#either way she has kind of given up on sleeping this night))

[reignpage]

The Other Woman

The doctors and psychologists said it’d be great for your husband’s well-being to be with friends and family. And for the most part, that’s proven true. 

Insisting on welcoming Satoru back properly, his students organised a party and invited anyone who had a remote connection with their teacher. Even Nanami had taken time off from work to be here and had given a polite pat on his shoulder and a genuine greeting. 

That brought a huge smile to the white-haired man who pounced on the poor guy without remorse, giggling about how he knew he ‘always liked him really’. It felt great to watch him be surrounded by and showered with so much love and support, the kind he deserves; you could tell it was bringing life back to him. After all, it must have been painful for him to have been cooped up in the house trying to reconcile his new reality with the one he remembers. 

You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Satoru needs this. 

He needs normalcy. The normal he remembers, the normal he went to sleep thinking about and not the one he had suddenly woken up to, years passing him by. 

Everyone knows this. He knows this. Just as you do. 

So why is every person in the party sneaking you pitying and concerned glances?

Sure, no one could possibly think this is easy for you, to be the stranger that Satoru still gets surprised to see in the morning. The one he hesitates to say goodnight to, unsure of the boundaries, the etiquette, the right thing to do. He sometimes forgets to text you if he’s going out, shocked and annoyed, you’re sure, to see the many missed calls and messages from you. And you know he studies the picture frames all over your house like a textbook that would give him all the answer he needs.

All he gets, you’re willing to bet, is the realisation that you’re both the tether he needs to keep grounded, that guides him through the sea of memories he cannot touch, and the leash that binds him to a role he doesn’t remember signing up for. 

Are they looking at you with worry because of the inevitable toll this sudden shift has taken on your mental health or because your husband is talking to his ex-girlfriend the way he used to talk to you?

It can’t be the latter, right?

Because there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Satoru is simply catching up, trying to stitch up the crater-sized hole in his memory with a familiar face. There’s no reason for your hand to shake as you sip your drink or for your eyes to keep darting back over to them, sat alone at a table like they’re the only people in here. 

He’s laughing, throwing his head back and making that obnoxious cackle you love to hear. Loved. Because this one isn’t for you. It’s for her. The woman he shouldn’t be near, the woman he shouldn’t even think about, shouldn’t let touch his arm. 

You’re the wife. 

You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

He’s wearing it. Just not on the hand attached to the arm strung over the back of her chair like he’s protecting her from the rest of the world. Hell, maybe he is. Maybe his infinity is on and covering her. But you don’t have it in you to throw something at them to find out. Either result would be just as humiliating as the other. 

There’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t interrupt. 

Because Satoru needs to know what he said goodbye to all those years ago to know what he says ‘hey, pretty lady’ and ‘good morning, gorgeous’ to now. Or used to say. Now, you’re lucky if he even looks at you without shuffling his feet. 

Eventually, the night draws to its natural end. 

People bid their farewells twice, once to him and her, and then to you. Each time breaks your heart even more until you feel it crumble inside, little shards falling to pieces he won’t pick up. She stands before you, a small, shy smile, like she knows what she’s done. And says it’s ‘lovely to meet you’, and of course you can’t say it back. 

Not when you had been introduced by your name, ‘my beautiful wife’ going nowhere near the tip of his tongue as if those words had never been uttered by your husband. And not when she had been introduced in a hastily withdrawn, stuttered freudian slip of hell’. 

“This is my girlfr— Sorry, I mean, my friend. From high school. Yeah, high school.”

Satoru blushes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he waves goodbye to her. And you can tell he finds the act lacklustre, an uninspired, unnatural way to say goodbye to the woman you woke up to and slept beside. 

“Did you have a good time?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lip as he casts his gaze across the room, sweeping by the empty hall like he can still see every single person that came. “It was nice to see everyone and catch up.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t ask if you enjoyed the evening because you can’t lie to him but you also can’t tell the truth, can’t burden him anymore with the reminder that he doesn’t fill the shoes of your husband, that he continues to stumble with every step, dragging you down with him. 

So, instead, you fill the silence with a question that is so harmless, so normal it slips out before you can even think to anticipate the devastating crack that goes through your very soul. 

“Ready to go home?”

Satoru nods.

But he’s looking at a seat in the back. 

A seat that’s probably still warm. A seat you could never fill because you aren’t the woman he thought, hoped, he would marry. 

You’re just the woman he did. 

[thevalicemultiverse]

It's 4am. You need sleep. ( . from maddie to alice ! )

"I'm aware," Alice groans, with her head on the dining table. "But it's just not happening tonight." She glances at the clock. "Or to-morning, perhaps -- 4 AM's close enough, right?"

[nikkento-writes]

Rub You the Right Way - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.7k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio, 69 position), mutual masturbation, face-riding, face-fucking, use of sex toys, cum eating, multiple orgasms

Summary: You can’t stop thinking about your adorably sweet and shy next-door neighbor, especially after your very eventful night with him just two days ago. Lucky for you, Choso can’t stop thinking about you either.

Author’s Notes: I initially planned for this to be a one-shot, but I love the dynamic of these two awkward dorks so much that I turned this into a three-part mini series! I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Two days following your risqué rendezvous with Choso, you find yourself standing in front of his door once again, a tad nervous to knock. It’s Sunday night, just past dinnertime, and you finally finished all the extra work you had taken home with you for the weekend. With hours spent pouring over documents, straining your eyes at a computer screen, all you want is to relax. And based on Friday night’s festivities, your shy and surprisingly sexy neighbor can help you with that.

You’re not here explicitly expecting sex. Sure, maybe you’re hoping for it to some extent. It was incredibly hot, so much so that you’ve masturbated yourself to sleep every night since, replaying it in over and over in your head. The fucked-out gaze in his eyes as he watched you play with yourself. His mouth pressed deliciously to your cunt, sucking and slurping on your swollen clit. That huge fucking cock deep down your throat. Most of all, you adore that swoon worthy smile of his as he caressed your cheek, thanking you oh-so-sweetly. What you really want is companionship, to be wrapped in his big, strong arms, so warm and comforting around you, completely at peace in the world. His lips soft, kisses careful, hands gentle on your body, like he truly cherishes you. You want that again. You want it all the time.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, holding your breath in anticipation. Yuji is the one to answer, equally as surprised as you. He says your name, staring at you curiously. “Is everything okay?”

Of course he’s reacting this way; you’ve never visited, especially not at an odd hour like this. You didn’t even consider that his little brother would be here, even though he’s here basically all the time. You dumb idiot! Thinking quickly, you spit out the most generic and phony response that comes to mind. “Can I borrow some sugar?” Sugar? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?

He doesn’t seem fazed by the bizarre request, though you sense he doesn’t buy it, given the twitch in his lip, hiding his smirk. Still, Yuji, much like his brother, has a kind heart, so he plays along. “Hey bro,” he calls out, looking to his right.

Choso walks over from the kitchen, his eyes widening upon seeing you. He utters your name quietly, soap dripping from the gloves on his hands, in the middle of washing dishes.

“She wants some sugar.” Yuji has a cheeky grin on his face. “Think you can spare her some?”

Choso swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing apprehensively in his throat. “Sugar?” he repeats, an uncertain tone in his voice.

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him an innocent smile. “I’m trying to bake some chocolate chip cookies and I have everything except sugar. So silly of me, right?” You’re not baking anything, but you can’t take it back now, not with Choso’s full attention on you.

He nods with a serious expression on his face, holding his arms up like a surgeon who just finished a procedure, suds slowly dripping down his forearms. “How much do you need?”

