their room as the hotel was locked down by a roving gang of thugs. When they were denied entry, they got violent. When the guards came to apprehend them, they were beaten back. Suddenly, she was held against one of them, a knife to her neck.

She tried to be strong, but she couldn't help but cry. She saw cameras within the crowd and everyone could see her tears. The tabloids would eat this up like the vultures they are. Once the guards backed away, she was tossed away and the hotel was shut and locked.

Nothing happened for the rest of the week. Food was getting scarce, and she noticed her captors staring at them longer each day. She'd tried to maintain her exercise routine, but the reps lessened each passing day. Until...

"Psst!" Came a hiss. A hushed whisper. "I'm gonna get you out!" A hopeful chance. She made her way to the door, rousing the others on her way.

"Wh-Who are you?"

"I'm..." The voice trailed off before returning with confidence. "I'm La Lama Lunga."

The Hero of Aquadia?! Pyrrha had heard the legends, but to hear his voice was shocking! There was so much she wanted to warn him of, but his footsteps had already moved swiftly away from the door.

Thirty seconds passed. Nothing. One minute. Still nothing. Time slowed and Pyrrha's heart thundered. Could this be it? Could she be saved at last?!

"Look!" One of the girls whispered. Outside the window, a segmented rope softly swayed in the night air. Arslan took hold and gave it a few, firm tugs. With a nod, she bravely climbed outside. Slowly, one after the other, the rest of the athletes climbed out of the roof.

Pyrrha was the last woman out. Halfway across the room, the door exploded into splinters. Fear made her look back, and fear made her slow. She was pinned down, a weight placed hard against herbody.

"HELP ME!" Sobbing out as she tried in vain to be hear. A strike to her head made her quiet, though she continued to sob. Moreso when she saw the rope retract to the heavens.

She'd been abandoned. A casualty of a horrible circumstance. She alone was left behind. She could hear cries of rejection, though they were din to the agony she had felt. She was betrayed by those she'd called friend, and by the Hero of Aquadia.

"Oh, don't feel so bad." The voice said with sick intentions laced over it. "We don't need them. Long as we got you, we can have all the fun we want." She wanted to scream, but a roving hand to her chest choked the air out of her lungs. Hoisted to her feet, she was dragged to the window. "C'mon, let's see the pretty sights and get to know each other."

Pyrrha shivered. Was this how her life would be? Trapped in a foreign hotel, her dreams of becoming an international athlete as well as her dreams of maintaining her chastity to one she truly loved both quashed in a single, horrible night of abhorrent circumstance? Now, she was alone, and it was thanks to the Hero of Aqua-

"YIPPIE-KI-YAY-MOTHER- OH SHIT, DUCK!"

Pyrrha leaned forward, freeing herself as the rope returned, carrying a masked hero on the end of it. Boots pointed like a spear, the hero thrust into the room, heels cracking in the face of her captor. She was freed! Her life itself saved by this hero of insurmountable bravery!

"Um, a little help?"

She looked up to see him dangling, his boot caught on the balcony frame. She hurried and carried him down. When he was brought down to the floor, she gazed into the eyes behind his mask. They were as blue as the waters of Aquadia, and twice as kind.

"Th-Thank you..." She whimpered.

"Don't thank me yet." He said, taking hold of the rope. "Here. Climb up to the roof. Your friends, and the real heroes are waiting for you up there."

Pyrrha began to climb when she heard shouting. She looked down to see her hero nearly fall out the window. She wanted to call out, but he shouted over her voice.

"PULL UP THE ROPE!"

Pyrrha ascended, much to her dismay. Before she knew it, she felt arms grab hers, and she was lifted into sobbing hugs. On the roof, she was met by her friends and rivals, the city guards, and... the Hero of Aquadia?

This one, however, was completely different. He was much taller, more muscular, and had a pointed beard. He looked like he was in his 30s or 40s, whereas the man who saved her was closer to her age. He walked over to the rope and released it with a swick of his blade.

Pyrrha thrashed against those around her, but it was too late, and the rope lay helpless on the ground.

"But what about-?!"

"He's fine." The timbred voice waved off. "This was his idea, so he should know how to get out of it."

At this, Pyrrha finally freed herself. She marched up to him, jabbing a finger at him. "AND WHERE WERE YOU?!" She screamed, feeling the others hold her back. Tears filled in and flowed from her eyes. "WHY WAS IT ONLY HIM WHO SAVED US?!" In response, the supposed hero made a face of mild discomfort, like a cat that ate bad fish.

Before this could go further, there was cheering from the ground. Everyone leaned over and saw the real Hero of Aquadia walk out of the hotel. From the roof, he didn't look bad, but in the papers the next day, you could see the battered hero as he was.

The next few years that followed, Pyrrha went on to win regional and even Kingdom championships, lucrative sponsorships, and even a scholarship into Beacon. She was going to become a huntress, and hopefully, meet her hero again one day. The tabloids noticed her increased perserverance and tenacity, calling it, as they put it, "like she was steel to be tempered." Though this angered her that they would make light of and even glorify her trauma, she chose to ignore it and swallow her pride.

A buzz from her scroll caught her attention. It was from her friend, Ruby. And it would be the call she had been waiting for her entire life.