#cork tune too

[taintandviolent]

I held my nose I closed my eyes - I took a drink; Jimmy x Reader

Summary: Reader is a hypnotist. Jimmy, in one of his drunken nights, cleans out his own supply and stumbles into your caravan to clean you out too. What he finds... is sooo much better. [warnings: 18+! sex pollen fic!! shameless, explicit smut, I'm so serious. female receiving, oral sex, rough sex, mentions of alcohol.]

Also! Hugely inspired by @silverzoomies' mindbogglingly good Quicksilver sex pollen fic - the queen of sex pollen as far as I'm concerned!! Please read it if you haven't!!

taglist: @kaismanwich / @elsamars / @thewolveswithin / @petersevans / @marylovesevanpeters / @80strashbag / @redwoodghost / @silverzoomies / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @evansb1tch / @yesdevineruler / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @evanpetersfansblog / @kaissweetlamb / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @my-own-walker/ @viharmonscorner / @nova-kayne67 / ask to be added!

ao3 link here! | full fic under the cut!

The calliope breathed its melodic tune as your fingers curled back towards your palm. The man in front of you was glassy-eyed and pliable.

“Bark!” You snapped your fingers.

Almost immediately, the man let out a string of excited woofs, much to the delight of the audience. Laughs and scattered applause filled the tent, the loudest of laughs coming from the front row — from his presumed wife.

“Ladies and gentlemen! While I am using hypnotism for your pleasure and amusement today, I implore you… to consider that hypnotism can be used for good. It can be used to cure sicknesses of addiction, turn the fearful into the brave… or perhaps make someone fall in love with you.”

The man swayed languidly back and forth, following your graceful fingers as they swept through air. You brought the man’s attention to you with one finger, whispering soft words of release. You snapped your fingers for a final time and the man came to, dropped back into his own reality in a mess of confusion and wobbly knees. Unbeknownst to you, this regular Joe wasn’t the only man unsteady on his feet. A dozen or so yards away, the beloved Lobster Boy was drunkenly stumbling into your trailer, looking for some more booze to drown his woes.

As he stood in front of your cabinet, he surveyed the collection. Dried herbs, crystals, some of those cards that he’d seen the travelling gypsies use… and a ton of bottles. Scanning until he found something that most resembled some liquor — though everything was questionable — Jimmy palmed the one of the two largest bottles, lifting it to the light to get a better look. The dark liquid sloshed heavily around inside, and while he knew he was drunk, he could’ve sworn it sparkled.

Flipping the cork out with his thumb, Jimmy pinched his nose, squeezed his eyes shut and threw the contents of the bottle into the back of his throat, having enough to sense to avoid whatever taste was going to meet him. Whatever it was went down smoothly, leaving a syrupy, sweet coating on his throat. A line of deep burgundy trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his tongue flicked out to catch it.

“Hooo,” he grimaced and shuddered hard enough to lose his grip on the bottle. It clattered to the floor loudly. “That’s rough.”

His throat felt warm, but the feeling started in his thighs, of all places. Underneath his dusty black jeans, the muscles felt like he’d gone and pressed them against a bed of coals. It was hot in Jupiter, not that hot — but Jimmy Darling felt like he had the fever of the century. Sweat beaded at his hairline, running salty ribbons down his temples.

And then, he felt it. Concealed in his cotton briefs, heat rushed to his groin at breakneck speed. It couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds for his cock to stand at attention as though he’d been working it up all night. His jeans tented and the pressure wasn’t very forgiving. No, it was downright painful. The blood switched heads and he could think of nothing else but you. Jimmy wanted to be inside you, feeling your weeping cunt clench with each thrust. He wanted to lick his fingers clean of your — “Come on!”

Jimmy drew the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping at the sweat. As the seconds ticked by, his body temperature continued to climb. He knew he had to do something before he actually became a lobster, bright red and steaming. With one hand, Jimmy unbuckled his pants and yanked the button free of its slit. The small give in restriction allowed his stiff cock to breathe, but Jimmy pulled the elastic of his briefs under his balls, wincing at the static electric feeling that physical touch brought.

His cock sprung free, bouncing heavily. It looked full, and pre-cum was already leaking out the velvet soft tip. He couldn’t describe it mentally any other way — needs emptyin’.

You had graciously taken one more participant before making your way back to your caravan, pulling your high heels off as soon as you were out of the tent. You padded softly across the grass, humming some disjointed melody. The tips had been good tonight, and you’d been looking forward to the iced tea in your tiny little fridge all day. "…Gotta’ hank o’ hair and a piece o’ bone and made a walkin’-talkin’ honeycomb.”

Stepping onto the wood crates that served as doorsteps, you pulled the door towards you, still singing quietly.

“…well uh honeycomb, wontcha’ be my baby, well uh honeycomb wontcha’ be my own — ”

With your index finger still curled around the handle of the screen door, your body froze, voice leaving your throat. Jimmy Darling leaned against your bed. Not just that — Jimmy Darling leaned against your bed, caramel locks plastered to his forehead with sweat. His pants were undone in his lap, and his fused fingers were glistening with his own cum. You’d only looked at it for a split second before you clamped your hand over your eyes, but it wasn’t soon enough to stop the visual searing its way into your brain. The way the swollen, red tip slid through his conjoined fingers as he clumsily tried to jerk himself off…

At the sound of the door, Jimmy immediately started crawling towards you, muttering desperate words of gratitude. Like a hound on the scent of a rabbit, his nose had clocked the earthy sweetness of your perfume oil the second you’d walked in. He needed to get closer to it and to you. There was another smell — a sweeter one — that he licked off his lips as he made a beeline for you.

“Oh, baby, baby, baby….” He growled low, words separated by hiccups. “I’m real glad you’re here. I messed up… uhhuuummmm - real bad.”

On his knees in front of you, Jimmy wrapped his hands around your legs, claws stroking the backs of your knees. Paired with the fact that he’d never called you baby, the contrast of his warm, strong hands against your delicate legs gripped your core, setting the first trap of arousal. A moment later, his lips collided with your shins, feverishly peppering kisses along them as he worked his way up.You closed your eyes, exhaling hard through your nose.

His head dove under your skirt and you let out a shrill yelp.

“J-Jimmy Darling! Stop, stop!” You wrenched your leg from his grip, his slick fingers gliding off your calf muscle as you hastily stepped around him. “What in the hell has gotten into you!?”

He fell forward onto his hands, letting out a sound you’d never heard a man make. His dick hung heavy between his legs and thick strands of pre-cum swelled from the tip, stringing to the floor with every slight movement of his hips. His lust just wouldn’t stop yelling, drowning out every other rational thought he had. It was as loud as when Elsa brought her megaphone to the stage, shouting orders at the top of her lungs -- louder maybe. Jimmy reached for his aching cock to give it a few desperate pumps, tightening his grip as he drew towards the base. The sensation crippled him, bringing him forward onto his face. …so damn sensitive…. I need her…..

He’d always been able to satisfy himself, even as drunk as he was now; after every meeting with the Girls, when some gal in the crowd got a little too flirty — he’d never had an issue taking himself in his pincers and rubbing one out. But this… this wasn’t enough and he was damn tired.

Every cell in your body was begging you to keep staring at the way he handled himself, alternating between stroking the thick shaft, and doing quick, smaller thrusts to stimulate the ruby tip. Jimmy groaned into the vinyl floor of your trailer as he decorated it with strings of white.

Did he just cum…?

Underneath your skirt, your cunt fluttered with a bloom of heat.

Although it had been difficult to walk away, you somehow managed and stopped just short of your kitchen counter, which had been converted into a short shelf. All of your tonics, amulets and tools of your craft were neatly arranged there. Were. They were…. Previously. The empty space in your cabinet was suddenly very apparent.

Suddenly noticing that you had left — or maybe he smelled that you had left, Jimmy’s lids peeled away from each other. He turned his head just enough to stare up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. The curve of your ass underneath your skirt made his dick twitch upwards, reaching for relief. With his cheek smashed against the vinyl flooring, Jimmy’s words were distorted behind you. “Aaah— you’re sucha’…. dream Dolly, you know that?”

You closed your eyes, kicking your foot to the side. It collided with something, with an unmistakable tink! just like you’d predicted it would. Sucking in another deep breath, you dropped your gaze to your feet. A very empty amber bottle had been tossed haphazardly to the floor.

You heard him shuffling to his feet behind you, catching himself on whatever surface was near enough for him to grip. Through ragged pants, he continued. “I’ve always thought that — ever since you got here, the very first day…. Laid eyes on you and thought ‘Hot damn! We’ve got a sex-pot headlining.’ Youkn—”

“Jimmy…?” you asked, warningly. Planting both of your hands firmly on the counter, you pacified your mind, lassoing it in from the field of panic-stricken thoughts. “Tell me you didn’t drink this whole thing….”

Instead of dispelling your fears, a broad chest pressed against your back and two arms wound themselves around the front of your hips. Jimmy’s body felt like a furnace against yours, and the sudden pressure between your ass cheeks had you clawing the laminate countertop like a feral animal.

He’s still hard as a rock…

He was sweaty and smelled like sun and liquor; a smell that you’d become very attracted to in the few weeks you’d been here. Every time he passed by, you’d inhale, filling your lungs with it. He kissed the nape of your neck like he’d just got home from work, missing you all day.

“How many times have you orgasmed?” You didn’t want to know the answer.

“Mmm, only uh’ couple times…. I’m sss-sorry baby…” he slurred, pressing his face into your hair, loudly inhaling the scent of it. His voice was barely a whisper, but it was so close to your ear, it sent shivers down your spine. “You aren’t mad at me, are ya?”

His little mistake wasn’t about having too much of his Mama’s hooch in that little flask she carried around. Well, maybe that too… You’d got those potions from a lady in New Orleans in 1946 and she’d warned you about the dosage… “a silver teaspoon, nothin’ more, you understand?” She said it came straight from Marie Laveau and wasn’t to be trifled with. Jimmy Darling had consumed a whole bottle and now, his swollen cock was dribbling into the cotton fabric of your skirt.

“No,” you breathed shakily, reaching up to press your middle finger to the bridge of your nose. “I’m not… but you’re in for a real storm, Jimmy Darling. It’s — was— love potion, you know that?”

“Love potion, huh? Didn’t think that was real.” He questioned lazily how to fix it, more interested in his hands sliding up your stomach, manoeuvring until they’d found skin.

“You have to do what you were put on Earth to do. That basic instinct — and I sure I wish I could tell you once would be enough. But Jimmy,” you paused, inhaling sharply. “The dose for a man of your size is a teaspoon.”

“A man of my size…” Woozy chuckles vibrated your shoulders. “Seems like you’re the gal to see — you know an awful lot about it.”

Frustrated, you cocked your hip to the side, doing your best to sort out the thoughts. You knew the only solution was to fuck it out of his system, but you hadn’t really thought you’d be ending your night with him. Jimmy let out a loud moan, bucking his hips further in between your legs. You felt the heat of it, searing through the thin fabric. He bucked again and rolled his forehead along your shoulders, whining.

“Hooo…. you can’t move like that, baby. I’ll flip.”

You whimpered his name as you lifted your eyes to the ceiling, cursing whatever deities were looking down on you, waiting on bated breath for your next move. You’d waited a long time for something like this. So long in fact, that you had almost turned to waving your enchanting fingers in front of his face, like one of the ticket-holders, hypnotising him to look at you for longer than a few minutes. Instead, his mercurial alcoholism had planted him right in front of you. Well, behind you.

With his hips still rutting into you, grinding incessantly, he murmured into your ear: “I’m sorry I’m actin’ this way… but you haveta’ help me, baby…. Help me, please… I’m gonna’ lose my mind if I do—“

“I know, Jimmy.”

As you walked your legs out to the sides, you hoisted the back of your skirt above your ass. Watching intently, he backed his hips up allowing you room to reach between your legs and search for him. Your fingertips grazed the base, just above his balls. With a final prayer that Jimmy Darling wouldn’t forget about you as soon as the potion had run its course in his body, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft, already slick with a generous coating of pre-cum, and guided him in between your thighs.

Jimmy’s hands were suddenly at your hips, taking fistfuls of your skirt and shoving it up towards the small of your back. With a grunt, he wound one of his claws around the hem of your satin underwear, wiggling it down from one side. He thrust his hips forward and the hot tip slipped past your entrance, grinding into your clit from the underside.

Jimmy’s low, honey voice was reduced to high pitched whimpers and broken whines. Your insides pulsed with a hungry need…

“Hoh-god…”

“No,” you spat. “This isn’t right, not like this. Jimmy, I really —“

He didn’t let you finish. Conjoined fingers gripped your biceps hard, spinning you around so fast, the intent was blurry. For a minute, his face was contorted, frustrated and the way his chest heaved wound a nervous coil in your stomach.

Instead of striking you, or whatever you thought he was going to do, Jimmy crushed his lips against you, desperate for any sort of erotic contact. His hands found their way to your breasts, cupping them, while his thumb flicked at your nipples over the fabric. “I gotta’ have you, honey…”

You pursed your lips, tightening them into a thin line. In one fluid, frustrated motion, you pulled your shirt over your head. You unclasped your bra, holding his gaze and barked: “Then, take me.”

He forced his tongue into your mouth. You remembered the time you’d bit into a honeycomb as a child. As sweet as you thought it would be, and as sweet as it was, there was something very overwhelming about it. There was a word for it — cloying. As he explored your mouth, Jimmy tasted bitter, and cloyingly sweet… and god, was he drooling? There was so much spit that you had to swallow a mouthful just to avoid choking. His tongue wrestled with yours, teeth biting at your lips until they were red and swollen.

Your lids snapped open and you felt your pupils dilate. A warm, sweet heat rose from the base of your throat, filling your mouth. There were hints of honey, and spices, and underneath a very bitter fruitiness.

Oh… oh no.

He didn’t know what was going on inside of you, but he revelled in the way you started moaning and whimpering into his mouth, grinding your cunt against his groin. Jimmy’s hands dropped to grip the soft, pillowy flesh of your hips, his thumb pressing into the softness. “Fuck baby, your body… you can’t see these hips under that skirt you wear all the time.”

“This ain’t enough,” he cooed, pushing you towards your small sofa-bed with kisses. “I need to fill you up, Y/N….”

You were more than willing to let him guide you to the bed; though you knew the majority of your disposition was due to you already having a big, silly crush on him. Jimmy lowered himself down, one knee at a time, keeping his eyes locked on the table laid in front of him.

Hastily, Jimmy pulled your skirt to the floor, kicking it behind him. He made quick work of your underwear too — though those didn’t join the pile of clothes. He lifted those, the satin fabric dangling from one of his thickened fingers, swaying back and forth. You did your best to avoid looking at the wet spot you’d left in the crotch of them, though Jimmy seemed to have locked onto that and only that.

“Pink, huh?”

You chewed your bottom lip bashfully. “I’m not all crystal balls and veils, Jimmy…”

At those words, his eyes flashed to your cunt, pupils dilating. He chucked your underwear over his shoulder, refocusing his attention onto you. Jimmy spread your pussy with his knuckles, exposing the pink, glistening flesh. His laboured breaths slowed as he focused, watching every clench and twitch. “Baby, baby, baby….”

He was just staring at it. Your cunt ached as he teased it with feather-light touches.

“Can I?”

You moaned, asking for clarification. Not that you needed it — he could do whatever he wanted to you and he wouldn’t hear a peep of protest from you. You were a mess, like butter in his claws.

“Can I eat it, baby? I’m hungry… I’m a growin’ boy…”

It took a lot of effort to lift your head to look at him. You were swimmy; everything felt rose-tinted.

“Yeah,” you nodded, wetting your throat. “Yeah, Jimmy, but I think if you grow any more… we’ll have a problem.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, pausing to look at himself. It was true; his cock had never been this hard, and the tip was such a deep red that it was heading to plum.