“Just a cup. That’s all the recipe calls for. It’s a batch of a dozen, so I really don’t need much.” There is no recipe, the lie keeps getting more and more elaborate, your voice getting squeakier and less convincing every second you speak. You really can’t help yourself when you’re put on the spot like this. Why must you be so goddamn awkward?!

He nods once more before disappearing back into the kitchen to retrieve the sugar you actually don’t need. Yuji continues to grin at you. “Choso bakes a lot, so he’s always got ingredients on hand.”

You’re relieved to change the subject in a slightly different direction. “His cookies are always so yummy.” All of the times Yuji has hand-delivered his brother’s wonderful treats to you flash in your head, making you smile.

“He’s a real sorcerer in the kitchen.” Yuji leans in a bit closer, voice softer now for only you to hear. “You know, he’d be more than happy to teach you a few of his recipes, if you want. He’s shy at first, but he is a really great guy.”

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, he is.” It touches your heart how highly Yuji speaks of his older brother. Under the guise of cooking lessons, he’s implying that he wants the two of you to be together, as friends, cordial neighbors, possibly even potential lovers. Maybe he doesn’t want his brother to be so lonely anymore. 

Choso returns, two zipped plastic bags in his hands. “If you’re baking chocolate chip cookies, you’ll need brown sugar too. So, I packed you both, just in case,” he explains, dropping them into your open palms.

You accept, too shy to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the newly acquired goods. “Thank you, Choso. I really appreciate it.”

He bows, stiff and formal, while Yuji waves. “You sure you don’t want any more of Choso’s sugar? He’s got plenty to give!” he adds, definitely trying to instigate.

Turning on your heel to retreat into your apartment, you squeak, “I’m good, thank you!” without sparing them another glance. In the safety of your home, you lean against the door, burying your face in your hands. so embarrassed at what just transpired, mentally beating yourself up for being so ridiculous. With all this extra sugar so graciously given by Choso, you end up baking cookies, pretending for your own sake that this was part of the plan all along.   

~~~

Choso sits on the couch, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the empty TV in front of him. He’s muttering the word “sugar” over and over to himself, mind racing with all kinds of ridiculous thoughts. Two days after the most amazing night of his life and all you want is sugar. Sugar! And for cookies? Cookies for who?! He’s completely aware that you’ve been busy with work, but he can’t stop his insecurities from rattling him. The two of you didn’t really discuss the status of your relationship.  For all he knows, you could have hated the entire experience all together. Though, he has a hard time believing that, not with the way you looked at him, so full of warmth and adoration, even with his cock throbbing inside your mouth…

He physically shakes his head to rid the impure thoughts, the same ones that he’s touched himself to since that night. His vast collection of toys are no match to the real thing, to you. And he may never get to feel that ever again. Because you’re disgusted by him. You hate him. It’s all over between you two before it even began.

Whelp, back to freaking out.

“Choso?” Yuji’s voice finally snaps him out of his trance. His younger brother approaches him carefully, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, unconvincingly.

Yuji raises his brow. “You sure? You’ve been sitting here, mumbling ‘sugar’ for the past fifteen minutes.”

Fuck! He heard that? Choso blushes, embarrassed to have been caught in such a sorry state. He stutters, making a poor attempt at explaining himself. “Well, you see…I’ve been…I have a…I think that – ”

Yuji laughs, taking a seat beside him. “If you want to talk to her, just do it! I already put in a good word for you,” he says with a wink, giving him a playful nudge.

Choso gapes at him. “You…what?”

He beams, pleased with himself. “Yeah, I said you could teach her a few things in the kitchen and I think she’s interested! I mean, she did want your sugar, if you know what I mean.” More nudging and ribbing while Choso buries his face into his hands, horrified. “She’s really nice and super easy to talk to. I’m sure the two of you can become really good friends.”

Friends. Sweet baby Yuji doesn’t even know the half of it. Choso sighs, finally straying from the path of an existential crisis. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” he says quietly. 

Yuji puts his arm around him, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “You won’t, I promise you. Just be yourself.”

He meets his gaze, giving him a half-hearted smile, genuinely feeling a bit better after that little pep talk. They watch a movie together, temporarily taking Choso’s mind off the whole ordeal. He tries not to think about you or the cookies you’re currently baking, or that he’s totally jealous of this new imaginary love rival of his that will be the recipient of said cookies.

Yuji leaves at eleven to catch one of the last busses back to his university. Choso decides that he’s sick of sulking around and tormenting himself with outrageous theories. He puts on his best sweats and fixes his hair so that slightly less strands are sticking out from his poofy buns. Back straight, chest puffed out, and all the confidence he can muster, he marches next door, determined to tell you exactly how he’s feeling.

~~~

You’re sitting at the kitchen table in a bathrobe, having just finished eating one of your  freshly baked cookies. You decided during your shower to finally give one of your newer gadgets a try, a sleekly designed vibrating dildo made from the softest silicone material you can imagine. The toy and a bottle of lube are set up on the nightstand beside your bed, ready to use along with the memory of riding Choso’s gorgeous face. While you wish you were actually with him instead, your efforts from earlier didn’t go the way you were hoping. This will have to do for now, at least until you gather the guts to approach him again.

Just as you’re about to retire into the bedroom, there’s a knock on your door. To your surprise, Choso stands before you, stiff and very obviously nervous. “Hi,” he says, giving you an awkward wave that you find absolutely adorable.

You smile, opening the door wider for him to enter. “Hi. Come in.”

He shuffles through, pausing at the kitchen table to observe the plate of cookies you made with the sugar he gave you. “So…cookies,” he mutters.

You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah, cookies.”

There’s a heavy pause, the both of you trying to find the right words to say to one another. You decide to be honest with him, but it comes out the same time he asks you the question that’s been gnawing on his mind all night.

“I want be with you.”

“Who are they for?”

You stare at each other, confused. Taking a step towards him, you explain, “I came over to see if you wanted to hang out, but I chickened out when I saw your brother. I made up some dumb excuse, hence the request for sugar. I ended up baking cookies anyways to make myself feel better.”

His expression softens, sighing in relief. “I freaked out not being able to see you all weekend. And when you came over asking for sugar, I got jealous that you were baking for somebody else.” He rubs the back of his neck timidly, a small grin on his face. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

Another step and you’re close enough to touch him, but you don’t. “Not at all. I’m the one who came up with the lamest lie ever. Your brother probably thinks I’m a weirdo.”

He chuckles. “He definitely doesn’t.”

You’re only an inch apart now, enough to feel his body heat. “I meant what I said. I want to be with you.”

His eyes wander to your chest, your robe loose and barely clinging to you. He swallows hard and you can tell that he’s losing his composure too. “You do?”

“I do.” You peer up at him with a smile, wanting so badly to hug him, to kiss him.

His voice is quiet, but the surest you’ve ever heard it. “I want to be with you too.”

Your chest swells with happiness, ready to burst and shoot out confetti all over his pretty face. He’s staring at your lips now, licking his own when he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You grin at him, tugging at the collar of his sweater to pull him towards you, pressing your mouth to his. He holds you in a warm embrace, kissing you gently, one hand on your lower back, the other spread across the nape of your neck. “You taste so good,” he whispers, sucking on your bottom lip.

“That’s because I just ate a cookie,” you giggle, nuzzling your nose to his.

“Nah,” he smirks, licking into your mouth. “You taste good everywhere.”