With one segment buried deep inside your slick cunt and the other curled back towards his palm, Jimmy leaned in. His plush lips pressed tenderly against her, tongue slipping out to taste her in between kisses. You strained against his grip, writhing like a worm on a hook.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, finally pulling away from her. His chin was glistening — you almost wanted to apologise for the mess you’d made. He didn't seem to mind though, as he reached up, wiping at his chin with his hand. The way his thick, fleshy segments looked coated in your wetness, the way they caught the dull, yellow lighting of your trailer — it was enough to make you cum right then and there. You collapsed back on the bed in a mess of whimpers and Jimmy took that opportunity to dive back in.

He caved his tongue to envelop your clit, the vibrations of his moans sending a shockwave through your core. Before he started pumping his fingers in and out, Jimmy Darling did something that could’ve sent you into another dimension; he just sucked at your clit, flicking his tongue over the most sensitive spot he could.

He slurped at your cunt like an ice cream cone, one that was melting faster than he could catch — but he did a damn good job of getting every drop. He was loud and sloppy. He’s so hungry for it…

Your body trembled violently as you came, grinding against his mouth as long as you could before he backed up, dipping his head further in between your legs so he could feel the clench of your orgasm around his tongue.

He straightened up with a satisfied ‘Mmm’, jerking his head to the side with a smile. “Sweet as candy, baby…”

Crossing his arms over his torso, Jimmy pulled his white undershirt up and over his shoulders before tossing it behind him. Ribbons of sweat streamed down the tanned skin, leaving glittering lines across his chest.

“Jimmy,” you whined. “Hand me the other bottle.”

He obeyed, reaching behind him for it. His big hand closed around the cool, brown glass, and brought the cork to his mouth. His teeth clamped down and yanked it free. A small whiff of the potion inside made his eyes roll back, but he quickly regained control, looking down at you with a devilish little smirk. He knew exactly what you’d planned to do. He took one generous gulp, swallowed, and said:

“Open up, toots.”

You obeyed, and Jimmy Darling poured the love potion — too, too much of it down your throat. You coughed, sputtering some of it onto the pillow of your bottom lip, and he lapped it up.

The devil worked fast, but hoodoo potions worked faster.

Sweat beaded up from every pore, coating your body in an aroused sheen. You’d felt like you’d been sunbathing all afternoon, with no lake or pool in sight. You felt like your cunt was on fire. It had a heartbeat as strong as the one encased in your ribs. You had one thing on your mind — and that thing was stroking himself as he watched the change in you.

“Ohhhh, shit….” He took a deep breath, inhaling the pheromones that had abruptly filled the tiny space. You smelled them too, and the adrenaline dump made your muscles quiver. Jimmy’s dark brown eyes were wild as they locked onto your eyes, his cheeks flushed red. “Oh, now we’re cookin’.”

You jerked forward. You needed him, you needed every bit of him and the idea of teasing him drove you wild. You raked your nails along his heated stomach, tracing a line of hair the colour of brown sugar, following it down to a bush of the same shade. With your bottom lip swelling between your teeth, you planted both hands on his torso and dropped your head between your shoulders to tease him with your breath. You exhaled over the reddened tip, watching in delight as it twitched closer to you. Your lips ghosted over it, suctioning around just the tip. You swallowed, and opened your mouth wider, letting your tongue flop onto the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck…FUCK!”

Jimmy came undone, clenching his teeth as he bucked his hips against your mouth. Up and down, your head bobbed, stroking his cock with your mouth. Your cheeks caved as you hungrily swallowed the ropes of cum that hit the back of your throat.

That didn’t last long. With a strong hand, he guided you back, pushing you back onto the bed. You felt the mattress shift to Jimmy’s weight as he climbed behind you.

“C’mere, baby… lay this way.”

He guided you into a horizontal positioning, curling his body behind yours. His chest pressed against your back, warm and slick with sweat. His soft lips scattered kisses along the nape of your neck, down your shoulder.

Jimmy gripped your leg at the thigh, holding it straight. His cock was rock hard, and a thick, clear glob of pre-cum welled from the slit on his head as he lined up to your swollen, aching pussy. Your jaws ache at the sight of it, wanting to smear it over your lips like a gloss.

“You wanna’….” He inhaled a shaky breath. “You wanna’ feel the motion of the ocean, baby?”

You squeaked out a ‘yeah’. After nuzzling his nose behind your ear, The Lobster Boy jerked his hips so hard that the stretch of your cunt had you wincing and grinding your teeth together. But god, that feels so good… He sunk in, bottoming out almost right away — but the rhythm that boy had…. He was fast. He was fast, and he whined every time your cunt had swallowed half, shuddering the rest of it in. Every few thrusts, Jimmy would bunny-hump you with his cock deep inside, revelling in the way your cunt hugged his girth — squeezed it, even.

You, on the other hand, were feeling like your body was going to burst into flames at any moment. Your pussy had hardly had any time to recover, but you screamed out another orgasm, pulsating around The Lobster Boy.

He pulled out quickly, his ink-pool eyes glittering with a new position. With his dick secured in his hand, Jimmy got to his feet, stepping carefully off onto the floor. He let go to snatch you at the waist and wrench you harshly to the edge of the bed.

“Go, Jimmy…”

He pulled you forward slowly, dipping his chin to his chest to watch as your walls clenched around him. Your pussy was blush-red and swollen; a visual he’d treasure for the rest of his life. Once the tip of his head stretched past your entrance, Jimmy yanked your hips back against his. Hard. The sound your cheeks made when they slapped against his stomach drove him wild, and whatever apprehensions he had about hurting you went out the window.

Through unhesitating thrusts, he asked: “Doesit’ feel good, baby?”

You could only nod, seeing the ceiling of your trailer vibrate each time your bodies connected. The trailer has to be moving — he’s shaking the trailer, oh god.

“Say my name again.”

“Ji-Jimmy… oh my god, Jimmy!”

You were two orgasms in, and he was pounding a third out of you. The muscles in your legs were quivering, and losing strength quickly. Your vision was overexposed and twinkly, tears stained your cheeks.

“Jimmy - wait - wait, it’s too—“

You whimpered desperately, your fingers dropping away from your overstimulated clit. Jimmy straightened up, one hand moved to your shoulder, leaving the other still clamped on your hip. Your shrill screams were loud enough to break the barrier of your trailer, but when he tightened his grip on your shoulder to use it as leverage, you didn’t care.

He was fucking you deeper and harder than you’d ever been fucked, and maybe than he’d ever fucked. Blinded by ecstasy, he couldn’t hear a word. Every carnal instinct he had kicked into full-drive, galloping towards the finish line of pumping you full of his seed.

You turned your head, screaming into the mattress as your pussy shuddered one final time, leaking the wettest orgasm you’d ever had onto his cock. She clenched around his tip like a vice, and the sensation drove Jimmy to the edge.

The knot inside Jimmy unravelled all at once. He let out a deafening groan, spilling his pent-up load into you. Gush after gush flowed into you, and you could feel the hot fluid leaking from your cunt, splashing onto your thighs with each determined thrust he gave.

Eventually, his thrusts became spasmodic, shakily slowing to a stop. He collapsed atop you, and reached between your bodies, to tug his softening cock out of you, humming at the sensation.

“Y’know… I really do have the hots for you, baby…. I haven’t slept with a single girl since you waltzed in.”

He exhaled hard. “I gotta’ sleep, doll. I gotta.”

By the time you sat up and slipped your arms into a robe that was draped over a chair, Jimmy was already asleep. The way he curled up on your too-small bed, naked, one hand hanging off the side was easily one of the cutest things you’d seen since drifting to Jupiter. You wouldn’t know until he woke up, but if he was telling the truth…. You’d spend every last day worshipping the ground he walked on.

A delicate rapping pulled your attention from Jimmy, who had already started breathing deep in his sleep. Delicately, you pulled a blanket of yours over his bottom half, not wanting whoever was at the door to see him in all his glory.

You made your way to the door in no particular hurry, still floating Cloud Nine. Eventually, you toed open the door and leaned sleepily against the doorframe. The robe barely covered your chest, but at the sight of the visitor, all worries left.

“Have you seen Jimmy?” Maggie asked, her tone of perpetual annoyance making you smile. “I needed t—

“I have,” you cooed. “I sure have.”

Like the nosy bitch you knew she was, she poked her head in. It didn’t take her long to find him, and hear his soft snoring.

“Oh, drop dead twice,” she muttered, retreating.

You stopped, an amused smirk twisting your lips. So, she had wanted him. Clocked that one. “What, and look like you?”

Her wide eyes narrowed into slits, lips pursed indignantly. With a toss of her dirty blonde hair, she marched off towards the tent, fists clenched at your sides.

You might’ve felt bad for the poor wretch if Jimmy Darling’s cum wasn’t dripping down your thigh. Might’ve.

[poisonedprose]

𝐈. 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘. ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 - taglist

IN WHICH, leon is giving his all and trying so hard to save your relationship after the tragic incident but you have given up all hope on everything, including yourself. you've let yourself go, pretending like your actions have zero consequences, fighting with leon in the early mornings, making up with sex, and then doing it all again. doesn't it get exhausting making the bed?

WARNINGS, i. 2.4k, no dialogue, curse words, drug consumption, alcohol consumption, throwing up, healed self harm scars, mentions of neighbors having sex, intrusive thoughts

Leon's harsh words rang through your ears. He was livid, more than you'd ever seen him. Curse words that he saved for special occasions spewing out of his mouth like they were saved up in a bank and he was taking out a deposit or like he had just won the jackpot and the coins were falling into the pot. No matter what you compared it to, it didn't matter. You weren't listening.

You never listened to him yell, at least not recently. You'd heard what he said a thousand times before. The same thing in different words. It never made the pill easier to swallow. You tuned him out, not wanting to cry yourself to sleep in your shared bed tonight. That was your excuse, but you always tuned him out. 

It was easier, pretending to listen to his stupid lectures to keep him satisfied, to keep him from walking out the front door and watching the years go by without him. You didn't want to be lonely, you wanted to be alone. Leon's voice was loud, booming at you the words he's kept bottled up but he was shaken tonight, the cork popping off with rage. You wanted to scream back at him, justify your stupid actions of letting your friends convince you to pop some pills, but your voice was hoarse and you had things to do tomorrow.

The stars in the sky sparkled, each one taunting you as you looked out the window. They were free, and their only responsibility was to keep on schedule and appear when the moon relied on them. But maybe having someone relying on you with such intensity was too much for the stars to handle. It was just one thing they had to do but would it mean the weight of the world on their dulling points? There had to be a reason stars burnt out after all. 

The wind howled almost with as much force as Leon's words. You feared he might wake the neighbors, the walls of the apartment that you and your boyfriend spent way too much money on were thin. You were chilly, maybe a window was left open or maybe the alcohol that was probably swimming through your veins by this point was starting to wear off. It didn't feel like it was wearing off though, in fact, you were feeling drunker than ever. 

You were still sitting on the couch as Leon loomed over you. It was comical, looking at his red face from screaming for so long. You almost laughed to yourself as you imagined smoke coming out of his ears like he was a cartoon character and you were just watching late night television. Despite everything, he still looked so beautiful. The moon illuminating him, showing you his gorgeous face in the dark, chilly living room.

He was still in his police uniform for some reason. Maybe he was working late tonight or maybe he had no clean clothes left. Had you done the laundry like you promised? You couldn't remember, surely you would have heard an earful by now if you hadn't. But then again maybe you did and you just weren't listening. You could check later.

This had to be some world record for how long someone was scolded for. It felt like years, like each second passing you could feel a gray hair grow from your roots. How he had this much to say you would never know. However, you didn't need to lend him your ears to know he was saying the same thing over and over, hoping if he says it dumber each time it'll finally get through to you. 

You heard words every once in a while, like 'you could have died!' and 'be better.' or even 'you're immature.' It amused you to no end. He always felt like he had power over you. Maybe it was a god complex that came with the package that the man was or maybe he developed it while patrolling the streets in his fancy cop car. Maybe it was in the dye they used to make his uniform the deep navy blue that you loved.

It was times like these when you were lost in thought, that made you wonder what he saw in someone like you. As you sat there, you couldn't help but think that you weren't the same person he fell in love with. You had changed in so many ways, for better or for worse, yet he never wavered in his love for you. You wondered what it was that kept him in love.

Maybe it wasn't love, maybe it was selfish need rather than the feeling you once understood as love. You knew selfish need all too well, most nights that was all you knew. Was it because he was scared to be lonely like you were? Was it because he didn't want to start over and try again with someone knew? Had you finally cracked the code to his mind or were you simply projecting your own fears onto him? Had you seen this film before? Had you liked the ending?

You felt too buzzed to care anymore. So what if he was being selfish? He was the lucky one, you convinced yourself. Your eyelids were heavy and Leon knew you couldn't stand, or sit, to listen to any more of his lecturing. He stopped, saving his breath for another day like he was going to run out of it. 

His stomach was in knots. The mix of anger and concern made him feel sick. Your stomach was in knots too, but not for the same reasons. You felt like you were going to vomit, the drugs and the drinks catching up to you. He could see it in your face and with a sigh he dragged you to the bathroom. He sat with you as you puked into the toilet. He held your hair out of your face, he always preferred your hair away from your face so he could admire your beauty. 

You wondered if he could still find you beautiful as you puked your guts out with spit drooling from your lip and your eyes bloodshot. Were you still his pretty girl? He hadn't called you that recently. So, maybe it was far before this point you had stopped being pretty to him. You didn't find yourself pretty either so you didn't blame him.  

You thought he was pretty though. It made you burn with a passionate rage. He didn't have to try. He could wake up in the morning and look as pretty as ever. Your veins were laced with envy. They always were, even far before you met Leon. You blamed the sun in the sky and the worms in the dirt. There was no reason, truly they could never be the reason why you were shattered and glued back together with envy., but you blamed them anyway.

Hot tears streamed down your face as you finished puking, nothing left in your stomach. Leon flushed the toilet. He grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped your mouth clean. Your lips were cracked and dry, more than ever due to the chilling air of autumn. You feared what winter would bring. 

You were drawn out of your thoughts by Leon repositioning you. He was leaned against the sink cabinet with you in front of him, your head resting on his chest. His legs were on each side of your torso, bent at the knee to keep your shambled body upright. His hands rested on your thighs, feeling the raised bumps of your dreaded past.

You were so interesting to him, for better or for worse was to be determined. The topic of the scars felt taboo. He never judged you for them, stupidly comparing them to the finishing garnish on a 5 star meal. It was the thought that counted, you knew what he meant. You laughed out loud as you recalled the memory. Leon didn't bother to ask why, too tired to listen to you explain something he probably wouldn't find as funny as your inebriated self.

The bathroom was warmer than the living room. The enclosed space was great at conserving heat. There had been multiple occasions where Leon had to get out of the shower and crack the door open due to the intense heat. And plenty of times you'd do the same when you were straightening your hair, the iron's heat had a bite bigger than its bark.

There was hardly any noise, only the sound of the crickets and the occasional car passing outside. It was odd to hear, normally you'd hear the neighbors. The one's on your right always blasting music in the depths of night. The neighbors on your left were an older couple but their love was still strong which they reminded you of every night. You'd grown accustomed to hearing their bed creak and the wife moan through the thin walls. 

You wondered why tonight was different. Perhaps they were listening in on you and your boyfriend's argument, putting their own pleasure on pause to have the enjoyment of drama without raising their electric bill. You felt embarrassed, unsure if they did hear anything but if they did, you'd cry. You were never strong when it came to being yelled at. It was partially the reason for not listening carefully to Leon's words. Your skin crawled with worry as you thought of the stares you'd get from people as you walked the halls.

Leon's hand gently and begrudgingly carded through your hair. The taste of vomit lingered in your mouth, making you long for a cup of water. You were too tired to get up and even more stubborn to ask Leon to get you water. So, you dealt with the taste.

There were no words exchanged between the two of you. You were scared to say anything in all honesty. The once petty and 'don't care' attitude you once held high was crumbling. You knew you hadn't been the best girlfriend recently. You were playing with fire but you'd be damned if you called the fire department. You'd rather burn down completely than admit you were wrong.

But, honestly, maybe you were that wrong. You were just having fun. It wasn't your fault that Leon didn't approve of the way you obtained your enjoyment. Surely, when he was your age he was doing the same thing. He was a few years older than you, standing at 22. Sure, he was a cop now, but there was no way he didn't partake in fun that young adults always indulged in.