You let out a moan, leading him straight into your bedroom where you untie the knot of your robe, revealing your bare body. He slides the rest off, watching you lie on the bed, legs spread wide, pussy on display for him. His kisses start at your ankles, then slowly up your legs, where he sucks on the plush skin of your inner thighs. You let him ravish you, toes curling in pleasure with his tongue flat on your clit, lapping you up hungrily. “Choso,” you whine his name, gripping onto his hair, bucking against his face to feel him even deeper.

He hums into your skin, his lips puckered tight around you, tongue flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up at you, enjoying your fucked-out expression. Something beside you captures his attention for a moment, distracting him. “What is that?”

You’re too caught up in the pleasure that you don’t register what he’s asking you until he pulls off to investigate, laser focused on the object on your nightstand. You quickly grab it from him, horrified when you realize what he’s so fixated on: the dildo. “It’s just one of my toys. I thought we wouldn’t hang out tonight, so I…” your voice trails off, noticing the intensity in his gaze. Hot, flustered, and not keen on elaborating any further, you comment, “Anyways, I’ll just put this away now – ”

He stops you. “No. Don’t. Don’t put it away.”

“Don’t…?”

A little too Intrigued, he scooches closer to you, studying the device in your hand. “Can you show me how you use it?”

You’ve already demonstrated the vibrator for him. For some reason, you’re shy to show him this. Maybe it’s because of how intimate it feels to have something inside you, to be probed, penetrated, filled. But as he looks at you so sweetly, eyes filled with genuine curiosity, you find yourself giving in. “Okay,” you oblige hesitantly, reaching for the lube bottle, your entire body tingling. You pump a small drop of it on the tip, using your fingers to coat the rest on.

He watches you, mouth hanging open, drool leaking from one side of his lips, mesmerized by the way you rub it up and down your cunt, teasing yourself with it. “What do you think about when you use it?”

You giggle, pressing the toy to your clit. “Do you really have to ask?”

“You think about me?” The surprise in his voice is endearing; he has no clue the effect he has on you, how badly you want him, how incredibly fucking hot he is.

“Of course I do,” you answer, gaining some of your confidence back. You pull him towards you, kissing him fervently, sliding the tip to your entrance, slick with arousal. “Look at what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, growing erection bulging in his sweatpants, eyes glazed over as he ogles your wet cunt. “Fuck.”

“Like what you see?” you goad him, readjusting your grip on the base so that your thumb is set on the button.

He nods, kissing you along your neck, then up to your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “I want you to squirt all over it. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.”

“Oh fuck, Choso. So nasty,” you moan, easing it inside you, pussy gradually adjusting to the size. You bite your lip at the tight fit; it’s been a while since you’ve used this, and even longer since you've been penetrated by anything, or anyone. “So tight.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” His genuine concern is too cute. He’s too cute.

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s just been a while since I…y’know.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He grazes your forehead with his lips, giving you a soft peck. “I don’t want you to be in any pain.”

You grin wider, finding him so adorably sincere and sweet. “I’m sure, Choso.” With the dildo nestled comfortably inside you, you reach for his hand, resting it on the base. “Can you fuck me with it? Please?”

This spurs him on, a guttural groan escaping him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, completely captivated by you. You cup his cheek, tracing his upper lip with your thumb. He opens his mouth, chasing any taste of you on his tongue. “You’ll really let me?”

You gaze down at his lap, a small spot of precum leaking through his grey sweats. “Only if you stroke yourself while you do it.”

Choso is feverishly turned on right now, face flushed, his entire body scorching hot, cock throbbing in his pants. Your fingers brush his navel on your way to his waistband and he nearly combusts just thinking about your fist wrapped around his shaft, stroking him. He shimmies out of his bottoms, shrugging them off from his ankles until he’s naked from the waist down, rock hard erection flopping against his abdomen.

“Big boy,” you tease him, nipping at his ear lobe, drooling at the sight of him. “You’d fill me up so good.”

“God, I want to so bad,” he grunts, stroking himself with his left hand as his right fucks you with the dildo. Even without the vibration on, it feels amazing, the way he flicks his wrist, pumping the toy in and out of you. He times his thrusts to match the pace in which he strokes himself, wishing he was inside you instead. But he resists the temptation, knowing there’s all the time in the world to explore each other. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, enjoying one another at whatever pace feels right. 

Wanting to check out all of the features this toy offers, he pushes the button, causing it to vibrate inside you. You gasp at the sudden sensation, squirming as he ramps it up two more levels, sliding it even deeper to stimulate your g-spot. It doesn’t take much longer for you to come like this, buzzing inside and out with ecstasy, the toy absolutely soaked down the base with lube and your slick. He pulls it out of you, tossing the dildo aside to marvel at the mess you made. Before he can make his next move, you roll over on top of him, straddling his lap to rub your wet pussy along his shaft. You rock yourself on him, sleek folds gliding up and down his cock so smoothly, just one move and he’d been in heaven.

He’s a stuttering nervous wreck when he asks, “Should we…should we try it, baby?” He knows the two of you shouldn’t; despite all that’s happened in just the past two days, this is a big and monumental step, especially for him, a borderline shut-in with intimacy issues that shouldn’t be resolved from a rash decision. But if you want it, he’s more than willing to give it to you. That’s just the kind of guy Choso is, putting others before himself.

Luckily for him, you see that. You see him. “Not yet,” you say, caressing his face. “We’ll wait until we’re both ready, okay? There’s no need to rush.”

He smiles, releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding waiting for your response. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him softly. “I really like you, Choso. I don’t want to mess this up by going too fast.”

“Me too,” he kisses you back, nearly in tears at how perfectly this is going. “I really like you, too.”

He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing you passionately while you grind yourself on him until the both of you come, out-of-breath, sweaty, and in total bliss. His cum pools on his abdomen, some of it dripping down the side of his stomach onto the sheets below you. You relax on top of him, spent and satiated, but your little rest doesn’t last for long as he lifts you up by the hips, wiggling down the bed so that his face is pressed to your cunt, mouth eagerly lapping at your clit. “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little more for me,” he urges you, unrelenting and determined to fulfill his promise from earlier. Want to lick it up and make you come again and again and again on my tongue.

So you let him, moaning his name wantonly with his lips puckered around you, drinking every drop of you up until he’s had his fill, which is three more orgasms later. He starts stroking himself on the last one, a big smile on his shiny swollen lips as he kisses your clit. You whimper his name for the umpteenth time tonight, hips stiff from constantly grinding against him. Still, you think you could go longer, you want to, despite how exhausted you are. And while you know there’s more to look forward to with Choso, you don’t want this to end. You pull of him, readjusting yourself so that you’re facing the other way, in the perfect position to suck his cock. He growls beneath you, sloppily eating you out while you deep-throat him, hungry for his cum.

~~~

The two of you finally settle down for the night, cuddled in new blankets and bedsheets to replace the ones soaked with the aftermath of tonight’s lovemaking. Choso spoons you from behind, his face nuzzled to the nape of your neck, inhaling your comforting scent. He rubs your belly soothingly, voice a soft whisper on your skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

You smile, turning around to face him, snuggling into his chest. “I told you, I feel amazing. You don’t have to keep worrying.”

He kisses your forehead. “I just want to make sure you’re not sick of me yet.”

This time, you can’t help but laugh. “That’s impossible.” You listen to his heartbeat carefully, trying to memorize the steady rhythm of it. “I can’t get enough of you.”

[heavenbarnes]

I've been chased, almost bit and actuslly bit by many'a dog in my 24 uears of life. Beagle, lab, pitfalls, a retriever and 2 German Shepherds. I now have two German Shepherd mixes [thanks husband] and they're actually kind of nice. Dumb, but protective [protective of the house from our landlord they see every day tho 🤦] and they give me a sense of security when I'm home alone and it's like the dead of night

They're also kind of a police/protection breed. Obviously not these two nuts, but the breed in general. So now, as I sit home alone with these two bozos [and my three cats and like 14 fish] I'm thinking of, like

Does Older bf! Simon get his girl a protection woofer? Rescue or breeder dog? How does that conversation go if he does? Does she think it's overkill or is she thankful for the company when he's gone?

Sorry for the long ass post btws, and the unsolicited pic of the two braincells I call my pets

ok never apologise for pictures of your dogs, they’re so stinkin’ cute 🫶🏼

i think older bf!simon hates being away from you in general but one of his biggest frustrations is that fact he’s left you alone.

he doesn’t like the idea of you being alone in that house and he doesn’t like knowing anything could happen and there’s not a damn thing he could do from so far away.

so yeah, he rescues two dogs (without fkn telling you) and they’re a couple of doberman brothers. they could stand on their back paws and put their front ones on your shoulders, these things are massive and look mean.

naturally, they adore simon and he could walk forever and they’d stay at his side. all he has to do is whistle and they’re on his heel, they don’t even rark up when he’s got his mask on.

you think they don’t like you as much as him, given the fact they spend so much time with him and only seem to tolerate you with food present.

“si, i don’t know why you got them- they much prefer you anyway”

“they like you, sweet’art- everything likes you”

it’s not as if they dislike you, they’ll sleep on the floor on your side of the bed and they’ll sit at your feet under your spot on the couch. sometimes when you’re wandering the house doing chores you can hear their claws on the floor just a few steps behind you.

almost like they’d been trained that way.

simon likes knowing they’re there to keep you company. that if someone chose their misfortune by trying to hurt you and simon wasn’t there to kill them himself? he knows something just as primal as he will do it for him.

so when he comes home from deployment late at night with no warning (as usual) and his boots are loud on the concrete outside as he approaches, he can see movement in the glass by the front door.

he knows it’s you, he’d know you with his eyes plucked out. he doesn’t like the idea that you might be afraid right now, hearing movement and having to investigate it on your own.

he’s about to speak up, to let you know it’s him and let you rest- but something stops him. he’s dead silent so he can hear it, you let out one sharp whistle.

suddenly, two large heads appear at either hip flanking you- simon’s sure he can hear growling all the way from here. he can’t help the smile that forms beneath his balaclava.

“s’alright”

growling stopped, lights come on.

“daddy’s home”

[igotanidea]

I am Robin : Damian Wayne x reader (pt 1)

Summary: Damian x fem!s/o, who has no idea he's Robin. And who is scared of Robin. And who one day happens to meet Robin...

***

They weren’t living together, and definitely not in a leaving toothbrushes at each other’s place way. But their relationship wasn't casual either. After almost a year together, given Damian’s character traits, it could never be casual.

But Y/N wasn’t the type to rush him into anything and definitely not nagging to start sharing space. It was all right if he didn’t want to stay the night too. He was committed to his family and that was okay. Considering the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne himself, the Gotham’s persona, who tended to act a little eccentric, it was completely understandable that Damian wanted to check on him more often than not.

Who knew what kind of crazy idea could possibly enter the bored mind of a rich man.

It truly was no one’s wish to find some scandalous news from the first pages of the magazines.

So yes, she was full aboard on the idea of Damian’s checking on his father and his family.

Who seemed a little weird from the very beginning either way. The first time she met them all his siblings were nice, even awfully so, but she had this crazy feeling of being watched like a prey.

If only she knew why.

But yes, it was okay, because at least she wasn’t in a relationship with Mollycoddle, who demanded care and wanted to be treated with kids’ gloves.

But sometimes, only sometimes, she was wondering if it would be like that forever.

That she would have to sleep in the bed alone, wishing for him next to her.

That she would be forced to deal with her nightmares and loneliness and after work tiredness alone.

That almost every time she asked him to stay over he would prevaricate, giving more or less vague answers.

If only she knew why.

***

He was in the middle of patrolling with Batman and the rest of the family when Barbara’s voice came through the comms.

“Robin.”

“Yes? What is it, Oracle?”

“Y/N keeps blowing off your phone.”

Oh.

Obviously Damian did not take his device with him and definitely could not check whether his girlfriend was trying to contact him.

Barbara, on the other hand, was in charge of everyone’s notifications while they were busy during night hours, just to keep up the pretences of the batfam being completely normal citizens.

“Shall I respond?” Babs muttered to the comm, mentally rolling her eyes at the fact Damian was still keeping Y/N in the dark about his other identity. He was treating this girl seriously, it was obvious and even Batman would see reason in ensuring his blood son didn’t blow up a chance at happiness. Even with a civilian. And if not, Barbara would be more than happy to throw Bruce’s own mistakes in the area right at his face. And most likely the other batkids would gladly join her in this quest. Just for funsies. And for Damian obviously.

“Don’t you dare touching my phone, Oracle!” The last thing he needed was his more or less romantic and more or less spicy conversations with Y/N to come into the light!

“Do you want me to read the text to you?”

“Don’t you dare touching-“

“Robin, why can’t you just come forward and tell her?”

“Cause that would be putting a target on her back!”

“You are putting a target on her back by keeping her in the dark!”

“This is not—” Damian tried to argue, but never finished the sentence, realising, somewhere in the half of it, that Babs was actually true. “I don’t know what to do.” He finally settled on a deep sigh.

However, before Oracle could give him any relationship advice, Batman’s voice echoed from another line, calling his accomplices to order and stopping any personal discussions.

***

Meanwhile, Y/N was standing in front of the club, unsuccessfully attempting to reach Damian.

The party she was dragged to was a surprise to one of her work friends, who broke the news about getting married. Some of the girls decided it was a perfect opportunity for unofficial celebration and the party moved from club to club in the entire Gotham district.

It was impossible to not go. Y/N would be called antisocial, unfriendly and stiff the very same night.