Though, he wasn't your age anymore, and he was a cop. So really, it was his job to scold you. You were lucky you were his girlfriend because if you were anyone else, you probably would've been arrested the moment he saw you. You still thought he had a stick up his ass. 

It wasn't fair of you and part of you knew that. It was in the far back of your mind but you knew. You loathed how he could make you feel. You were never good with the concept of other people's feelings, always too wrapped up in your own to notice. But with him, you always noticed. You knew this was hurting him as his fingers shakily combed through your hair. If you were to look back at him right now you'd probably see him with glossy eyes, looking like a sad puppy.

So, you didn't look back. You looked ahead. The shower in front of you slowly turned into a void of nothingness as you stared without blinking. Your heart was heavy. You wanted to rip your heart out of your chest. You imagined yourself with your heart in your hand. Beating. Sobbing. Tears and blood pouring with each beat. The sight was morbid but you had a small smile on your face. In your twisted fantasy, you were still breathing, even without your heart. 

And for some reason, endless scarlet blood poured from your chest but you never felt any weaker. In fact, you felt more powerful. People always told you that you were heartless, and now, you really were. Your breathing never trembled, you should be dying but you weren't. You looked down at your chest, and where the hole in your chest should be and it wasn't there. Your shirt wasn't soaked with blood like you imagined it to be and your breath was trembling.

Right, you forgot you were crying. You wiped your tears with a shaky hand. You took a deep breath, leaning further against Leon as you did. Your heart ached and you wished for your daydream to be a reality. You never voiced these thoughts to Leon for fear of what he would think. You were always fearful. Though, there was a point in time where you weren't. You reminisced on the past. Little you would be so disappointed to see the way you were now. A scowl on her face with tears in her eyes.

She wanted to be an astronaut, she wanted to sail the sea. Her dreams were big. Most childhood dreams were crushed by parents who were jealous of their children. Not yours, you were the only cause for your dreams being crushed. It wasn't a scornful parent or a teacher who hated kids. It was your own damned, wretched self. There were tears on your face despite the fact you just wiped them. The dripped off your face and onto Leon's hand that rested in your lap. 

A sweet kiss was delivered to the crown of your head and the hand on your thigh made its way to your waist. He held you tightly. You hated how he pitied you but you were too tired to start another fight. You simply push his hand away from you which earns a scoff. He wants to say something about how ungrateful you are. He was taking time out of his night to sit with you and comfort you, and you push him away?

You knew it was wrong of you to do. But as long as you pretended Leon didn't have any emotions, it was easy to do. It wasn't fair to either of you, and it probably won't ever be again. Leon kept his mouth shut, silently standing up before dragging you up with him and into the bedroom. You fell onto the bed with a sigh and watched as he looked with a disappointed look in his eye.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎┊ㅤㅤ🩻 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊‎‏‏‎@ginswife @mymizery @catsareawesomek @valsthea @mememgx ‏‏‎

[onyourowndaisymae]

a new tradition - happy birthday lucifer!

happy birthday to this old ass man i would do anything to sit in his lap and get drunk off of expensive wine

word count: 557 (3086 characters)

content + warnings: lucifer x reader, alcohol, soft lucifer my beloved

the chaos of the evening seemed distant now. once-loud music ringing in your ears at the fall, complete with flashing lights and dancing bodies, were nowhere to be found. the cheers wishing him a happy birthday, the extravagant array of gifts, the crowds of friends and admirers, everything-- all of it was tucked away neatly in the closet with your coats.

"i can't believe you wanted to leave your party early for this."

"hmm? why's that?"

lucifer didn't flinch as the cork on the aged demonus bottle popped. instead, he took his time pouring you both a drink as you flipped through his vinyl collection. you'd been tasked with picking the music for the evening. you assumed it was because lucifer was already intoxicated and didn't care which record you chose. what you didn't realize is that expression when you found your favorite-- your smile, the twinkle in your eye, the way you carefully placed the vinyl on his record player and dropped the needle with caution-- was a gift in and of itself. a pleasant tune called after you as you crossed the room to join the avatar of pride.

"i dunno... i guess i'd assumed you would enjoy having a bunch of people fawning over you more than a drink with me?"

"interesting. what makes you think that?"

"we do this all the time. well, i mean, often enough to where i didn't think it would be, y'know, birthday-level special."

he smirked at you and took a seat in his favorite armchair. he brought one wineglass to his lips, the other extended out to you in a silent invitation. you crawled into his lap without hesitation and took a sip of your own drink. even though demonus doesn't work the same for humans as it does demons, there's still a pleasant warmth as it trickled down your throat.

you settled with your back against his chest in his lap, both of his arms around your middle to keep you close. liquor-warmed cheeks pressed into the back of your bare neck as he nuzzled close, savoring your skin against his.

"i could do this every evening and never get enough of you."

the way he murmured left the sentiment almost inaudible-- if he hadn't been so close, you wouldn't have caught the warmth in his voice nor the slight slur of your name on his lips. he pressed a soft kiss against your skin for good measure.

"then let's do this next year too, okay?"

lucifer lifted his head to meet your eye. the flush on his cheeks was quite visible now. had he not been intoxicated, surely he'd be embarrassed by how plainly needy his behavior came off.

"do you mean that?"

"of course." you pressed a kiss to his temple and smiled. "anything for my favorite demon."

his head lulled forward and found your shoulder, hiding from your sincere gaze. his arms pulled you closer, ever closer, like he was hoping to meld your bodies together into one.

"i'm going to hold you to that promise."

your hand found his hair and gentle guided his face to yours. your lips found his with practiced ease. he melted into the kiss, lips melding together with your own, all warm and soft and vulnerable, ringing in another year of his life with his new favorite tradition.

[karoiseka]

16) Third-rate

((ahhhhhh! Actually getting one 100% posted before bed!! ... even if it's entirely too late!! Thank you @newty for letting me borrow your characters!! <3 Very vague post 6.0 timeframe, but not dealing with anything spoilers))

The storm raged outside the doors of the Bobbing Cork, though inside the lights shone warmly against the gloom.  It was a quiet evening, with custom being as slow as it ever got–which meant not very.  Traffic had picked up between the Shroud and Coerthas, and the outpost of Revenant’s Toll having built up over the years and being almost as close as Ishgard meant almost all travelers coming from that side of Eorzea inevitably ended up at the inn.

Through the doors came an adventurer–not an uncommon sight by any means–bundled up against the weather, pack upon their back, hood pulled up to cover the face.  Unremarked, they headed to the counter like anyone else, before shaking the covering from their head.  Dark hair shone in the light, blue like the storm outside tinting the edges.  Aeluuin the innkeep shouted in surprised recognition, catching the attention of a few of the patrons, who now looked at the newcomer with curiosity.  

The lady chatted amicably for several minutes with the staff, a friendly argument obviously arising as her coin was pushed back to her once, twice, three times before she sighed and put the gil back into the pouch at her side.  It was not often that someone would be allowed to keep their gil, instead of paying fairly for their lodging, but this adventurer must be someone who was owed a favor.

Placing her bag in the corralled area with the rest, the wood wailer nodded to her amicably before his own eyes grew wide, and he adjusted some of the belongings so her’s was closest to him, and most protected.  An amused smile graced her lips as she pulled a harp out from its case attached to the pack.  The filigree walking stick that had been in her hand went with the pack as well–some noticing that it looked more akin to a mage’s staff than a fancy hiking aid.

Whispers had started as they saw the instrument, the musician finding a spot to play–and gathering some odd looks when she balanced on the upstairs rail, looping a foot around the tines and tuning the harp.

“Who’s this third-rate fool that’s about to play?” the words were loud enough for almost the whole room to hear, but it only made the adventurer's mouth twitch into a smile, her blue eyes scanning the room.  The man’s refill came with a gentle smack upside the back of his head from his server.

“Hush you, if you don’t know who that is now, then you’ll figure it out soon enough!” Y’lantaa scowled down at the patron, green eyes flashing, before turning to help another guest with their order.  All around, people adjusted their seats to try and glimpse the Miqo’te who was preparing to play.  Most assumed (partially right) that it was how she was paying for her fare, but the few that recognized her already were watching wide-eyed that they were about to get this performance at no cost.

The harp strings sang, the opening chord one of joy and happiness, yet a calm tune to match the storm.  Conversations drifted off, chatter dulled, and a lull overtook the establishment as the true magic of a full Bard resonated against the rafters.  As the first song came to a close, a rustling of hushed whispers wove a background to the applause.  Could it really be her?  Why would she want to play in this small hamlet?  Surely she could easily be the guest of the Seedseer! Or the Sultana or the Lords of Ishagard!  What was she doing here? For one and all had figured out the mysterious stranger was none other than Karoiseka O’dayla; archer, bard, Saviour of Ishgard, Eorzea’s Champion, Liberator of Ala Mhigo and Doma, Savior of the Star.  Warrior of Light.

Heedless of the whispers, she launched into another song–one unheard in this world, but a simple shepherd's song sang in a community much like this.  It was familiar and not, one could almost hum along before the tune changed just subtly from what expectation allowed.  One after another, she dazzled one and all–mixing songs they knew with tunes they would never hear again.

After a bell or so, Karo felt a nudge on her shoulder, and a familiar face looking down with a smile.  The harp was held loosely for the moment–but not forgotten as she turned to half-hug L’selle, come to bring her a drink.  Mischief could wait for another night, for tonight was a night of magic, and after downing the cider, was woven once more.

[fullstcp]

Bandstand: The Musical Sentence Starters

JUST LIKE IT WAS BEFORE

"Where does it arrive?"

"I need that cover."

"Grenade on my go."

"Mom has baked her special apple pie."

"Before you know it, it'll be just like it was before."

"The band is tuning up to play your favorite song."

"There are endless carefree days in store."

"It's like they popped a cork, the clubs are full again."

"Grab your sweetheart tight and take the floor."

"How long you been back?"

"Something'll turn up."

"The cream always rises to the top, kid."

"It's been far too long."

"It's good to have you back."

"Wanna cut a rug with me?"

"The life we left has been here waiting."

"Isn't that worth celebrating?"

"Shit, that must've been holy hell."

"I need a shot of whiskey. All's I got's an empty flask."

"We're on a winning streak and it will stay that way."

"Any bad news you can just ignore."

"Whole town's giving me the same run around."

"That's what they tell me."

"Why not believe it?"

"They want illusion and they achieve it."

"We all relive the past and never wanna leave it."

"The world is ending and we're pretending it'll be just like it was before."

DONNY NOVITSKI

"Come and get your prize."

"The trick is the delivery."

"The difference that I have is, I was there."

"All of that promise and none of the payoff."

"They say cream rises, but what if nobody tastes it?"

"I'm finally looking at one little crack in the door."

"This is a lifeline. A once a millennium shot."

"I need something to block out the memories and break this insomnia spell."

"Make it all worth it and give it a meaning."

"We're gonna win first prize."

I KNOW A GUY

"It's radio, what does it matter?"

"If we win, we get to be in the movies."

"I'll take my chances."

"Meet me at the Rio Lounge tomorrow night."

"We're ready to open."

"What wind blew you hither?"

"I'll tickle your catastrophe."

"I hope that means you're in."

"Is it happening?"

"I think it's really happening."

AIN'T WE PROUD

"Never guessed you'd be a hero."

"You'll forgive me for bragging a bit out loud."

WHO I WAS

"I just want to know what happened."

"What do you think that will get you?"

"You know what I want even more is to be just who I was before."

"It's a distinction that's redefining my whole life. Well, it feels like it does."

"I feel guilty because there are days where I just want to be who I was."

"I'm not saying I'd trade the life that I had with you for a minute."

"That was once in a lifetime love and I know I was lucky to win it."

"There is nothing remotely heroic about it."

"All the details of who I am, made irrelevant with one single telegram."

"That's what widowhood does."

"There are days where I just want to be momentarily free and happily who I was."

JUST LIKE IT WAS BEFORE (REPRISE)

"I think your dress looks great, as I am sure he'll/she'll/they'll say."

"I know it's not a date, so don't you look at me that way."

"You just deserve a break from staying home with me all day."

FIRST STEPS FIRST

"Dancing's more customary for a soiree."

"Isn't the band sublime?"

"As it happens I'm just in the mood to do a two-step."

"Do step out on the floor with me."

"I'm new here too, you see."

"Might you be charmingly coerced?"

"No need to be so shy."

"Why be all alone when music calls?"

"I have nothing more or less to prove."

"Unless we want a party full of flowers on the walls, someone has to make the very first move."

"Starting is daunting, true."

BREATHE

"Breathe through the end of the phrase."

"Putting up with you is an endurance test."

YOU DESERVE IT

"Go out and have a ball."

"I don't need a reason."

"Have a heck of a time."

"Act like tomorrow ain't gonna come."

"How 'bout a big parade?"

"You paid your dues and we owe it to ya."

"Now you got it made."

"I'm feeling the rush. I'm feeling the high."

"I'm feeling the rules don't apply."

LOVE WILL COME AND FIND ME AGAIN

"Once I thought forever was real."

"I thought my life was ideal."

"I thought that nothing could steal it, you see."

"I learned how wrong I had been, that sometimes dreams can cave in."

"I gave up ever wondering when love will come and find me again."

"It's almost like time has stood still. Like a lifetime iced under a frost."

"I know how much I've lost."

"The more you deny, the more you don't even try. The more the world passes by in a haze."

"Soon, you find you don't even know how many years you let go."

"The chance is wasted in so many ways."

"Lately, I've been thinking it's time to take a look at what I'm doing then."

"Maybe I should be planning for when love will come and find me again."

"Letting go of what might have been and letting something else in. Only then, love will come and find me again."

RIGHT THIS WAY

"We reserved this just for you."

"You've been waiting for this day. It's the least that we can do."

"Let me take your bags my friend."

"You've been carrying those far too long."

"Troubled times are at an end."

"You've arrived at last my friend."

"You've been fighting for far too long."

"I think that we are entitled to travel first class."

"This challenge will be met."

"We'll fight for ourselves now."

"All of the wrongs will be made right this way."

"We've been waiting for this day."

"It's the least that they can do."

"We've arrived at last my friend."

"We've been fighting for far too long."

NOBODY

"Get out of my way."

"Go find yourself someone else to smother."

"Find somebody else who gives a fig what you say."

"Last time I checked you were not my mother."

"You don't have what it takes and you will never reach the top."

THE BOYS ARE BACK

"They're going to New York!"

I GOT A THEORY

"You're better than the average Joe."

"It's time to let the whole world know."

"It's time to tell the world we count."

"Are we onto something here?"

"Nothing's gonna keep us down."

EVERYTHING HAPPENS

"I want to believe everything happens for a reason."

"Any reason as to why is a reason you supply."

"It just happens. Everything happens."

"It's not fate. No great plan. It's not destiny."

"Putting faith in that cliche gives your own free will away."

"You can waste your whole damn life assigning bits of philosophic meaning to the failures and misfortunes intervening."

"I'll tell you what you get. Just a lifetime of regret."

"The only sane response is to adjust. Not to wish it hadn't happened when it must."

"What matters when things happen is what happens after."

WELCOME HOME

"There's so much I didn't see, and I'm so sorry."

"Welcome home, my love."

A BAND IN NEW YORK CITY

"Take the moment in."

"It's the mythic location where they go to make their millions."

"We've got swell accommodations."

"It's the fantasy and we're living it in style."

"I owe you one. No, I owe you two or three."

"That's a hell of a view."

"I won't sleep with all those lights."

"This hotel's got the biggest beds I've ever seen in my life!"

"Just remember, tomorrow's a big day."

"Don't do anything stupid."

"There is only one first time."

THIS IS LIFE

"If we were in an MGM film, we would kiss and walk through that door there."

"If we were in a radio play, we'd admit we're friends but there's more there."

"This is life with the heartache it brings and we know that these things take time."

"I would ask if you'd care to stay."

"I'm wondering if we should play it a different way."

"We could write our on take on it. Or leave well enough alone."

"Shake on it."

"No one planned for a moment like this."

"At least for today, we should probably say goodnight."