But then it was late and cold and dark and she found herself far from her apartment, not sure how to proceed. Obviously, walking alone was a huge mistake, considering the location, but standing like a salt pillar was starting to turn even more stupid, as the lonely and bewildered woman unmoving on an empty street was the easy target for any thug.  

And Damian was not picking up his phone or responding to texts, that started to become more and more desperate as Y/n lowered herself to almost begging for help.

When nothing came in return, with a heavy and a little broken heart she decided to try and get home by herself.

It was better than being a sitting duck and freezing to death.

***

“Robin.” The voice came through the comms again

“What do you want, Nightwing?”

“I got eyes on Y/N.”

“And why do you bore me with such unimportant details?” Damian muttered, not really paying attention to what his brother was saying. The youngest Wayne was simply too focused on his target for the night.

“Um… Robin?”

“I am busy, Nightwing.”

“Damian-“ Dick dared to say Robin’s real name, getting  a bit desperate to get his attention.

“What now?!”

“I got eyes on Y/N!”

“Wh-what? What do you mean you got eyes on Y/N? She’s supposed to be home, safe and tucked under the cover, turning over on the other side while sleeping!”

“Well, she is not. She’s walking the street with someone on her tail, clearly chasing her.”

“What street?!”

“I’m going to take action now-“

“Don’t you dare, Nightwing.” Damian’s cold voice almost bore a hole in Dick’s head through the comms. “Oracle, give me Y/N location. I’ll be the only one taking the action when it comes to her.”

***

She knew she was being followed.

The man wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to it after all.

The heavy clatter of his boots echoed through the entire empty street, in perfect sync with the accelerated beat of her heart.

Headlines from the newspapers from the entire previous year flashed through her mind.

Rape.

Murder.

Assault.

Unexplained disappearance.

Y/n started to curse herself, instinctively reaching for the pepper spray, greedily clutching her fingers on the tiny, yet effective, bottle.

Though before she could actually use it, there was a loud thump behind her and she stopped with shaking hands and eyes closing, already saying goodbye to her life.

The man sure had a gun and that was the sound she heard. She was already dead. And no one will even know. She will bleed on the street, dying alone and in pain in the dark Gotham street, no news about her till the early morning and-

“Y/N.”

She spun around immediately. Whoever was talking, be it the man who was chasing her or someone else, he knew her name.

Robin. Batman’s sidekick.

The street light colours palette Robin.

Robin, the Gotham’s vigilante.

And one of her worst fears.

***

The thug was lying on the ground, blood was everywhere, including Robin’s uniform and she couldn’t make a single movement.

The most natural thing would be to thank him for the rescue and run away before he got too focused on her, reading right through her, seeing everything she did wrong in her entire life and bringing her to justice.

But she could hardly breathe let alone form one coherent sentence.

When he took a step towards her, she took a step back, almost tripping over her own feet, but miraculously finding balance.

He stopped, looking at her with a predatory smile, tilting head, waiting for a moment to strike.

His teeth shone in the dim light of a street lamp, growing, becoming sharper and she could almost imagine them tearing at her throat like a werewolf or some other supernatural creature, causing her pain for all the bad things she did and—

“You’re safe now.”

She blinked a few times, brought back to reality by his voice that was surprisingly soft. Calm, a little cold perhaps, but gentle regardless.

There was no blood, he was not a werewolf, and she was not in danger of being torn to pieces and having her insides dragged through the entire street.

But she was still scared, and not because of the thug, but because of the vigilante himself.

***

“You’re safe now.” Robin said calmly, keeping his distance. From Damian’s perspective under the mask, it was the worst thing he ever had to do in his life. Instead of rushing to her side, taking her in his arms, and giving her comfort and reassurance he had to keep hiding his face in the shadows. Unbeknown to him, Y/N was more than grateful about this fact.

“Uh-huh…” she stuttered, making Damian want to hug her even more. She was so shaken after being chased like this. After being put in danger.

It didn’t cross his mind, that she could be scared of him.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” This was not really a question in his head, but it was important to slowly assure her she was now protected.

“Uh-huh…” she stuttered again, with wide eyes and pale face, that Damian blamed on the aftermath of terrifying events.

“Okay.”

It was hard to not reach for her hand, envelop her in warmth and walk with her to her apartment. Making her her favourite tea and cuddling on the couch (a weakness he would never admit to his family). But he had to keep his mask, literally and figuratively. Therefore, having escorted her to her building and spinning on his heel, he left her alone.

Not for long though.

***

It took him fifteen minutes to change from Robin costume into regular, civilian clothes, almost searching for a phone booth like a freaking Superman, knowing that if Jon knew it, he would never let him live through it.

Meanwhile, he finally got hold of his phone and read through the desperate messages she’s been sending him for the last hour.

“Dami, please come pick me up. I’m at the XX”

“Dami, please…”

“I don’t know why you are not responding, but if I did something to make you mad, I am sorry…”

“Dami, I need you…”

“Please, it’s cold and I’m scared…”

“Dami… 🥺”

Oh no.

As if seeing her scared after dealing with the threat was not enough, now he also got the insight of what she was feeling and thinking while walking home alone.

That he left her.

That he didn’t care.

That she was alone.

And it made him speed the pace of the changing even more.

And causing Robin to make one, teeny-tiny mistake.

***

A knock on the door made her almost jump, settling on pretending she was not at her apartment. Or that she was sleeping – whichever seemed more plausible at 3 am.

“Y/n!”

The voice seemed familiar, but it could have been just the whispers of her stressed mind, combined with a desire for the presence of that one person she so desperately needed.

“Y/N! Open up, it’s me! Damian!”

She whimpered and moved deeper into the corner of the sofa, covering her ears.

He had to change tactics.

“I know where you keep the spare key. But if you don’t open in five, I’ll kick the door without the need to get it!”

An empty threat that could have only been made by him.

Four seconds later the bolt on the door rattled and Y/N stood face to face with Damian, who had absolutely no intention to put his words into action, just getting her to open.

“Y/N.” He sent her the most comforting and reassuring smile he could muster.

“Dami…” she sobbed, diving into his arms. “why weren’t you picking up your phone? I was scared and – and this guy-”

“Hush, dear.” His hands wrapped around her, taking a few steps forward so they were now inside her apartment and not in the hallway. “You’re safe now. I’m here and no one will hurt you.”

“But why weren’t you picking up?” she repeated nuzzling into him, the mix of emotions finally finding a way out in the form of uncontrolled sobs.

“My apologies, beloved. It was never my intention to make you feel abandoned. But I’m here now.”

“Mhm…”

“You’re okay. Shall I make you your tea? It will ease your nerves after being chased on the streets like that.”

“Yes, please…” she whispered and then a thought hit her. “Dami? I- I never told you I was being chased…”

“You know, it was quite evident. It’s Gotham. It’s late and your text was pretty clear-“ His green eyes met hers in a poor attempt to cover up for the obvious fail, trying to fill in the holes in the facts and silence her questions before they even arise.

But it was too late and she was too smart for being played like that.

There was no way Damian could have simply figured out what happened solely from her messages and ragged pieces of information.

His first question, right after comforting her, should have been what happened?

And how the hell did he get into her apartment almost right after she got in?

Right after Robin escorted her here?

“Dami--?” she stuttered with wide eyes, pulling slightly back, causing a little struggle when he tried to keep her in his arms.

Causing a little too much movement.

“Y/N, listen to me, I can—hey, are you all right?”

She was not.

She was not okay, seeing the familiar and well-known domino mask that fell from Damian’s pocket onto the floor in her apartment.

“You- you are—” her stuttering mixed with paleness and terror reflected in her eyes made him travel back to the conversation they had a few months earlier. 

Oh, no…

How could he forget…?

to be continued...

Part 2

[faeriekit]

Feet on the Ground

loose phic phight fill for @oldfashionedbattlehymn

warnings for: murder attempt, discussion of child death