THIS IS LIFE (REPRISE)

"We could be blacklisted, or worse."

"We've all been through worse."

"It's a gutsy risk we'll be taking."

"Times like this you hold onto what's real. That's the honest statement we're making."

"I'll march back into battle once more if I'm fighting it for what's true."

"What I feel for you is true."

"No matter how tough it is, no matter how much time it takes, I need to be with you."

"This is life with the craziness of, the reality of, the necessity of being madly in love with you."

WELCOME HOME (FINALE)

"I stand here trying with my private burden of grief to carry."

"You do your best, trying to pretend that what you don't talk about won't matter in the end."

"You don't sleep because the nightmares come."

"You want an answer, you look for absolution. And I'd give up anything if I could give you some."

"I stand here helpless, with my arms extended, knowing full well, darling, your war's not ended."

[sashayed]

Vivas To Those Who Have Failed: The Paterson Silk Strike, 1913

Vivas to those who have fail'd! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! —Walt Whitman

I. The Red Flag

The newspapers said the strikers would hoist the red flag of anarchy over the silk mills of Paterson. At the strike meeting, a dyers' helper from Naples rose as if from the steam of his labor, lifted up  his hand and said here is the red flag: brightly stained with dye for the silk of bow ties and scarves, the skin and fingernails boiled away for six dollars a week in the dye house.

He sat down without another word, sank back into the fumes, name and face rubbed off by oblivion's thumb like a Roman coin from the earth of his birthplace dug up after a thousand years, as the strikers shouted the only praise he would ever hear. 

II. The River Floods the Avenue

He was the other Valentino, not the romantic sheik and bullfighter of silent movie palaces who died too young, but the Valentino standing on his stoop to watch detectives hired by the company bully strikebreakers onto a trolley and a chorus of strikers bellowing the banned word scab. He was not a striker or a scab, but the bullet fired to scatter the crowd pulled the cork in the wine barrel of Valentino's back. His body, pale as the wings of a moth, lay beside his big-bellied wife.

Two white-veiled horses pulled the carriage to the cemetery. Twenty thousand strikers walked behind the hearse, flooding the avenue like the river that lit up the mills, surging around the tombstones. Blood for blood, cried Tresca: at this signal, thousands of hands dropped red carnations and ribbons into the grave, till the coffin evaporated in a red sea.

III. The Insects in the Soup

Reed was a Harvard man. He wrote for the New York magazines. Big Bill, the organizer, fixed his good eye on Reed and told him of the strike. He stood on a tenement porch across from the mill to escape the rain and listen to the weavers. The bluecoats told him to move on. The Harvard man asked for a name to go with the number on the badge, and the cops tried to unscrew his arms from their sockets. When the judge asked his business, Reed said: Poet. The judge said: Twenty days in the county jail.

Reed was a Harvard man. He taught the strikers Harvard songs, the tunes to sing with rebel words at the gates of the mill. The strikers taught him how to spot the insects in the soup, speaking in tongues the gospel of One Big Union and the eight-hour day, cramming the jail till the weary jailers had to unlock the doors. Reed would write: There's war in Paterson. After it was over, he rode with Pancho Villa.

IV. The Little Agitator

The cops on horseback charged into the picket line. The weavers raised their hands across their faces, hands that knew the loom as their fathers' hands knew the loom, and the billy clubs broke their fingers. Hannah was seventeen, the captain of the picket line, the Joan of Arc of the Silk Strike. The prosecutor called her a little agitator. Shame, said the judge; if she picketed again, he would ship her to the State Home for Girls in Trenton.

Hannah left the courthouse to picket the mill. She chased a strikebreaker down the street, yelling in Yidish the word for shame. Back in court, she hissed at the judge's sentence of another striker. Hannah got twenty days in jail for hissing. She sang all the way to jail. After the strike came the blacklist, the counter at her husband's candy store, the words for shame.

V. Vivas to Those Who Have Failed

Strikers without shoes lose strikes. Twenty years after the weavers and dyers' helpers returned hollow-eyed to the loom and the steam, Mazziotti led the other silk mill workers marching down the avenue in Paterson, singing the old union songs for five cents more an hour. Once again the nightsticks cracked cheekbones like teacups. Mazziotti pressed both hands to his head, squeezing red ribbons from his scalp. There would be no buffalo nickel for an hour's work at the mill, for the silk of bow ties and scarves. Skull remembered wood.

The brain thrown against the wall of the skull remembered too: the Sons of Italy, the Workmen's Circle, Local 152, Industrial Workers of the World, one-eyed Big Bill and Flynn the Rebel Girl speaking in tongues to thousands the prophecy of an eight-hour day. Mazziotti's son would become a doctor, his daughter a poet. Vivas to those who have failed: for they become the river.

Martín Espada from Vivas to Those Who Have Failed, 2015

[fishermanshook]

a new usual (yan!barmaid x reader)

content warnings: implied forced relationship, drug usage, shitty writing /hj, second person POV most of the time I think LMAO, also there are some spelling errors probably

INTRO

It was an utter surprise to the residents of the Oletus Manor when they uncovered a secret tavern inside the estate. Surely with the amount of time they’ve been trapped in the place they would have found it by now, right? If it weren’t for their newest citizen, Lilly B, the bar would have stayed hidden, covered in cobwebs and dust. But maybe, just maybe, that would have been a good thing. Because now you’ve got a certain Barmaid who can’t stop dragging you away to the place.

No one was more ecstatic about the hidden bar than Demi Bourbon, the manor's one and only Barmaid.

And why would she not be? It had felt like ages since she had been in her brother's tavern, that she soon had to take care of. So by the end of the week, the bar was in tip top shape. With its polished bar and an extravagant amount of expensive wine (which the Barmaid doesn’t even know where it came from herself.). The bar really looked like one you would find back in regular civilization. Which is where one of her favorite people came from, you! 

Demi had a regular curiosity to anyone new in the manor, but it would usually leave after learning more about the person. But for some reason, you never left her mind, even when you’d been here for more than 3 months now.

Demi dismissed these thoughts, thinking that you and her had just been closer friends now. After all, she was the first person you came in contact with after your first game. Which, despite winning, was still stuck here. 

Demi soon came to the realization that this, these feelings, were nowhere close to how she felt about anyone else. These feelings grew stronger with every touch, every glance, every word you two had spoken to each other. 

But these feelings grew outside of the lines that separated love and like. No, they hurdled over the one that had deemed these feelings were borderline obsession. 

Demi felt as if she needed to have you, or else her heart would explode into tiny little pieces before being blown away in the wind. So, Demi did what she had to do.

— 

The barstools had been whipped down and put away, and the expensive wine had been corked and locked up behind a glass barrier. The only person left in the room was Demi herself; and you too of course. She couldn’t let you leave her sight, not with such dangerous beings out and about!

But they wouldn’t be, for them as well as the other Survivors have fallen fast asleep, exhausted from their matches. They slept peacefully in their spectate dorm rooms, not daring to look for you. As everyone knew where you were and more importantly, knew who you were with.

The Barmaid was busy wiping the inside of a wine glass with a dish rag that has most definitely seen better days. She’s humming an unfamiliar tune as she sways her hips, that’s surely going to be a tune you won’t forget. 

You rest your head in your arms as you look around at the empty tavern. The bar used to be full to the brim, a new place to explore and become familiar with, a place to party and forget about the scars that still sting and itch from the day's matches. But the room has become empty (at least when the Barmaid isn’t in it, which you don’t know because you're always around her. And most certainly not by choice.). 

You’ve tried to help her, by taking a broom and starting to sweep, but Demi always complains. 

“Oh darling! Please, you'll hurt yourself! Don’t you see the (nonexistent) wooden splinters in this broom? Just go back by the bar and sit pretty for me doll face.” 

You’ve tried to wipe down the counter, the pairing protected by their own glass barrier, varnish the bar, but you’d usually get responses similar to this. 

So as you stare off into space, you’ve yet to realize the bottles and other ingredients the Barmaid has pulled from different drawers in the room, how she keeps locking and unlocking the wine cabinet, and how she hasn’t stopped turning around and looking at you. 

You're about to doze off into a well needed slumber, but Demi slams down a wine cup. It’s filled with ice cubes and the liquid looks like a grapey purple.

“Drink up hun.” Demi says, but not before going back and opening up another drawer and producing a matching purple umbrella and plopping it into your drink. 

You’ve done this before, this isn’t something out of the ordinary. But this drink pulls you in. It’s different, it’s brand new, and acts like a breath of fresh air from this stale empty manor. 

You know you should be careful, but you’ve got a strong desire to take a sip. You can’t help yourself but reach for the glass and put it to your lips. 

The drink is cold, and like its color, tastes grapey and sweet. It’s delicious and something you drink up in mere seconds. All while Demi looks at you with her head in her hands. She’s wearing a small smile, like she’s looking at a child playing with their toys. 

When you finish your sip, you can’t ignore the warm bubbly feeling in your stomach that dares to increase with every breath you take. All of a sudden, the room looks like it’s getting darker. Like a play was about to finish its final act. Before everything goes black, you watch as the Barmaid swiftly makes her way behind you and catches your falling body in her arms. 

“Sleep well, princess.” She says as she places a chaste kiss on your lips. 

And with that, the act was finished. 

— End

note: hey guys! i'm here with my first piece and i really hope you guys like it <3 it’s total ass and I hate it just as much as the next guy but I needed to get something out there so 😭

(2023) ©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[ifjgh]

Second girlie, is my silly little Roller Disco Queen, Patricia Molloy.

Here's some basic info! <3

Goes By: Patty Nicknames: Patty, Clover DOB: Jan.10th, 1958 Age: 20 (Until her B-Day) Gender: Female, but isn't big on labels (She/Her) Sexuality: Bi/Pan Ethnicity: Irish Occupation: Student (Health and Medicine Major), Two Possible side-jobs Socioeconomic Status: Middle Class, never really had to worry about money, but isn't exactly the richest girl on the block Place of Birth: Cork, Ireland Family: Father's a respectable farmer, while her Mother's a stay at home type. Doesn't really get along with them though, she's happy to be a whole country away from them to say the least. Height: 4'10“ Weight: 125 lbs. Disabilities: None (?) besides being too short for things (Opposite problem as Manzo) Fashion Style: Clowncore, but in a good way, Flashy Roller Disco Queen, with added minimum safety gear Coordination (or lack thereof): Probably the most coordinated out of the Main 8, mostly because she's rarely not on wheels outside of class, girl's got balance for days Personality Type/Trait: Entertainer - Spontaneous, Energetic, Enthusiastic, Never a Boring Moment with her, Cheerful Introvert/Extrovert: More of a mix, but leans towards Extrovert most of the time. It really shines through when she's out on the rink Intelligence: Average, gets good enough grades, and knows enough to get by, but she excels in Street-Smarts more then Book-Smarts Self-Esteem: Slightly Above Average, She knows she's a Roller Disco Superstar and no one can even touch her skill, but she doesn't put herself above anyone in anything else (she can brag about one thing as a treat, otherwise she'd feel like an asshole) Hobbies: Roller Skating, Dancing, Singing, Thinking Up/Drawing new outfit designs and looks, Drinking, She'd try anything to keep her mind busy Skills/Talents: Autonomy, Ambition, Roller Skating, Creativity, Singing, Good at Standing-Up for Herself Loves: A good drink, Roller Disco, Up-Beat Tunes, Trying New things Phobias/Fears: Getting trapped in the same place forever, Conformity, Never Ending Boredom, Loosing her Reputation at the Rink, Lucya freaks her out a little (it's all due to vibes) Angered By: People who underestimate her, Short jokes by other people (unless they're really funny or she's the one saying them) Pet Peeves: Being the last person to know about something, Uncleanliness, Unreasonable people Obsessed With: Roller Disco, doing anything to stave off boredom really Bad habits: Talking over people (usually she just doesn't realize it), her priorities are kinda scewed (usually Roller skating takes up her highest priority), not the most concerned with safety, a bit of an Adrenaline Junkie Desires: True Freedom, Finding out who she is through exploring and trying different things, something or someone stable that she can rely one that isn't just Roller Disco Flaws: If she had to choose between Roller Disco or Saving someone's life, she'd choose Roller Disco. Wanders around aimlessly a lot, kinda of an outsider (still accepted by the group, but she doesn't feel like she quite fits in) Secrets: Second most likely to kill someone and get away with it. Feels like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and can't share that burden with anyone. Her disdain for her life back home. Not the biggest Disco Music fan. Regrets: That she couldn't ”fix“ her family, and instead kinda just, up and left them. Not giving it her all in school, despite her decent grades, she feels like she could, no should, do better. Accomplishments: She has her picture framed at the Roller Rink, and a few trophies from some of the past Roller Disco competitions, has had some request to design some outfits and got paid for it (other Roller Disco Fanatics probably) Languages Known: Fluent in Gaelic and English, and has picked up on Swedish (from being BeeDee's Roommate) and some Afrikaans slang (from hanging out with Shelby)

(Things are subject to change the more I get things fine tuned, I've also kept some things secret for the time being. - Crow <3)

Bonus! Basic Profile Sheet, for funsies! X

[anarcha66]

what are your thoughts on dead money as a whole dlc

Okay, I'm gonna break this down into a lot of parts because I have a lot of thoughts, and I'll put it under the read more link so as to not destroy someone's timeline

Story - Intro

You've heard of the Sierra Madre Casino. We all have. The legends, the curses. Some foolishness about it lying in the middle of a city of the dead, buried beneath a blood red cloud. A city of ghosts. A bright, shining monument, luring treasure hunters to their doom.

Finding it, though? That's not the hard part.

It's letting go.

An intro that tells you everything, yet nothing, at the same time. A wasteland myth. A campfire tale. A parable about greed. And then, once the light comes back to your vision, guess what? You're living it. The first sound you hear? A demanding voice in your ear, telling you what amounts to "Do what I say, or I pop your head like a champagne cork, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Your courier followed that old pre-war radio signal here, looking for a new place to loot, and they found it. They just found a lot else, too.

Welcome to the Sierra Madre Casino & Resort. Enjoy your stay.

Gameplay - Hazards

Something no discussion of Dead Money is complete without is discussing how much the foundations, walls, floors, and some of the ceilings of the Madre HATE you, and want to see you dead or worse. Before encountering anything else, knowing that the very air you breathe wants you dead is important to understanding what this is attempting to be. Speaking of, let's touch on that.

The Cloud

It's everywhere. I hope you weren't planning on sunbathing, because Apollo hasn't seen this place in well over 100 years. A blood red cloud blotting out the sun, and mixing with any air that has the misfortune to wind up here. It tastes of copper and brimstone. It looks like the air itself is bleeding.

When playing normal mode, you only need to worry about the concentrated pockets of the stuff, and worry you must. It eats through any breathing protection with no hesitation, burns your eyes to the point where you can barely see until freed from it, and damages you at a not inconsiderable rate of health per second until death. Minimize any time you planned on spending in those areas.

On Hardcore mode, though? It's not just the concentrated pockets you need to worry about. Remember how I mentioned the cloud was in any air you breathe in here? You're about to become very familiar with that fact. it drains your health far slower than the concentrated pockets, and it will never kill you directly, leaving you with a merciful 10 health at the end it will never take (probably to minimize risk of softlocks). And, as an extra bit of fun, your sleep stat also needs to be given special care. If you were to fall asleep exposed to the outside air, you wouldn't wake up. You can only sleep in what interior locations are so kind as to give you a bed.

The Radios/Speakers

In order to ensure your cooperation, you were fitted with an explosive collar while you were unconscious, with a remote detonation frequency. But lot of people had their radios on, the day the bombs fell. Not to mention the central sound system of the Madre, itself. Rather than get fried, those speakers kept playing. And playing. And playing. Every moment. For over 200 years. They never gave out, though, they're still playing to this day. Unfortunately for you, they're not playing Big Iron. The speakers have fallen just a bit out of tune. They still give off some auditory sounds. Not exactly music, though. More of a warning. Remember the collar I brought up at the start of this paragraph? At close range, those decayed sounds mess with your collar, a little bit. Stick around long enough, and that malfunction trips up the detonator.