********

Danny wakes up in a garbage bag.

It isn’t as gross as it sounds. Danny’s the only thing in there, and it’s not like the lack of air is going to kill him; he could rip his way out, but honestly, going intangible is just as effective and twice as easy.

And, of course, once he’s phased his way out of the dumpster behind the gas station, Danny is very, very grateful that he didn’t even try. Everything else in there is….eeugh. He shivers.

Well. It’s got to be early morning now—it’s dark. There’s no other cars on the highway. Even the gas station itself is closed, and the stars have already lost their spark.

Time to head home.

*

Danny wakes up behind the gas station. Again.

…Okay?

The first time, Danny had just assumed he’d fallen asleep somewhere weird while flying around the neighborhood, but a second time is a pattern. It’s definitely not his fault this time either, because there’s no way he would have duct taped his arms and legs together or slapped a gag on his mouth.

That’s kind of. Ominous.

Danny frees himself of the garbage bag first— and thank goodness he doesn’t have to breathe— he floats himself out of the bag and the dumpster, which had…thankfully been given a good scrubbing since last time? There’s some other trash, apparently, but nothing sharp enough to cut through his durable, tape-based bonds. It takes some finagling and some eye lasers for Danny to finally get his arms free.

And. Hoo Boy. There’s no more liberating a feeling than peeling tape off your mouth, even if your mouth skin kind of comes off with it and you bleed a little. But it’s fine! It’s green, which means it’ll heal.

Fabulous. Danny zooms off invisibly into the night, more than willing to put the night behind him.

*

…Okay, the third time is what makes it more than a coincidence.

Danny shucks out of the bruise-tight ropes around his wrists, torso, knees, and legs, spits out his gag, and flies home. He finally has to give into the inevitable, and attempts the last resort:

“Jazz?” he whispers, slowly rocking his sister in her bed. Jazz mumbles in her sleep.

“Jaaaaazzy…” Danny tries again, trying not to look either too spooky or too imposing. Jazz’s reflexes are such that—

The laser she keeps under her pillow goes off. Danny loses a few millimeters of hair, which means that her aim is getting better.

 He doesn’t have any trouble seeing in the dark (or, uh, not anymore, anyway), but it’s easy to see Jazz’s sleepy squint as she pulls herself somewhat upright. More like a shrimp with scoliosis, but, well. You know.

“Whuh,” Jazz asks. “...Danny?”

“Hey,” Danny whispers, a ghost at her bedside. Jazz grunts. “Uh. What does it mean when you keep waking up in a trash bag behind the gas station?”

Jazz blinks. Jazz rubs her eyes. Jazz blinks again, looking more sleepy than coherent but at least somewhat aware of her surroundings.

“Garbage bag?” Jazz asks blearily. “You were in a garbage bag?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers back. “My legs were tied down?”

“...Danny, were you murdered?”

Danny stops.

“Huh?” says Danny.

*

“So, if you look here,” Tucker points out, finger not quite touching the glass of his CRT monitor, “That’s when Danny gets murdered.”

There is a collective eeew from the assembled viewers— Jazz, Sam, and Danny, all crowded in Tucker’s room.

“Yeah, Tucker agrees. The light from the black-and-white footage flashes in the reflection of his glasses. “Here’s where he’s tossed in…there. And this is when they tossed him in the dumpster.”

There’s no sound on the gas station surveillance footage, but Danny imagines that his body clanged on the way in. What the hell. Danny got murdered behind a gas station, and he didn’t even notice?!

They watch the archived footage of a Ford F-150 driving off the property, and then Danny’s dead body being unceremoniously tossed in a dumpster. It’s kind of surreal. No one had noticed. There was no one to report the crime committed.

“I can’t believe that guy just clocked you over the head, like that,” Sam points out. “It’s just a regular car jack. It shouldn’t have gotten you in the first place.”

The observation isn’t appreciated.

“Be nice! My brother was just murdered,” Jazz scolds. Danny doesn’t think she sounds as offended as she should be. “Either way, it’s certainly an attempted murder, if not a successful one. We have to do something.”

“…Can’t we just call the cops?” Tucker asks, turning away from the computer. “I mean. Look. That’s proof. We have proof right here.”

Sure enough, there is footage. Right there. There’s Danny’s murder, in 240p black and white.

“Where’s the body?” Sam asks dryly, and. Uh. That’s a problem they’ll have to solve.

Everyone looks at everyone else. No one has a good solution.

“…Do we have to do this?” Tucker realizes at the same second as the rest of them.

Jazz looks at Danny. Danny looks at Sam. Sam looks at Tucker.

Tucker stares back at them, entirely unenthused with the conclusion they’ve come to.

“…Okay then,” Jazz exhales. “How do you want to do this?”

*

Sam ends up on top of the gas station, a cell phone in her hand.

Tucker, PDA in hand, sits in Jazz’s passenger seat. The camera feed is ongoing and recording for posterity.

Jazz taps her fingers on the wheel of her car. There isn’t anywhere better to hide than down the road and around the corner, so she does, hoping that they’re on the other end of the road from whoever’s killing her brother every night.

Danny is, of course, wandering through the neighborhood.

Losing her baby brother—on purpose—is the worst thing Jazz can imagine. She feels sick. She wants to throw him into the car and speed away, and break every speed limit law in the county on her way out. She wants to pack him in bubble wrap and ship him expedited to France.

But she does leave her brother alone. She lets Tucker look over the footage as Danny roams around town, just as unaware and unsuspecting as his last few outings.

Tucker sees the man first.

He bolts upright, eyes on his PDA. “Jazz.”

Her head whips around. They watch, silently, as someone approaches Danny’s lone figure on the doorstep outside the gas station.

They can’t hear anything. That’s the scariest part.

“Call,” Jazz demands. Tucker does.

Doubtlessly, on the roof of the gas station, Sam is dialing too.

*

So. Danny knows this guy.

And. Uh. It’s kind of embarrassing; he’d asked if Danny was okay walking home alone at night a few hours before his dumpster wake-up call, and Danny had said it was fine.

Apparently, no, it wasn’t fine. That being said, Danny hadn’t been expecting a guy in a button-up and khakis to be the guy murdering him on the down low. He kind of looks like the dude who sells you televisions and burner phones at a Wal-Mart.

The guy comes all the way over to where Danny is sitting on the thin concrete step of the gas station. His breath fogs up from the weather and his eyes rake over Danny, up and down; down and up.

“Hey,” he says, looking all the world like any other concerned citizen. Danny’s heart throbs. “It’s cold outside. You need a ride back to town?”

“…No,” says Danny, who doesn’t.

“Your mom okay with you comin’ home late by yourself?” the man asks nervously, hands going to his hair.

Danny thinks about how many times he’s woken up in the dumpster. He thinks about seeing his own body on the camera tape. Prone. Dead.

“You still keep a car jack in your passenger seat?” Danny asks instead.

The man freezes. An attempted murderer he might be, but he’s not exactly an Oscar-winning actor. “What?”

“The car jack,” Danny repeats. He doesn’t know if he’s mad the man keeps targeting him, or whether he’s grateful Danny’s the only one who’s died so far. “It’s got a lot of sharp corners. They hurt, you know.”

The man…carefully laughs the statement off, but he looks. Nervous.

Danny doesn’t really need to confront him; he only has to stall long enough that Tucker or Sam can call the cops, so that they can see this man’s face and get him on the record. But.

There’s a part of Danny…

The man looks so human. Flush with blood. Solid enough to break. Fragile enough to be made broken.

Danny still resents being made dead. This man didn’t kill Danny—not in any way that mattered, but he’s an easy target.

He doesn’t breathe. The man watches a boy sit in the shadows of a building where he’s been dumping bodies, and Danny can taste his fear.

“It hurt a lot,” Danny says, and he isn’t referring to waking up in the bags every couple of mornings in the last few weeks. “It hurt so much. I was screaming.”

The man is silent.

“Do you like to hear the screaming?” Danny asks, suddenly curious. Did he care, if Danny had screamed, or if he had been too unaware to notice he was dying? Would he have cared, if there were others more breakable than Danny that he had hurt?

He doesn’t answer.

“I don’t like it,” Danny confesses. In a horrible way, it’s easy to tell his would-be murderer about his death—unlike Tucker or Sam, who witnessed it, or Jazz, who loves him, this man can’t be affected by Danny’s take on his own death. In fact, if he is hurt by the thought of Danny’s death…good. It’s better if he is. If there is remorse in him. “I don’t like to hear screaming. I screamed for so long, and so loud. It felt like forever.”