The radios are quite simple. Either run up and turn them off, or destroy them. Smash them, shoot them, throw a rock at them, it's been 200 years, they're pretty much begging to be put out of their misery, at this point.

The central sound speakers, though? Well, it depends. They were shielded to protect against vandalism. Some of those shields held up pretty well (as evidenced by a blue light on the speaker), whereas some, lucky you, failed enough where a bullet, a laser, hell, even a pool cue thrown hard enough, will take them out of the equation. These ones are marked for death by a red light. Both positioned on the speaker body, just under the speaker proper.

Misc. Traps.

The material ghosts (discussed later in the Residents section) aren't very big on visitors, either. Bear traps, trip wires, construction explosives repurposed into landmines. This can be very well ignored if you had the foresight to take the Light Step perk, though, but let's be real, that perk trivializes a lot of traps.

Though, if you lack the perk, watch your step. Particularly in anywhere involving the hazards described above. The only better place for a trap than catching you unawares is catching you while you're distracted.

Gameplay - Residents

So, the Madre hates you. Though, more than that, it seems to hate indiscriminately. There's no way anything could live here, right?

Technically.

This place is described as "a city of ghosts", and rest assured, this city is most certainly populated by ghosts. Two types, in fact: The material and immaterial ghosts. Let's go over both.

Ghost People (the "material" ghosts)

If you saw a hunched over figure with a gas mask and glowing green eyes, congratulations, you've met the bastards putting down the bear traps everywhere. But don't worry, a quick bullet between the eyes should fix it. It does for everything else, right?

Well, you can certainly think that. Just don't turn your back to it.

You see, the Ghost People of the Madre have this little quirk where they don't die when their health is depleted. Shoot them, stab them, zap them? They get back up. There are, however, two ways to prevent this. Either:

-You take off one of their limbs, by any means, leading to an explosion of pressure from the stump as they expire, regardless of health.

Or

-You land a lucky energy weapon crit, to kill and disintegrate them, making sure they have nothing to get up from.

You can, of course, avoid confrontation entirely. Those big bulky suits don't exactly let you see out very well.

Some discuss a "0 perception bug" where their perception overflows into the negative direction, causing them to have the integer limit on perception instead, and see you wherever you are, but this is widely considered to be a myth by the technical community, attributed to changes made by the long outdated mod Project Nevada. I can say I never encountered this bug on console, nor at any point in the past several years I've played without PN on PC.

My opinion on them? They're too easy to kill in a head-on fight. It's actually worth the effort of doing so without applying any sort of clever tactics. In fact, the mines made available to you (makeshift gas tank bombs, and demolition charges) are woefully inadequate at their job. The former doesn't do anywhere near enough damage to take off a limb (and is too heavy to carry around in any meaningful number), the latter has a detonation timer that is so slow, whatever you were planning to blow up is long out of the zone by the time it goes off, so laying traps of your own is out of the picture for all intents and purposes. Another character in the DLC suggests blowing the bombs up in the hands of those who have them, to take their arm off, but since Ghost People are tagged as invulnerable to disarms, meaning that doesn't work. Anything more clever than "aim for the limbs" for killing them is between "infeasible" and "impossible" barring one single exception I'll go over in a later section.

To summarize: Straight combat killing is too easy, laying traps doesn't work in any meaningful way, and there's stories about stealth just not working.

Holograms (The "immaterial" ghosts)

These ones would be well identified as ghosts, for more reasons than one. Bright blue human shapes, some patrolling the halls in security armor, some manning the desk of a long-dead store clerk, filling in for their trade. All, however, are made solely of light. Well, light with one very important caveat: The holographic guards can redirect a burst of that light into a laser, aimed at any unauthorized persons in the area. Of which you are one.

The security holograms operate in 3 modes: By default, they're blue, in patrol mode. Just going about their business, walking around. If they detect you, they spend several seconds flashing yellow as they attempt to identify you, before turning a deep red as they turn hostile, and attempt to neutralize you.

In my own experience (Mind that I've played modded for years, something may have changed that I don't know of), holograms don't operate on standard AI detection rules. Sneaking neither helps nor hinders you, they can't hear your footsteps, they only detect you based on if you enter their cone of vision, and stay there for long enough for them to confirm you don't belong there.

So, how do you handle them? Two ways, once again.

-Find and destroy/deactivate their emitter (Note: Not always within line of sight of the hologram)

-Find their control terminal and change their patrol route to somewhere out of your way (You can't deactivate them from there, only move them)

My opinion on them: I love them. They can't be killed in a straight fight, on account of just being a projection. You need to be quick, clever, and perceptive to work around them, or to take them out. It makes sense where they're used, on all counts.

My only gripe is with a cut feature, where holographic models could be activated on some fountains that would effectively turn off the AI of any Ghost People around them, as they went to bow down and worship the bright blue figure. I get why it was cut, by all accounts it was incredibly buggy, and I count it more as a negative for the Ghost People because that's one less way to deal with them that isn't just shooting them in the dick until it falls off and explodes.

To summarize: They're used wonderfully, but I yearn for a feature that was cut so early on that even restoration mods can only restore 2 instances of it

Gameplay/Story - The Vending Machines

Since this only goes over a single thing, it should be brief. I fucking *love* these, both from a gameplay and thematic perspective.

For those out of the loop, the Sierra Madre vending machines were basically atomic alchemy. Feed them raw material (the casino chips, in this case, which acted as full-on currency in the surrounding area), and they can make you anything they have a plan loaded for. Have something you don't want everyone to have their hands on? Hide the very existence of it on the machine behind an unlock code. I honestly love every facet of these on a level of building the world.

-The very existence of the machines shows the massive amounts of progress that were being made, technologically. Despite everything that was happening, despite the Resource Wars raging, despite what an absolute hellscape the world was before the bombs dropped, progress was being made to the point where they could have reached post scarcity if they really tried, rather than searching for conquest over The Enemy. Note that you never find anything like these machines again.

-When you first approach one, it's mentioned that the chip slot doesn't look to be part of the original design of the machine. This shows these machines weren't made special for this place, the base design wasn't meant for only this place. Which makes you never finding these outside of the Madre sting even harder.

-Looking over the outputs available to you by default, it's all packaged foods. Not just treats, either, the kinds of things that people in the 50s (Where the pre-war world culturally froze) would have turned around and cooked for full meals. This wasn't a reward station, this was expected to be an everyday use thing.

-The Madre itself is described as very isolated, furthering the above point. They weren't exactly getting regular outside shipments, most things would have had to come from the machines.

-The fact that they're modified to only take casino chips shows that the casino and the gambling were meant to be the centerpiece of the entire show. Every bit of commerce flowed right back there. Some blue-collar worker gets paid and decides to try their luck at roulette, since their money's directly casino chips anyway, for example.

-The codes you find in game reveal that the hidden emergency goods are things like medicine and ammunition. In addition, alcohol, which, no matter what, you can ONLY buy on the casino floor, it won't show up in any other machine even with the code. I see what you did there.

To summarize, they function *wonderfully* in-game as a means of getting supplies, and thematically they say a great many things about the Sierra Madre just by their very existence.

Story - The Villa, Part 1

As you arise and get yelled at by an old man who lured you in with promises of money, drugged you, collared you, and is now demanding you do everything he says (a common experience), you learn through his exposition a lot of what I said above. Your HUD introduces him as Father Elijah, an old man communicating through this central fountain's hologram projector. In addition, you learn bits of what he wants from you. Namely, to break into the now-sealed casino. Something you cannot do alone. Fortunately, you have three """friends""" that have been enlisted to aid you in this endeavor, under similar threat of head-go-bye-bye. Scattered throughout fairly interior parts of the Villa constructed as a town outside of the Sierra Madre Casino & Resort itself. Lucky you.

Now, you may be wondering, "What if these people get me killed?" As it turns out, there were many parties before yours, who answered that question with "I'll kill the other bastard first, the treasure inside the Madre is MINE", which led to Elijah implementing a connection to the collars. In short, if one of you dies, you all do.

He recommends you go after the super mutant in your party first. I strongly dislike these characters from an in-world perspective, so let's rip off the bandage and get it over with. Hmm? Yes, I did speak in the plural. No, my beef is not all the companions, the other two are wonderful. Let me explain.

Collar 8: Dog/God

As you make your way to the police station, going through or around the Ghost People in your way, you enter, and see your companion-to-be, locked up in a prison cell. Not just any Super Mutant, but a Nightkin. A type of super mutant psychologically wired to have a need for stealth boy use, while also being far more susceptible to negative mental effects from prolonged usage of them than anyone else. You may have noticed I used two names above. Yes, the mutant in the cell happens to be plural. Right now, you're looking at Dog. He's surrounded by active radios. This is important. His cage is locked, and needs a key.

Look around the station, eventually making your way into the basement (or going right there like your pip-boy tells you like a good, obedient collared dog) will lead you to a more gruff voice guiding you through the basement, giving you a holotape to play in front of Dog, of that same voice saying "Dog, back in the cage!". Playing this next to Dog will reveal the voice was his headmate, God, who needed that to scare him out of front.

Speaking with God will reveal that the two very much hold conflicting values. Dog being impulsive, carnivorous to the point of eating still-living people, and loyal to Elijah with or without the collar. God, meanwhile, being obsessed with control, threatening and demeaning others to get his way, and holding a deeply vengeful and homicidal streak, very much focused on Elijah. Surprisingly, none of these are my issue with this character. That comes in a couple chapters. Conflict drives a story, and this includes in-system conflict. The stupid "evil alter" trope doesn't apply here, because honestly, they're both horrible people in their own special way. And I kinda like that about them.

From here, you can learn where they key is (literally just tied to the back of their shared body's neck), and from here, you can choose to convince God to come out and work with you, or use a recording you have of Elijah's voice to pull Dog into front, and tell him where that key is.

Be warned, your choices matter.

Furthermore, you can play your recordings of Elijah and God at any time to switch who's fronting at will, if Dog/God is within earshot. Your penchant for doing this also matters.

Dog gives you a companion perk where if you down but don't kill a ghost person, he will run over and eat a random limb, gibbing it and killing them as a result.

God, meanwhile, gives a perk that gives a +10 sneak bonus, and confers the effects of Light Step.

Gameplay-wise, both useful for dealing with ghost people, in their own way, since the side paths to avoid the ghosts are often trapped to some degree.

Collar 14: Dean Domino

Making your way to the residential district, you'll find a very tightly locked gate to your left immediately upon entry. This is a shortcut to Domino, and if you have both the health to tank the patches of cloud, and the lockpicking skill to crack the gate, it's an ideal path. if not, take note that this entire area is utterly lousy with traps. Most of them not set by the ghost people, as you'll soon learn.

As you approach, you find a very sharply dressed ghoul, who is very insistent that you take a seat beside him. He starts off by making small talk, marveling at the Sierra Madre itself before politely informing you, and I quote, "Get up without my permission, and I'll blast your ass so far through your head, it'll turn the moon cherry pie red." It seems nobody ever told Dean about the linked collars.

With a barter of about 40, you could inform him that he doesn't have the edge he thinks he does. Y'know, if you really want to.

Whatever the case may be, your dialogue concludes with your ass making no contact with your head, and optionally with your lips making contact with his ass for all intents and purposes. From this early dialogue, anyone could tell what a diva this man is. making small talk with him, you learn he loves to complain, loves to judge, and loves to be the theatrical center of attention. He can also brew a mean drink involving potato chips and cloud residue. What a guy.

His companion perk gives you 5 seconds in a concentrated patch of cloud before you start to take damage. Note that this does nothing to offset the passive damage you take in hardcore. Also lovely for getting back out that gate, which he'll unlock if you haven't already.

Collar 12: Christine Royce

You make your way through the medical district. A couple ghost people, a hologram in the clinic proper, nothing you're not already used to if you've reached this point. The only notable thing is that this may be your first scrape with a shielded speaker. Go down into the basement, set it to emergency power, and head down to an auto doc at the end of the hall, working on a patient. The patient in question happens to be scarred all over, recently mute, and strapped with an explosive collar around her neck. I'm sure she's in a lovely mood.

Confused at first, she initially tries to figure out if you were the one who put her in there, through a game of charades. You can be nice, you can be mean, but she learns quick about the collar, and sticks by you either way.

Dialogue with her is interesting, because a lot of actually understanding her depends on your perception and intelligence. Even if you, the player, get it, your character might not be able to piece it all together from charades and body language alone. Though your communication, you learn she's with the Brotherhood of Steel. Also a lesbian, which is far more important. She got trapped here hunting an angry bearded man (Elijah, if you couldn't tell), and got the turns tabled on her. She's a skilled killer, and has quite the snarky sense of humor, even without being able to use her razor tongue.

Her companion perk increases the amount of time you can spend near a radio or speaker before your head gives the room a new paint job. According to her, it's an interaction specifically between your two collars. You can call this romantic, which gets you an eye roll.

Story - The Villa, Part 2

With your motley band all put into place, Elijah decides to speak up to you all, to let everyone know their place in getting the casino open. His plan involves triggering the Grand Opening event of the casino, to get it to crack open its blast-sealed doors. This requires everyone in place and in sync. And you get to have the honor of leading everyone else to their place.

As for why the opening is able to get blast doors open, Elijah believes it to be something directly programmed into the ceremony somehow. Dean, who has been here since before the bombs dropped, tells a different story, citing the possibility that the opening just draws so much power to do everything it needs to, that it doesn't leave enough power for the blast doors to keep themselves closed, and for the Casino's lockdown from the morning the bombs dropped fails for the duration of the ceremony. In his own words, "Not everything about the villa was the pinnacle of bright ideas." Adding onto this, he mentions that the more relaxed radio for the place uses the same radio as the distress signal. When the bombs fell, and the signal got sent out, nobody switched over to a distress message, so their distress signal was just broadcasting an advertisement for the Madre, after all these years.

Christine

Christine's goal is in a power station, in a newly unlocked area further from the Villa's core. If asked, she suggests that she's needed there due to being the smartest of the bunch. Nobody else in the gang seems the type who knows tech well enough. Except maybe you, but you're the unofficial leader.

As you reach the power station, you find the place filled with a moderate amount of graffiti, pointing out speakers, and several traps left by previous people with the philosophy of "If I can't have the treasure, no one can." You will be given the option to activate ventilation at a terminal partway through. I recommend this, it clears out many patches of cloud in the area, both in and outside.

You reach an elevator down to the main control booth. Christine seems hesitant to go anywhere near it. Pressing and perception reveals that she's, understandably, not very partial to being shoved back into a very loud, flashy, cramped booth so soon after getting out of the auto-doc. At this point, you have 2 options.

-Get her into the elevator, by either tricking her by saying "We'll take it up and look for another way", since it doubles as a shortcut to the entrance, or, with the terrifying presence perk, telling her "Get in or I'll make those scars on your face feel like a pleasant memory." and imagine how much she'll appreciate that later.

-Take note of a nearby remote access station, which you can either hack, or take a nearby key, backtrack halfway through the station, and get the password for it.

Note that if you tricked her into the elevator, you cannot use it for a quick exit. Threats or using the remote station will let you, though.

Dean

Dean's goal is to stand up on a rooftop and keep some loose wires held together. That's it. By his own admission, he feels like the odd man out, comparing himself to the nurse in the surgical theater passing the scalpel.

When you reach the rooftop proper, you are presented with options. Ultimately, he refuses to be up here, for fear of the ghost people. Whether it's his idea or yours, you go to turn on some security holograms to keep the ghosts at bay. When you return, he still has cold feet, fearing the holograms may malfunction. You can:

-[Repair] Reassure him that the other holograms have been working just fine for 200 years

-[Black Widow] Tell him it's unsexy to be so nervous

-[Barter] Tell him you're not willing to die with him (He finds out about the linked collars whether or not you tell him)

-If you told him about the collars, you can threaten him, and he'll buy it (If you didn't, he brushes you off, thinking you don't have the nerve)

-If you *didn't* tell him about the collars, you can play it nice, saying you'd never let him come to harm (If you did tell him, he cites that as you trying to threaten him)

Whether he likes you or not, you'll find a way to make him stick around.

Dog/God

Both of them have done this song and dance many times before, so they're intimately familiar with it. They need to be moved to a switching station. A 200 year old switching station. With 200 year old switches. In God's words, "None of your assembled band of thieves look able to rip a 200 year rusted power switch down like a machete to fire up an entire town". Despite how much this has happened, Dog is still unfamiliar with how exactly it works, since he can't figure out how to read a nearby diagram detailing the steps. God, meanwhile, knows how to do it just fine.

From here, you have many options, with both of them

-God is willing to play along, but worries about Dog pushing him out of front if he gets hungry. So, he requests some meat from the ghost people to keep his stomach full.

-If you're smart enough to figure out the diagram (INT 7), you can mention as much to God, and say you could walk Dog through it. God, committing this interaction to memory, decides to play nice and do it.

-There's a terminal nearby controlling the lock on the gate into the switching station. It's a very sturdy lock. Sturdy enough to hold back a pissed off and hungry super mutant. If that's the type of thing you want to get on the wrong side of.

I suggest doing this last, to minimize travel time to your own goal

Starting up the Gala

I'm not doing a text-based walkthrough, contrary to how this may look, so I'll keep this simple. You flip a switch at the top of a clock tower, everyone else does their thing, whether they want to or not, and the streets are now full of speakers playing the Music What Blows You The Fuck Up, and a lot of ghost people who don't like the tunes. Or you. My advice? Run. Dodge. Keep moving and don't stop until you get back to the fountain and into the casino gate.

Story - The Casino

Once you get in the door, you find every one of your companions got there before you. You see them sprawled out on the floor. You soon join them, as the casino security system knocks you out, too. Your companions get moved to different parts of the casino. You don't, for some reason. You turn on the main generator, and now comes the culmination of how you've treated your companions. But first:

The Lobby

Your new hub area for this last leg of the journey Despite this place having been sealed for 200 years, only opened a scant few times before this, when Elijah's other successful bands of thieves made it as far as you, as you progress in dealing with your companions, ghost people somehow make their way into the casino from the villa to attack you between companion scenes. I *really* don't like this. Like, at all. At *all.* This, in my opinion, shows that they know how badly they made the ghost people into "take them on in a straight fight" types. Besides, how are they even getting in? You mean to tell me all of that everything we did was a waste of time when a bunch of dudes with spears and hazmat suits can get break in without doing all that?

Do you remember earlier when I mentioned how there's one instance where you get to be clever when dealing with ghost people? If you access the receptionist terminal, you can turn on either a holographic greeter, which the ghosts will crowd around, or holographic security to blast the ghosts. This is the only time you ever see holograms and ghosts interacting in any meaningful way.

Also, I'm not writing an entire section about the Casino, but you can gamble there to win or lose more chips. Hope you're a crit build.

Dog/God - Cantina Madrid

Apparently they resemble the chef, so they got sent to the kitchen. Make of that what you will.

Now, we get to the part that makes me pull my fucking hair out: How these two get "resolved". You have 4 options here: -Kill them both -Convince Dog to kill God -Convince God to kill Dog -Convince them to integrate with each other into one being

As a member of a system who actually fucking has productive conversations with my headmates when shit goes south, I trust anyone here can see where my problem lies, when the best option you get here is fucking forced integration.

Also there's a gas leak that slowly drains your health, goes off at any spark, and if Dog spots you before you get close enough to initiate conversation, he detonates his collar, killing himself, you, and blowing a massive fucking hole in the casino that probably sends it crumbling in a way you don't get to see on account of being dead.

To be fair, Dog's having a crisis, is panicking, and just wants God to stop hurting him, no matter what he has to do beat God into submission, so I get that panicked reaction.

Dean Domino - Tampico Theatre

He was meant to perform here, so it looks like he was escorted here while he was out. Unfortunately, the casino is still in lockdown mode, and the security holograms read him as an intruder for that reason. Want to save him? Hope you didn't mention the collars being linked, because if you did, now he wants your ass dead! Remember earlier, when I said he read that as a threat?

Generally speaking, Dean Domino is a deeply insecure man. If you weren't constantly assuaging his ego, he's decided you're a problem to solve by cowering above the stage as the security holograms kill you instead.

If you *did* make him feel like he was in control at every given opportunity, though? He's happy to tell you everything he knows about the speakers backstage, the hologram emitters, how he thinks the security can be turned off for this room specifically, etc.

And, more importantly, if you're his good little partner, he lets you in on his plan to get into the vault. And, more importantly, how much he *hates* Frederick Sinclair, the man who built this casino. Why? Because Frederick was too happy, of course! No matter what happened, he just kept getting back up, and trying again. Dean wanted Sinclair to know what it felt like to face something he couldn't get back up from. In short, bro was too fucking whimsical, let's kill him.

Or, in this case, blackmail a woman with a morphine addiction into honeypotting him. We'll get to her later, but suffice to say, Sinclair was so in love, he built this casino as a monument to that love. It made Dean sick to his stomach, this vile emotion called "love". But that grudge, that 200+ year long grudge and plan to rob and desecrate Sinclair's monument of love? He attributes his focus on that to being what kept him from going feral.

What a guy.

And all these years later, his plan may still find fruition. Remember Christine in that auto-doc? Ever wonder who put her there? Probably Elijah, right? Nope! Dean! She was mute because she was recovering from a voice change surgery, to make her sound exactly like Sinclair's love. Because the casino vault had a voice lock. But not to his voice, no. To his darling love's. He built it to be her casino, after all.

Christine - Suites

Remember all those times you could threaten Christine? If you took them, she sure does!

If you *weren't* an asshole to the killer lesbian, though, you find that she has a voice back. Namely, the voice of one Vera Keyes oh my fucking gods her last name is Keyes because she's the key to the vault, motherfucker.

*clears throat*

As you go through the suites, you hear Vera's voice some more. But not coming from Christine. You see, the security system recorded Vera's final moments, of her crying to Sinclair for help at the security holograms keeping her locked in her room, shooting at her if she tried to leave. And now, 200 years later? Those same security holograms are playing the recording back, as her. Her own ghost, haunting these halls, unable to let go.

Anyway, you reach Vera's room, where Christine was moved to due to her new voice. She explains how Elijah split her off from "someone very close" to her (A soft retcon of veronica's story, where it was Christine's homophobic parents that forced the split, that can be explained away by Elijah exerting pressure on the family as that chapter's elder, but also Avellone wrote this and regardless of whether or not the sex pest allegations are true, he can't write anything more detailed than "the overarching point' without fucking it up). She has a laundry list of reasons as to why Elijah can't be allowed to leave, why she needs to wait for him here, and kill him. Sadly, this leaves her likely to get killed in the process. And, because reasons we'll get into later, the elevator gets called back up to the top floor whenever someone enters the vault proper, and can only be called down by someone on that top floor going down. So, you convince her to let go, and trust you to handle the old man.

Further discussion turns to Vera, where Christine's prodding on her auto-doc reveals Vera had a terminal illness, and was using the morphine to numb the pain of it. You can find her skeleton in the corner, surrounded by empty syringes, presumably after the words spoken by her holographic ghosts.

Not that she needs to have had that reason for her drug use to be okay, mind, but NV most certainly has Opinions on drug addicts.

The Vault

Whether through Christine's new voice, or splicing audio files found on various floors, you're now ready to get into the vault! Congratulations, you are now locked in the vault! Sucker!

Elijah, deciding you've been a good and obedient little thief, decides to exposition at you, about how what he wants out of this place is the database in the vault, of all the tech here, so he can wipe the slate clean. Begin again, in the most extreme way, just as the radio broadcast advertised. If you've exhausted Veronica's dialogue on him, and are villified with the NCR (him knowing in-world is justified as finding records on your pip-boy saying as much) you can get the evil ending where you help him

Otherwise, you goad him into the vault, since you need him to open up the stuff to escape.

Now, I feel I may as well mention the gold bars. "Begin again, but know when to let go" I'm letting go of my financial concerns for life, catch me kidnapping you who asked this the way I'm getting that auram gold and leaving with it, artistic intent be damned

Okay, onto an actual discussion of the themes of this

Themes - Characters

Elijah

He's the embodiment of the full saying here. "Begin again - but know when to let go." He's convinced that wiping the slate clean is the only way he can begin again, with the world in his image, that he's so certain will work. It doesn't matter who it hurts, how much it ruins his life, he can't let go. At first, his greed let to him being trapped inside the casino. Later, he gets everything he wanted right in front of him. But whether or not you shoot him dead, that vault will be his tomb. Everything you ever wanted, everything you couldn't let go of. Hope it was worth it, Eli.

Dean

Dean Domino. Singer, entertainer, thief, pathetic bastard. 200 years he sat in that dead city, 200 years he waited for his chance to act, and for what? Because Sinclair was too happy? Sinclair died before the bombs even dropped (we'll get to that later), and two entire centuries later, he's still holding onto that grudge. A grudge that, if the courier doesn't play around his vindictive nature very carefully, winds up getting him killed. The man's so deep in himself, the fact that he can be saved genuinely astounds me. All this time spent nurturing his vindictive, easily spurned nature, and yet, even he can learn to let go. Even he can walk out the front door, and go begin again.

Christine

An old grudge, forcing what both parties agree was love, apart. I know Christine sees every horrible thing Elijah has done, but let's be completely honest, the main catalyst is what happened with Veronica. She still remembers and cites it, all these years later, the multiple war crimes Elijah did are just icing on the cake, more ammo to throw at him. But she's been chasing this for most of her life. It's scarred her, in body and mind. Literally and metaphorically, on the mind part. She knows if she sees it through, it's going to be a pyrrhic victory. The only way she can live, and find peace, is to let go of that grudge, and begin again. This time, using her skills to protect the Madre from people like Elijah.

Vera

Vera was a victim for the vast majority of this. She didn't want to do this, and there's audio evidence of Dean reminding her that her career couldn't survive a drug use scandal like that (It probably could, but she couldn't know that with how he was talking).

Near the end, she actually came clean to Sinclair. Unfortunately for her, Dean was right on one count. There's some things you just don't get up from. She tried to let go and begin again, but ultimately, was robbed of the chance.

Sinclair

If you've stopped at any point with all of these kill-on-sight holograms, and weirdly designed vault entry, and thought "Hey, this place seems designed to kill everyone in it", then congratulations, you win! There is no prize, but you win!

The fact that Vera was a honeypot? Yeah, he figured that one out partway through the casino's construction. He was bitter. He tried to turn it into a trap, for Dean and Vera alike. The killer holograms? intentional. The high chance of the vault locking someone in? Designed as such, to the point where the elevator would be *permanently* disabled if his personal accounts were accessed, suspecting Dean would go poking in there when his theft went into action.

When Vera confessed to him everything she had done, everything he already knew, he realized what his anger had wrought in this place, at her guilt. He tried to fix it, undo the things that made it the Casino What Kills You rather than the luxurious post-war shelter he advertised it as. But it was all built into the very design of the place. He at least tried to make the vault safe for her, but partway through, he tripped off a catwalk, broke his leg, and starved down there.

He was in the same boat as Vera. He let go of his hate. He tried to begin again. But it was just too late.

Dog/God

Let go of your headmates and begin again as a singlet? Idfk what they were going for here, I'm gonna be completely honest.

if it were just Dog, there'd be a point here, Dog's entire reason for latching onto Elijah is him looking for something to fill the void the Master's death left in him, someone to command him. He never gets to let go and begin again as his own person, free of command, that would have been so much better than whatever in the world was going on here.

Conclusion

it stumbles mechanically in some parts. And in one story. But overall, I love it. It's a tragedy. It demonstrates why you need to let go of the past in the best way: By showing a bunch of people who can't let go killing and dying over it. It shows the consequences of clinging on like that. Namely, a death of your own making. And getting everyone to let go, it ultimately leaves them so much better off. Better than if they'd just kept killing and dying for whatever treasure they sought. Which, for a lot of them, that treasure ultimately boiled down to revenge. Letting go by letting go of that grudge, and surviving, rather than chasing it to their grave.

Bonus points for never coming back. You're done here, in this city of the dead. It's time to let go, move back on into the future you're making

All in all, I adore it, on so very many levels.

[rosyrosethorns]

part 3

୨ ——- ♡ ——- ୧

“A witch… But a weak one nonetheless~”

From the way the ghost of Frollo loomed over Madi’s collapsed form, darkness in his eyes and a coy smirk on his face, the girl understood in that moment how so many people could have feared him in his life… There was a twinge of helplessness there; enough for her to grasp it as the memory of the timid bellringer she just met crossed her mind…

He was prepared to use the candle stand to strike her down. Despite how her body ached, she knew she had to act quickly.

“… I told you…” The ballerina waved her hand… “I’m not a witch…!”

Candles flew onto the ghost’s back; the flames leaving burns on his translucent body as his eyes widened and a groan of pain escaped his throat. Despite it not being enough to disarm him, it was still enough to delay his actions and give the girl time to stumble back onto her feet.

Frollo glared up at her as he took a moment to recover from the pain those burns caused him. “You expect me to believe such a statement… after you so blatantly mocked His will, used witchcraft against me… and even clad yourself in something so… primal??”

Both duelists were affected by their physical injuries to the point of inaccuracy. The malicious spirit swung the candle stand once again, yet a delay and slight miscalculation resulted in a sore Madi just barely evading his attack. “What? Ballet’s not primal!” the girl huffed.

“It’s all those feathers!… You resemble one of those wild men from faraway lands!” The ghost swung, yet missed again.

“I… Okay, you know what, I don’t—“ The ballerina was interrupted by another swing as she hastily ducked out of the way. “I don’t wanna argue anymore; I just… wanna deal with you quickly.”

Frollo swung twice in a second’s span of time; catching Madi off guard as the second swing whacked her on the head. With a yelp and a whimper, the poor girl held her aching head as she found herself more vulnerable now.

“The feeling is mutual,” the ghost replied with a sneer, “my little heretic witch~”

He raised the candle stand above his head as he prepared to deal a fatal blow… but a strange sound caused him to freeze as he dropped the makeshift weapon.

No—Not just a sound, but a musical tune. Music emitting from a flute. And Frollo found himself unable to control his spectral body as he spun across the cathedral floor.

Madi looked up with teary relieved eyes. Her lover, the Pied Piper, had made his way into the church—and he looked most displeased with the spirit as he played his flute.

“No…! No! More witchcraft!!” Frollo cried in disbelief as he found himself helpless in the Piper’s trance. “More heresy!! You’re all villains!!”

But what really upset the ghost was seeing Quasimodo and Phoebus following the mute Piper from a distance… Two of three people who he held the strongest grudges towards—now watching him dance in the Piper’s hands like a puppet. Despite how he turned his head and let out an enraged yell, there was nothing he could do to resist the flute’s power.

“At this point, this feels like a matter of perspective,” he heard the ballerina grumble before he turned back to her. Her outfit had changed color as she recovered from the blow to the head… What used to be white with a pink rose was now black with a red rose.

“And your perspective,” the girl continued as she opened the brooch, “is two-dimensional as fuck.”

A little jar materialized in her hand before she held it up, reciting these words: “I curse you to be condemned to this jar for the rest of your afterlife… Only when you come to peace with yourself and everyone else will your soul be free again!”

Frollo’s face paled. The moment the Piper stopped playing the ghost tried to move, but he was too physically exhausted to act fast enough before he was pulled into the jar; clawing at the air and hollering in the last second everyone saw him…

A cork was shoved into the jar, which was now emitting the same blue glow that the ghost had around himself as a light rapidly flickered inside. Madi’s outfit reverted back to its original white color as relief made her finally unravel, tears streaming down her face as she approached her boyfriend with a whimper.

“Darling,” she whined pitifully as she tightly hugged the mute Piper… “He hit me on the head…”

Her lover wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her head in silent reassurance with a sympathetic expression on his face. Judge Phoebus and Quasimodo approached the couple, simultaneously relieved the girl was alive and pitying the injuries she sustained from the battle.