The man’s hands curl. He steps back.

Danny can’t help but to frown. If he leaves, the whole point of calling the cops will be for nothing, and he’ll be warier of coming back to where Danny’s body was dropped. “Where are you going?”

The man takes another step back. Danny rockets upright. He’s on his feet in seconds. “Weren’t you here for me?” Danny asks, genuinely confused, arms outstretched. “We’re here. You dumped me here over and over again.”

“Shut up,” the man snaps, startling the both of them with his volume. “He—you’re not real. You’re… Be quiet. I have real things to get done tonight!”

Danny’s dead heart throbs. Is there another dead kid? Did Danny let another kid get killed in Danny’s place? “Do you?”

The man loses his voice.

“We’re already here,” Danny points out. He steps closer—closer to the truck that drove his dead body around town, further from the dumpster where his body had been dropped. The disposal hadn’t been a funeral, but it’s closer than anything Danny’s ever had. “You’re here. I’m here. Aren’t you here for me?”

A choked breath. Danny gets closer. The ectoplasm in his skin is too warm and too cold—but he has no idea what he looks like from the outside. Is he glowing? Is he see-through? Does he just look like any other dead kid: a little too cold, a little too pale?

They’re eye to increasingly shorter eye. Up close, the man just looks like any other guy. Shaved in the face. Wrinkles around his eyes. A nose. A mouth.

Danny’s not afraid of him. His head tilts. “You’ve already killed me three times. What are you going to do now? I’ll just come back again. I won’t even notice. I died. I know what you look like—I know how to find you. It’ll be easy.”

The man’s pupils dilate—

And then there’re hands on Danny’s neck. And. It’s kind of painful, but Danny doesn’t have to breathe. So. He just kind of…pretends to be hurt?

He’s meant to be stalling for time. The cops are coming. All he needs is time.  

So Danny makes some somewhat dramatic sounds and kicks out with his feet, because a fight lasts longer than a passive victim. He lands a hit to the man’s stomach, and another to his chest—he doesn’t drop Danny the way Danny might have expected, but Danny isn’t going to run out of air, so this can last forever until the man lets go. Or does something.

“Stop— coming— back,” the man snarls, and suddenly sounds nothing like the dudes who man the tech counter at the Walmart. “I got you— you should be gone!” 

Danny is gone. But he’s also here. And he’s also been gone for a very long time, and he’s also getting choked out by a guy in a gas station parking lot. It’s been a rough few hours of waiting for this dude. He might as well make it worth it. 

So maybe his body turns a little translucent. Just a little. Just enough to see the streetlight through his skin, probably, and the hazy road behind them. 

Getting thrown to the concrete hurts, but, you know, not as badly as getting tossed into a wall by Skulker on a rampage. Danny’s barely going to be bruised after this. 

The guy runs to his car, and Danny frowns, scrambling back up, and, wait. Wouldn’t having bruises be better? As evidence? They better not heal too quickly, or else that’ll be it of his physical proof. 

“Where are you going?” Danny asks, more perplexed and angry than anything. Isn’t he supposed to try to kill the witness??

But the guy hauls butt into the cab of his truck— and then the lights go on and the tires start spinning, the engine roaring to life. 

If Danny wasn’t actively on camera at the moment, it would be easy to fly after the car. As it is, he’s pretty fast, but he’s not quite quick enough on his feet to chase after a pickup truck careening down the highway in the dark. 

The man’s gone in a few seconds. Honestly, Danny’s kind of annoyed about the whole thing. It would have been nice for it to work. 

Sam climbs down from the roof of the gas station, phone in her hand. “No, I just— he choked out my friend and drove off! Send someone over here already!! You— do you need the license plate again?!” 

Danny just looks at her. Sam covers her phone’s mic with a hand: “They’re saying five minutes,” she mouths. 

Great. 

Danny hunkers down, throat bruising, and Sam sits down beside him. They wait.  

By the time the cops pull into the gas station, the guy’s more than out of sight. Sam’s the one who takes the lead on dictating their story. Danny sort of doesn’t realize how out of it he is until someone tries to throw a shock blanket on him. He almost hits the guy square in the face— and Sam’s the one who has to catch his arm. 

Uh. Oops. 

Jazz and Tucker roll in, hardly pretending to have not been nearby; Jazz wraps her arms around him, and Danny lets her. 

Sue him. It’s late. He’s tired. 

“...And I can’t believe you weren’t able to get down the road in time to catch a man who choked out my best friend,” Sam snaps, which, aw! Danny’s a best friend. The cop she’s attempting to strip down for parts looks less sympathetic than Danny feels. “You’re barely a ten minute drive up the highway! What were you doing, meandering?” 

“No,” the cop grits out, eying Sam like a bug on his shoe. “We were telling the officer down the road what to look out for.” 

Apparently, jamming the gas down hard enough to bust your speedometer gets you pulled over at the speed check. 

The night is over before Danny knows it. Someone gets him to the station, someone takes photos of his bruises and takes his statement. Someone calls Mom and Dad and then Danny’s in the GAV, half asleep and exhausted beyond belief. 

He falls asleep on the couch, Mom’s fingers in his hair. 

*

It’s not like the Amity Park police tell them anything, but Jazz is the one who finds the report on the news. 

She records it on the TiVo for him. 

“Eustace Miller, from Tennessee,” Sam reads aloud, knee to knee on his couch. Tucker adjusts his glasses. “Looks like he was already on the run.” 

“Or as good as,” Tucker agrees quietly. “Looks like they’re pinning a couple of cold cases to him.” 

They watch; there’s pictures of him from his hometown, and from the towns he would visit on his joyride across the country. There were pictures of his family. There were pictures of kids Danny would never meet: kids who were already dead, and who had been for months. Years, even. 

They’d looked so happy in the photos from when they were alive. 

…Danny could relate. 

Jazz turns the report off that night, thumb on the power button. And that’s all it takes for Danny to stop waking up in a trash bag. 

[brailsthesmolgurl]

DAMNATION

A legend foretold that the princess' heart is the only way to save his people. What happens when he refuses to take her heart when he had foolishly fell in love with her? But, what if she wanted to give his people the life that they deserved? Warnings: Angst, No Comfort, Death of Character, Blood and Gore, you might let out a tear or two, there could be an alternate ending in a parallel universe. Slight Spoiler for Rafayel's lore.

"Rafayel, please, please, please let me help your people." She sniffled, eyes and nose a hue of red as she held onto the sleeves of the God of the Sea. They had been at this argument for days, and time is not exactly in Rafayel's favour. His people are dying, and her heart, is the only thing that could save his kind from extinction.

It has to be out of her own will, they said. And here he is, watching y/n with his eyes that had taken up a shade of dark purple. The lack of lighting within her chambers had given him a good camouflage for his frown. He got her, to surrender her heart by her own will. But, Rafayel could not do it.

His right hand reached up to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks and he spoke softly, as if to conjure up whatever willpower he had left within his system to convince her to stop talking about this. "My love, you know I could not bear to lose you. I know my people may be in pain and suffrage, but I also know that you deserve the world. With me."

"BUT I ALREADY SAID I CAN!" Y/n shouted, the grabbed the candle holder by her bedside table and threw it across the room, her tears are now flowing like streams down her cheeks. Rafayel held her as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing and curling into a ball. Her voice a hushed whisper as she spoke. "How is living here any better than being dead? I am constantly locked in my tower, I had only ever been out whenever you are around and I just can't find myself to live like this anymore."

Her sigh ached Rafayel's heart, it hurts him deeply to watch her cry and to watch her make such a decision for him, for his people. He was caught up in between, eyes wandering across her dark room as the last source of lighting was put out. The moonlight however, casted a silvery-bluish sheen into the room, making the overall room more gloomy than it already is.

Rafayel took in a deep breath, muttering something about 'there must be another way to this', and he used his long index finger to lift up her chin, so her eyes meet his. "My love, I want you to stay put right here. I will be back by dawn tomorrow and we shall make a final decision on this. Please, heed my advice and just stay here alright? I will be back for you, as always my quintessence."