“… I didn’t mean for you to stand off against him alone like that,” Phoebus apologized when Madi had pulled away from the Piper. “If… any of us knew he’d lock us out like he did, I’d have—“

“It’s okay…” A small reassuring smile appeared on the girl’s face amidst the tears. “I don’t think… anyone did.” She handed the jar to the judge with both of her hands. “But he won’t bother you guys anymore, like I promised…”

… The strained smile and furrowed brow Phoebus wore showed his obvious concern for her wellbeing despite his relief, but he took the little jar from her with a nod. “Thank you… Miss Madilyn.”

Quasimodo, however, was more sensitive to her pain as he approached her: gently taking her hands. “But—But are you going to be alright?” he timidly inquired.

The concern was touching, admittedly… Madi found herself melting in response to his empathy as she embraced him also.

“Oh… Thank you… I just… need to lie down… and decompress,” she whimpered. “That was… a lot.”

“Literally no one here can blame you,” Phoebus commented. “I was right when I thought bringing your boyfriend along was a good idea~ And Quasi…” He patted his friend on the shoulder… “Thanks for getting us in~”

The hunchback looked up at the judge as he pulled away from the hug, a smile crossing his lips in response to the gratitude.

“Well,” Phoebus continued after a brief pause, “let’s get that door unlatched, then we can all rest up” He held up the jar, watching the light inside continue to flicker. “It already feels like today was a loooong day.”

୨ ——- ♡ ——- ୧

Madilyn and the Piper left for home the next day, and the girl even made sure to ask Quasimodo for a way to keep in touch from how quickly they became friends. But when she was alone with her boyfriend, she made a confession regarding their recent job in Paris:

“That was… the most exhausting and slightly-traumatizing job I’ve done so far…”

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Plastic Hearts

Chapter Two: WTF Do I Know

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!oc (violet apollo)

chapter rating: M (alcohol/weed consumption, a couple steamy kisses, asshole!dieter making a quick appearance)

word count: 4k

series masterlist

“Hold my hand,” Violet murmured to Dieter as they walked through the lobby of their luxury NYC hotel. He sighed and obliged, sliding his palm against hers and interlocking their fingers as they walked through the glass doors, a swarm of paparazzi waiting for them without even needing to be called. Violet put on her best smitten grin as he walked her to the black SUV waiting for them.

To any onlooker, the couple seemed to be head over heels in love with each other, their matching smiles and body language finely tuned over the last few weeks of “dating”.

Whenever Violet moved, Dieter moved. Whenever he laughed, she laughed. They were truly the picture of a beautiful Hollywood romance—too bad it was all for show.

“You squeezed my hand too hard,” Violet scolded as soon as they were sat in the backseat of the SUV, the middle seat empty between them.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his head turned to look out of the window, melancholy written all over his face. Violet sighed at his constant gloom and distance—what happened to being friends?

A drunken kiss, that’s what happened.

Let’s go back in time, shall we?

Two Weeks Ago — Los Angeles

“Fuck!” Violet was all giggles as she tripped, walking up her Hollywood Hills driveway with Dieter, his arm around her waist to help keep her upright. “Shhh, don’t tell anybody but I think I’m pretty fuckin’ wasted.”

“Only me here to judge you,” he assured with a smile, more than amused by her state.

A part of him felt special in a way, getting to see this side of her that she worked so hard to keep out of the public eye. Everyone else looked at her as America’s Sweetheart, but Dieter got to see the real woman underneath it all. She was fun, sarcastic, witty, and just the right amount of mean that had his head spinning with lust.

“Come inside with me,” she begged, grabbing both of his hands and tugging him through the open front door. Dieter hesitated, giving her a head tilt as he stayed firmly in place in front of the threshold. “Please, D? I don’t wanna be alone.”

How could he say no to her when she was begging him like that?

Without saying a word, he nodded and allowed her to pull him inside, his hand intertwined with hers as they made their way to the kitchen. Violet reached into her wine fridge and popped the cork on a bottle of bubbly before clumsily sitting down on the floor in her tight minidress. Dieter averted his eyes from the sight of her lace panties, her thighs spread open as she sat in a criss-cross position.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not even a person anymore?” She asked, her words slurred together, eyes red and glassy as she looked up at him towering over her. He nodded, eyes softened as he took a seat beside her and grabbed the bottle to take a swig. “I just feel like…I’m no longer Violet, you know? I’m a commodity, sold to the highest fucking bidder and there’s no me left in me.”

Dieter continued his silence, happy to just sit here and listen to her drunken truths spill out one by one. She was always so put together when she was sober, a wall put up between them that he was desperate to try and knock down.

“Does it ever fucking end? Do I ever get to be real again? Not just some fucking idea in people’s heads? Do I get to own myself at some point?” She turned and looked at him, their shoulders touching as they sat side by side against a cabinet. Dieter’s eyes flickered to her lips, glossy and plump, forgetting what she’d originally asked. “Do I ever get to experience something genuine or is it just going to be this for the rest of my life?”

She gestured between them.

“You know, I’ve never gotten to experience this before—the whole in love thing. My relationships have always been more like situationships. So this…us going on dates and getting photographed together and all this fake shit—its the only time I’ve ever experienced it.” She frowned, turning away from him and stealing the bottle from his hands to take another swig. “God, I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been kissed let alone loved.”

“I thought you just got out of a relationship?” Dieter finally spoke up, his brows laced together as he studied her tragic beauty. She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Hadn’t seen him in person in months. And even then, it was just sex. I can try to lie to myself, but at the end of the day…it’s always just been sex with these guys. No one’s ever loved me—not how I long to be, at least.” Dieter found himself reaching to hold her bare thigh, not out of anything sexual, just simply needing to be close to her to let her know he understood her.

Dieter had never been well-loved, had always felt an all-consuming hunger for it since we was just a little boy. Born to a Hollywood film executive and an actress, his parents were never around to show him what it felt like to be loved unconditionally. If he wanted his parents to show up for him, he had to be the best of the best, had to get the lead role, had to provide some sort of proof that he was worthy of their affection. Love was always transactional and never fulfilling, which explains why he avoided the entire concept as an adult like the fucking plague.

“How are you so okay with this life?” Violet turned to him, her eyes bouncing across his features.

They were practically strangers, and yet, there was this unmistakable familiarity whenever they looked at each other. Pain recognizes pain, he supposed.

“I’m not,” he shook his head, brows furrowed. “I’m not okay.”

“You seem okay.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He tugged the bottle back, downing a hefty swig before continuing with a shake of his head. “I’ve spent the last twenty years of my fucking career coddling myself with sex and drugs and art and fuck—anything that makes me feel alive because I’m fucking not.”

He laid his head back against the cabinet with a thunk, eyes closing as he tried to remember the last time he allowed himself to be so open with someone he hardly knew.

“I’m just fucking here on this shithole of a planet, making millions off pretending to be all these people capable of love and happiness and good and bad and a whole fucking range of emotions that I never had the chance to fucking develop—“ He turned to her, taken aback by how focused she was on him. “I’ve never felt a single real thing in my fucking life.”

“I’m real,” she offered, shrugging and curling her lip into a half smile.

“But you’re not,” he reminded, reaching up to pinch her chin. “If it hadn’t been for our teams putting us together, you’d just be Violet Apollo to me, and I’d just be Dieter Bravo to you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this is anything more than another fucking ruse to market us as likable people when we’re no more likable than anybody else, maybe less than.”

“Fine,” she straightened her posture, shifting a bit so that she was facing him. “But if everything is pretend and nothing means anything, let me buy into it for a second.”

His brows furrowed as he watched her lean in, her lips waiting a couple inches in front of his.

“Kiss me and let me imagine it’s love.” Her demand was no more than a whisper, his breath hitching as his eyes frantically combed over her face for any signs of regret. “If I’m already destined to be nothing more than a showpony, at least let me pretend I got to choose this one thing.”

“Come here,” he rasped as he tugged her onto his lap, hands holding her face as he pulled her to his lips with the sort of urgency that only two people deprived of affection could muster. Their lips moved sloppily against each other, teeth clashing and tongues swirling together. Violet held onto the velvet of his button down, balling the expensive fabric in her fists as though her life depended on it.

“God, traffic was crazy out there—“ Lucy walked into the kitchen in work mode, letting out a gasp at the sight in front of her—Violet’s dress ridden up around her hips, straddling Dieter’s lap, the sound of soft moans and wet kisses filling the room. “Oh, god—s-sorry. Dieter, your car’s out front.”

“Okay,” he sighed, moving to rest his forehead against Violet’s only for her to pull away, her eyes unable to meet his as she scrambled to stand up. He swallowed the rejection, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be hurt over it because it was all fucking pretend. Still, the sting in his chest as she wiped her mouth with a paper towel refused to go away. “I’ll, uh, see you next week at the airport?”

“Yeah.” Violet nodded, her eyes remaining downwards. Dieter clenched his jaw, flickering his eyes to her assistant before making his exit in silence. He didn’t need to stick around to be reminded that no matter what he tried to sell in order to be loved, no one ever seemed to want it.

Present Day — NYC

“You okay?” Violet reached over and touched Dieter’s knee in the backseat, bringing his eyes to hers. He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can talk to me.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you, Violet. Fuck.” He stared at her with disdain, making her heart clench in a way she hadn’t realized it would. “Are you so fucking lost in all this that you really can’t imagine that I don’t want to fucking open up to you? Just because you hold my hand and drunkenly kiss me doesn’t mean that I owe you insight into my fucking mind.”

“Dieter, I’m sorry—“

“You’re not my fucking girlfriend, you’re not my friend, get out of your fucking fictional fantasies for a second and look me in the eyes when I tell you that you aren’t shit to me but an obligation.” Dieter stared at her without a single ounce of emotion on his face, Violet nodding and turning away so that he wouldn’t see the way tears welled in her eyes.

The SUV rolled up to the sidewalk in front of Rockefeller Center, cameras flashing into the SUV in hopes of a candid shot. Violet turned back towards Dieter, the only thing worse than being seen crying in front of her fake partner was the horde of press right outside. The sound of cheers and her name being called from the crowd of fans that had waited all day just to catch a glimpse of her made her only want to cry even more.

Her life was perfect, she was beautiful and successful, her fans adored her, and yet there was still this fucking ache inside that never went away no matter how many overpriced therapists or fleeting substances she went to for relief.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Dieter reached over and wiped her cheeks free of the stray tears that had fallen, impressed by how well her makeup was holding up through the wetness. She nodded, meeting his eyes for only a couple seconds before she was pulling a compact out of her purse, opening it to check out the state of her eyes. Without needing to ask, Dieter handed her his bottle of eye drops before stepping out of the car and walking over to her side. Violet batted away the water from her eyes and took in a deep breath, plastering a smile to her face as Dieter opened up her door and leant his hand out for her to take.

“Do I look fine?” Violet asked over the frenzy around them and Dieter nodded, one hand tucking a fallen strand of hair out of her face as his eyes combed over her with admiration. It was hard for her not to buy into this thing between them when he looked at her like that—but he had an Oscar for a reason. This was all just an act.

“You look beautiful,” he leaned forward and kissed her cheek before the pair started off towards the mob waiting for them.

Dieter was never much for all this shit—stopping to greet each and every fan, signing autographs that were likely just going to be sold online afterwards. But Violet took her time, interacting with each and every fan she could, giving them a genuine moment of her time rather than mindlessly signing her name away. He admired her for many things, this just being the newest addition to the list.

“Alright, Violet, Dieter, this way.” Both of them were being dragged into the building by their managers, the silence of the building in contrast to the madness outside fucking with their equilibriums.

“Are you alright?” Dieter leaned in and asked Violet as they were guided through the hallways of the building up to her dressing room. Violet nodded, her face blank and void of all emotion as it faced forward. Dieter clenched his jaw at the distance he forced her into with his harsh words.

What’s that cliche fucking saying? Hurt people hurt people?

“Did you bring my stash?” Violet asked her manager, a woman that still had yet to utter more than a few words to Dieter in the three weeks he’d known her.

“No.” The woman bit back, her eyes scolding as she glared at her client. “You’re doing this sober.”

Violet sighed but agreed anyways—did she ever actually say what she felt?

“Hey,” Dieter whispered to her once they were left alone in the dressing room, his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a metal cigarette case. “I’ve got weed if you—“

“Oh, thank god,” she jumped at the chance to smoke, plucking the joint from his fingers and walking over to the bathroom. “You coming?”

“Sure,” he nodded, walking into the en-suite with her and closing the door behind him. He grabbed a towel from the rack, stuffing it in the crack of the door by the floor while she lit up the joint.

“Thank you for this,” she spoke as she breathed out the smoke, already looking more calmed. “And I know you don’t want to talk about it anymore, and I won’t after this but…I am sorry. Not so much about the kiss, but about the way I pushed you away after. I just…could tell where my mind was taking me and I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to get so lost in this illusion that I actually start to believe that this is more than just…an arrangement. I’m sorry for crossing that line and then acting like it never happened.”

“And I’m sorry about the shit I said before.” He accepted the joint and took a big inhale, keeping his eyes on hers in the hazy, smoke-filled room. “You’re not an obligation, Violet. I…enjoy having you around. You make this shit a little more tolerable.”

“Yeah, you do too.” She smiled at him through the haze, chuckling to herself after a beat.

“What?” He asked, smile matching hers.

“Nothing, nothing,” she dismissed with a grin, taking another it. Dieter stepped closer to her, the drug taking effect on him and fucking with his good decision making skills as he backed her against the wall. Violet’s lips were parted as she looked at him, his lips just a few inches away from hers. “It was just…a pretty good kiss, right?”

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed, voice low and soft. His eyes bounced back and forth between hers and her lips, head leaning in slowly to close the gap between them until…

“Alright, you two! Get out here, hair and makeup are ready!” Dieter sighed at the sound of Violet’s manager on the other side of the door, banging on it and ruining the peace of the drug-induced moment.

As Dieter pulled away, Violet shocked him by tugging him close again, her hands on either side of his bearded jaw as her lips crashed against his. He groaned into the kiss, pushing her back against the wall with his hands on her hips.

“We’re making another bad decision,” he mumbled, lips still pressed against hers. She nodded in response but deepened the kiss, her arms crossing behind his neck. “Friends kiss sometimes, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, trailing her lips down his jaw and neck, biting lightly on the exposed skin covering his collarbone. Dieter hissed and pulled her closer to his body, his cock coming to life in his trousers.

“I’m going to bust the door down in 3…2…—“ Dieter whipped the door open, the smoke flooding into the dressing room. Both managers waved the smell of weed out of their faces as their talents emerged in much better moods than they’d left them.

“Dieter, you’re supposed to be making sure she’s okay, not getting her fucked up before she goes on national television,” Andrea scolded, but Dieter couldn’t find it in him to care.

“She is okay. Maybe you two should try smoking—calm you down a little,” Dieter plopped down on the sofa while Violet sat down in the chair in front of the vanity, her makeup artist touching up her makeup while her hair stylist tended to her brown locks, taking them out of the updo it was in and styling it in cascading old-Hollywood waves down her shoulders and back.

“Listen to me—“ Andrea sat down by her client, friend, and occasional fuck buddy. “Leave her alone. Do you hear me? No funny business, no getting her in the sack—none of it. This is work, not pleasure. Are you fucking listening to me?”

“Yes, boss.” He turned to her and shrugged. “No funny business from me.”

“God, you’re insufferable.” She stood up and walked out, leaving Dieter to watch as Violet ran through some of the questions the show had pre-selected.

She reminded him of all the silver screen starlets that he adored so much as a little boy, his mother having forced him to watch Casablanca and Gilda long before she ever allowed him to indulge in Indiana Jones and Star Wars. They all had this sort of tragic beauty about them, as flawless as a porcelain doll on the outside but one look into their eyes and you could see just how fucking shattered they were.

Violet Apollo was effortlessly beautiful, but beyond her physical looks, there was a depth to her that Dieter was almost scared to dip his toes into. What if he never surfaced from it? What if he drowned in the ocean of her soul and never made it back to land? Forty years of keeping people at arms distance wasn’t easy to break out of, but here he was, sitting there watching her get her hair done, dreaming about what it would be like to wake up to her in his bed—in his life, for real.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about over there, Bravo?” He was shocked to find her paying as close attention to him as he was to her, her manager also looking surprised by their friendly relationship.

“Do you snore?” He asked with a smile, Violet scoffing and shaking her head.

“No, I sleep like a beautiful little angel. It’s a privilege to watch, really.” She joked, grinning at him.

“I bet it is.” There was no sarcasm in his tone, and the soft sincerity of the response clearly took her by surprise, her grin fading into a soft smile as she turned away from him.

“What about you? Do you snore?” She asked after a few beats of silence, her team finishing up on her hair and makeup.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, watching as she stood up and walked over to the clothing rack with about seven different outfit options. “You wanna come to bed with me and find out?”

Dieter ignored the glare her manager shot his way, too amused by the flush on her cheeks as she picked out a Barbie pink strapless mini-dress and matching heels.

“Maybe a raincheck?” She winked at him before walking into the bathroom with her stylist, emerging a few minutes later in the tight number that hugged every single one of her curves.

Dieter wanted to remind himself that this wasn’t a good idea—going down this messy rabbit hole where she was sometimes his friend, sometimes more. It would only end in a heaping pile of shit, but with the way her golden skin contrasted with the bright pink, her legs glowing as she slipped on her heels, the cascade of waves falling over her shoulder, he was done for.

“Alright, we’re on in five,” a producer popped their head in, making a face at the smell of weed but choosing not to acknowledge it. Violet held her hand out for Dieter, smiling at him.

“Come on, honey.”

•••

“Everybody loves you, man, I haven’t seen anything like it,” Jimmy Fallon sat rambling on with compliments, hardly giving her any room to speak but she was fine with that. “Have you been on TikTok recently? I mean, everyone is stoked about you in this role.”

“Yeah, it’s wild,” she chuckled and shrugged. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all, you know? One minute I’m doing indie films and can go anywhere without being recognized and the next I’m in a Spielberg movie? It’s ridiculous and amazing.”

“That’s not the only change that’s happened as of recently,” Jimmy cheesed at the camera as he lifted a picture of her and Dieter exiting a New York City restaurant. “You’re also dating Dieter Bravo—who by the way is just one of the most incredible actors alive, I think.”

“Yeah, he’s truly an amazing guy,” she waited for the audience to finish cheering in agreement. “Even getting to just know him is a gift that I cherish dearly. He’s a stunning man.”

“It’s so good to see you both so happy, and we’re so glad to have you here. Violet Apollo, everybody.”

Dieter was waiting for Violet backstage, giving her a hug once she walked up to him with a relieved sigh.

“God, I never wanna do another talk show again.” He chuckled and guided her back to the dressing room with his hand on her upper back, the bodyguards around them taking a backseat. “Did you like how sickeningly sweet I was when I was talking about you?”

“It could’ve been a little sweeter, my stomach doesn’t quite hurt yet.” She nudged his side, the two in a completely different place with each other than they had been just a few hours prior. Both of them hoped that this wouldn’t fade, that once they were done with the charade for the day that there would still be this sort of easy going understanding and friendship between them, unlike all the other times before. “Hey, I, uh, I know this pizza spot. Super low key. You wanna…go grab a slice and some beer?”

“Oh? Is that—do we need to have someone call the paparazzi?” She asked as she slipped out of her heels and grabbed the more casual clothes she came here in.

“No, no. This is…uh, it’s just us.” Violet looked at him with shock, and for a minute he regretted having asked at all, but when she smiled at him he couldn’t help but smile back. “That a yeah?”

“Sure, D. I’d like that.” He was grinning from ear to ear as he watched her disappear into the bathroom to change, feeling giddy in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—possibly ever.

This wasn’t anything triumphant—just a slice of pizza and normalcy—but he couldn’t help but feel like a winner. Now that they’d gotten past the first speed bump and found their groove, who knew what could happen for them next?

“Ready, Bravo?” She walked out with a smile, no longer in her glammed state but still just as beautiful.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Apollo.”

•••

dieter taglist: @browneyes-issac @wildemaven @laureliciousdefinition @trinkets01 @paulalikestuff (please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

[totally-not-deacon]

WIP Wednesday, Baby!

Thank you for tagging me @throughtrialbyfire!! Gonna tag @molliehaswords, @bokatan, and @kemendin, as well as whoever reads this! Consider your ass tagged!

Anywho, I've gone on like, a massive writing binge that showed up outta nowhere, so the hard part's gonna be what to actually post lmao. I think I'll go ahead and give you a snippet of the next chapter of Arenthia Red. We're at the top of the roller coaster baby, and it's all downhill from here!

“Are, um…” Lucien hesitated, taking the drink she offered gratefully. “Are you alright?”

“That obvious, huh?” she groaned, yanking the cork from her bottle, taking a long drink before continuing. “I will be. Just, ugh, not only did we get dragged halfway across the province over a hunch an old Blade had, it had to be the most insufferable one I’ve had the displeasure to meet.”

“You’ve met other Blades? When?” Marasa gave him a flat look, tapping on the Dominion insignia on her brigandine. “Oh… right.”

“Yes, I did not like the way she tried to push you around. We do not know her.” agreed Inigo before grinning. “Though I think you got under her skin just as much. That was quite fun to watch.”

“She certainly rubbed me the wrong way as well. And Inigo is right,” Xelzaz chimed in. “If she’s a Blade, and you’re Dragonborn – isn’t she supposed to take orders from you?”

“Well, no one said she was good at her job.” Rooting through his pack, Nebarra grumbled without looking up – seemingly getting more annoyed by the second while his bottle sat untouched. Marasa bumped his shoulder, holding a spare reed out for him. He looked at her – presumably curiously, not that she could tell – for a moment before taking it with a quick, mumbled thanks.

Their conversation ebbed and flowed as some grabbed a hot meal, or in Marasa and Nebarra’s case, a few more rounds. She was just happy to take the conversation off of Delphine and on to… anything else, really. Lucien and Xelzaz had gotten into some kind of scientific debate she wasn’t even going to pretend to understand, so she tuned them out. Instead, she and Inigo reminisced about the jobs they’d done when she first arrived to Skyrim – the ones she could remember, anyway. Even Nebarra spoke up a few times. Despite her insisting her forgiveness, even if it was a bit slurred by now, Inigo still expressed guilt over how their partnership had ended. She wouldn’t let him continue the self-flagellation, though, and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“C’mon, tell me something fun!” she hiccuped, well into her third bottle by now. Her volume had been steadily increasing with each one and the other bar patrons were beginning to take notice. She could very much be a loud drunk. “Besides the Rift, what’s your favorite place you’ve been to?”

“Well, my brother and I spent a lot of time in Cyrodiil. The trees in the Great Forest were very pretty in the autumn, almost as nice as the Rift.” She nodded along, though her smile faltered, brows knitting together. Maybe talk of the forest made her feel homesick, he reasoned. He’d skim over that, then. “We found much work in the area, especially in Chorrol. There were many beasts and bandits that needed to be taken care of. We had a great time there.”

“C-Chorrol…?”

Something about her tone immediately caught Nebarra’s attention.

“Yes! If you have not been, I recommend you visit. It is a very nice city.” When she didn’t respond, his tone softened, colored with concern. “My friend?”

“I…” Her throat felt dry, armor felt too tight – too hard to breathe. Their eyes were all on her, she knew they were, boring into her, watching every move. Her chest pounded, and she could feel sweat pricking the back of her neck. She needed… She needed –

Marasa shot to her feet and turned heel to her room, not looking back and slamming the door behind her. The table fell silent, all of them watching where she’d gone. Inigo’s cheery attitude fell guilt-ridden once again, ears pinned back. He wasn’t sure what happened, but it had to be his fault. He was about to follow her when Nebarra held a hand up.

“Don’t. Let her be.”

“But I need to apologize. I do not know what I said, but I have made her upset –”

“Do it later.” he said firmly.

[melanie-ohara]

Like a Broken Sail - Chapter 2

Whumpuary2024, Day 16 - Prompt: Muffled Screams

Meagan Foster overhears something she shouldn't

I really like going somewhere unexpected with the prompts and I think this turned out pretty great, definitely read it if you've played Dishonored 2

AO3 Here

Meagan reached behind the kitchen cabinet and felt around for the bottle stashed there. It was a Tyvian red, and a fine vintage according to Sokolov. Wine wasn't normally her drink of choice, but she thought Alexandria Hypatia might like it - and she was sure Emily would deduce the hiding place eventually. For a royal, she had remarkably sticky fingers and a strange fascination with theft. She finally found the neck of the dusty bottle and levered it out from behind the cabinet before blowing dust off the label and opening the cupboard for the cleanest pair of glasses she could find. 

Hypatia was a stranger to her, but she knew something of the pain she must feel. The cruelty inflicted by her grim alter ego haunted her, despite her inability to remember what she had done with her body at the time. Meagan remembered being an instrument of death for people above her station, and understood the mark it left on a soul. She thought they could share a drink together and commiserate on lives taken for a purpose they didn't understand - but as she approached her door, she heard the sound of voices from within. For a moment her skin prickled with fear: if Grim Alex had somehow asserted herself, Meagan wasn't sure she could fight her off with just a bottle of wine and one arm.

Then she heard the voices overlapping, and recognised Emily's rolling Gristol accent and Hypatia's bashful laughter, and a different feeling took hold. As quietly as she could, she placed the glasses on the side table and crept past the door to the stairs. She could have knocked, of course - Emily was always happy to share her company and the presence of wine would make the young Empress very happy - but she didn't want to dampen Hypatia's good mood. Outsider's Eyes, the woman deserved it, and her melancholy company would only upset her, and remind her of the brutality her body could commit. Meagan opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. The sun was setting over Karnaca, and the warm orange light of the fading day glittered on the water and bathed the distant rooftops. She pulled up a chair and sat by the railing, just above Hypatia's room. If she focused, she could just hear their voices filtering up through the deck. It felt… companionable, in a way, to sit with them like that. 

She tucked the bottle between her thighs and used her knife to pop the cork out of the neck. Pouring a glass one handed without a table proved too difficult so she abandoned the idea in favour of swigging directly from the bottle. It brought back memories of stolen liquor and rooftops and, of course, Deidre. Everything always reminded her of Deidre, especially now, on the trail of Duke Abele. With great difficulty, she drowned the thought with a long gulp of wine. There was melancholy and there was misery, and she would rather indulge in a little self-pity than confront her life's most crippling loss. She tried to make out Emily and Alexandria's conversation, but they had fallen quiet and all she could hear was the lapping of the waves against the hull and the chirps of the seabirds above. After a moment of quiet, Meagan heard music from Hypatia's audiograph machine. She recognised the tune, even though the wood swallowed up all but the bass notes, and hummed along tunelessly as she drank her wine. In the distance, a whale breached the surface of the water and crashed down again with a splash of sea spray. Calm settled over the bay, and for a while Meagan Foster felt at peace.

That peace was broken by a muffled scream. Meagan leaped to her feet, almost dropping the bottle in her haste to prepare for a fight. She wasn't sure if she'd heard Emily or Alexandria cry out, but either way she was too exposed on deck. There was the hatch that led directly down to Hypatia's room, which would give her the element of surprise, or she could drop down into Sokolov's room and retrieve a weapon before - another sound interrupted her planning. Another scream, but longer and louder this time. And this time, the pleasure laced through it was unmistakable.

"Oh," Meagan said, so surprised she didn't realise she'd spoken aloud for a moment. It was Hypatia's voice, she thought, strained and unfamiliar but with a hint of Serkonos that couldn't possibly be the Empress. Meagan couldn't help chuckling and reached down for the bottle. Really, she should leave the pair of them to their evening together and take the bottle up the watchtower, but instead she dropped back into the chair and took a long swig of wine. She'd done worse than listen in on coupling before - including to Emily personally - and it had been so long since she'd heard a woman wracked with pleasure. She realised then that she had been hoping to coax sounds like those from Alexandria herself - maybe not tonight, but certainly before she left the Dreadful Wale again. Another reason to be jealous of Emily, alongside her two arms, two eyes, and ability to take to the streets the way she had when she was young. Not that she could resent Hypatia for falling for the Empress' charms. She had an easy swagger to her that made Meagan think of the pirates she'd known, mixed paradoxically with the elegance and class of her station. If Meagan was ten years younger…

She shuddered. The woman she was then had been an accomplice to the murder of Emily's mother, and she had personally thrown her into a trunk to be taken to the vile Pendleton twins. She had only been a child, and Meagan - Billie Lurk - hadn't given it a second thought. Even now, of all the things she wished she could do again, it barely reached the top ten. A thud of a fist pounding against the inner hull shook the thought free and she took another drink. The bottle was getting light.

Hypatia had to be nearly twice Emily's age, Meagan thought idly. Ten years ago, the Empress taking an older lover would have been powerful gossip, now she wondered if it would even raise eyebrows in Gristol - though maybe the Royal Consort Wyman would have something to say about Emily burying her tongue in someone else like that. With a snort, Meagan emptied the bottle and swallowed it down. Thanks to Sokolov and all his politicking, she couldn't even spy on illicit sex without thinking about the political implications in the capital. She was getting old.

She ignored the Billie Lurk urge to toss the bottle over the side, and got up to go to bed.

[blamemma]

Okay I’ve watched 3 episodes of full contact gonna watch the rest tomorrow and I’m in different minds about it. I like the plucking of a player from a team but I also want to know about that team as a team. Even if they gave a rundown about which players are there in each team per episode and roles etc. But again I understand certain players are not interested in it at all.

Surprised by that Ireland episode and what we got considering that rumour of Peter O’Mahony closing the door telling the cameras to fuck off during one match. But what I wouldn’t give to see Peter showing off his gardening down in Cork too.

I also think I’m experiencing from this what I did in the last season of dts which is, I know the sport and what is going to happen. I’m excited to see how the season is going to unfold fully because I do have 5 episodes left. Can say not a fan of Negri or Russell after this so far. I think Farrell would’ve been such an interesting player to focus on but he is very media shy along with other stuff surrounding him at the moment. I do have a soft spot for Andrew Porter especially because of how outspoken he is with his mental health and it takes balls to do that, even opening that conversation.

i definitely get what you mean! i also have only watched 3 eps so I can't judge the whole thing yet, but to me there are two things missing

emphasis on team camaraderie and looking at the bigger, whole picture of a rugby team rather than just individuals. number 10 is a very important jersey, but actually that position can't play well and find opportunities if the other players around him aren't also playing well

there is no explanations.....at all. if i was a new rugby fan, tuning in to learn more about rugby and the way it works i'd have no idea. what's a scrum? what's the scoring system? what causes a penalty kick? what's a lineout? so many of those things are glossed over and not explained. i know sometimes will buxton's explanations can be funny and meme-y, but actually i think they're so important to explain the simple things to the newer audience you're trying to capture!! to me, full contact won't actually do much to bring in a wider larger audience because it doesn't do enough to appeal to that group?? I'd be interested to know how you feel about that and what your level of rugby knowledge is??

i must admit tho, i v much fell in love with negri a little bit after his episode....idk what it is but i was like ahhh he's an okay chap actually!! he definitely won't be the stand out italy player from full contact (if there's an episode of ange capuozzo then he'll sweep the board) but i enjoyed his parts alongside porter. it's hard not to love anyone from the ireland team tho!!! glad to hear ur a fellow finn russel hater also <3

[zeebreezin]

desuetude & assuage for B >:3

Desuetude - they’ve made it to the seventh city. What relics of their past in London are they still holding onto?

Their key, without a doubt. Even so many years after the issue with the trunk has been resolved, B considers the key the symbol of their new life. I can imagine they’d also have kept a few other sentimental items, too - ticket stubs from Mahogany Hall, faded scraps of paper, old wine corks, buttons from coats a hundred years out of fashion… small things that only really have meaning to them, anymore.

Assuage - is there something that makes them feel better almost every time?

Singing! B’s a pretty good singer, though they don’t tend to make it part of their performances. They are absolutely the kind of person to make up weird little songs while stressed out, though, and tend to hum while they work. It’s comforting! If you’re around B long enough, you’d notice that they tend to sing/hum along to a set number of tunes. They don’t remember the proper words to whatever they’re singing, though. The melody’s just… comforting, for some reason. Familiar.