He placed a kiss on her forehead, her cheek and lastly on her lips. Just like how he would always comfort her. Pulling back, he noticed the way her eyes struggled to open and with that, he slowly laid her back onto her bed, and tucked her in. She must be exhausted from the amount of crying she had for the night. Smoothing his hand over her silky brown hair, he presented a sad smile, eyes wavering while he looked at her for one last time for the night.

He had to make a choice, either it would be to sacrifice her or to sacrifice his people. Both bringing an equally heavy burden to his heart and soul. Call him a god, they said. But he is no longer one as he harbored such selfish thoughts to his own desire. Putting on his mask, he got off of the bed, stood at the window and then plunge down into the waters below.

...

It has been a few hours, and y/n rose from her bed, still groggy from her sleep. She looked out of her window to find her windows were widely opened, the moon shining brightly and she wondered to herself when did Rafayel left. It should be a couple of hours ago as the last thing she recalled was his lips on her face. And she recalled meeting him right after dinner time ended.

A whistling tune was heard from outside of her window, a tune so melodic that she was enchanted to approach her window sill. Her hands glided over the smooth stone slab and she peeked her head out before she was met with a boy in the waters below her towers. The scales on his body signified that he is a Lemurian, just like Rafayel.

"What are you doing here?" Y/n panicked, eyes darting all over her surroundings to scan for any witnesses around. You see, if Lemurians were caught, they would be pawned off to the wealthy, as it showcases the sign of one's wealth. And that was how Rafayel met y/n. But y/n knew that possessing a Lemurian would not grant her a new status nor the freedom she had longed for, hence, she freed him after they had promised to find each other again in the future.

"My name is Arvia---" Before he could even finish, he coughed, desperately holding onto his chest as he heaved for his breath. "I came to---" Another cough, one of his hand sprung out from the water to close his mouth, to silence his coughs as he did not want to draw any unwanted attention. As he withdrew his hand, y/n gasped. Crimson stain on his pale white hands, people on land may have identify it as lung infection, but she knew that Lemurians are leaning towards the grim reaper's will.

"Please, please my quintessence, I know My Highness would not let us near you." Blood trickled down the sides of his lips as he spoke. "But I plead you, as my mother has been in suffrage for the past few days, she could not speak anymore, let alone sing. All of my siblings are met with ill coughs, just like mine, carrying crimson taints. I beg of you, shall you have the means to save Lemuria, please meet us at the sea stacks as dawn strikes."

Another cough comes at the end of his sentence and she watched as he harshly pounded his chest, as if doing that would ease his cough better. "I'll be there!" Y/n responded without hesitation and her determined eyes were met with Arvia's aquamarine ones. The young merman wiped the blood off of his lips and he nodded his head before he dived back into the water, a hint of his tail peeking out as he swam back into the deep waters.

Y/n rushed back into her room and opened her wooden wardrobe, eyeing the gowns that she owns and picking one out that is made of the thinnest material possible. She wanted her movements to be stealthy and languid, hence the thin material would come to be more useful than a heavier drape. She changed into the white gown, and grabbed her fur coat to drape it over her small stature. Glancing at herself for the last time in the mirror situated next to her wardrobe, she felt a pang of sadness coarsing through her body.

She has chosen her own journey, she has decided on her own death. But it was all for the better right? One small sacrifice for the greater good. Staring at her own reflection, she realised her tears had streamed down her face. Why is she crying? She had no idea. But perhaps it has something to do with the ending of her life. No matter how convinced she is of her death being a greater sacrifice, she could never forgive herself for going against her lover's will.

She wiped off her tears and huffed. "This is it. My death shall come with a greater meaning. Rafayel would understand eventually." Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the rope Rafayel had made for her and she tossed it out of the window to climb down from her tower.

...

Perhaps the gown was not the best idea. Strong winds and thin gowns are not exactly complimentary to one another. Her fur coat however, ended mid waist so the length below her waist was bare to the wind's torture. It took her quite a while to arrive to the location that was appointed by the merman.

The huge rock sat in the middle of the sea, unwavering as the waves crashed against it. The sky was dark but along the silhouttes, there was hints of an orangy-yellow shade, a sign that dawn is approaching. Y/n took off her footwear and laid them onto the sand, and she took off her coat to lay it next to her footwear. The wind batted against her whole body even more harshly, making her shiver and tremble as she made her way into the waters.

As the sun started to rise even more, she noticed a few heads emerged from the further ends of the vast ocean, as if watching her as she made her way towards the rock. Arvia then bobbed his head out of the waters and he spoke. "You came, my quintessence. Come, take your seat on the rock." He looked ghastly, eyes sunken in and scales fading of its usual bright colours. He held out his hand and guided y/n up towards the rock.

Another merman surfaced from the depths of the ocean and y/n recognised this merman. He was always stuck to Rafayel's hip when she met Rafayel for the first couple of times. She never got to know of his name but she assumed that he plays an important role in guiding and supervising Rafayel's actions. "I believe we had met for a few times, when I was on land with My Highness. My name is Amund and I was summoned by my people to perform the sacrificial ritual on you."

His eyes glinted a sheen of red as he spoke to her. Was this the guy that Rafayel had warned her about? 'My people are of gentle nature, but I am afraid one shall lead them all towards perdition.' Rafayel's voice rung in her head. "Do you, my quintessence, know the risk of such sacrificial ritual?" Amund questioned her, eyes raking over her body in an uncomfortable manner.

"I will be able to save Lemuria right?" She responded, eyes filled with hope. "Will I?" She second guessed herself and Amund said nothing but nodded. He raised his hand to beckon to his fellow Lemurians and some of them started approaching her. "Wait, what is happening?"

"As long as my quintessence is at will to give us the God of Sea's heart, we will ensure that the sacrificial ritual is done with the utmost care and respect you deserve." A dagger appeared in Amund's hand. Silver dagger with red crystals adorning it's hilt, it definitely does look like a ceremonial dagger.

"Are you going to drown me first? Rafayel told me that as long as I am willing to give out my heart, then I could be drowned prior to the ceremony. Is it not?" She remembered Rafayel told her some details about how the ceremony takes place but given she was not drowned yet, she was curious if there was a different course of ceremonial action. "My quintessence, as I mentioned earlier, you deserve the utmost care and respect for your sacrifice for the people of Lemuria." He held up the dagger and gave a look towards the other mermans that were surrounding her. "Make sure she stays still throughout the ceremony." The mermans then grabbed her arms and legs and they stretched her limply across the rock. Y/n however, knew that she could not back up anymore at this point.

But, what she did not know was that this so-called ceremony was nothing more than a mere revenge to be taken upon Rafayel. The god who chose to leave his people to pursue his love with a mere mundane. Amund, does not approve of this relationship and neither does he want that to ever happen again. He wants to watch Rafayel suffer like how his people did.

"Stay still my quintessence, this would hurt." Without another word, Amund stabbed the dagger into her collarbone and y/n screamed in pain, tears started flowing from her face but she could not move as she was held down tightly. The pain did not stopped as the dagger dragged from her collarbone to the sides of her breasts. Her screams never falter just like her blood that never stopped flowing, staining the rock and eventually dripped into the ocean.

...

Rafayel had returned to her chambers but she was nowhere to be found. "Y/N? Y/N?" He called out to her name quietly as he walked towards her bed. Flipping the sheets, he was only met with the sight of her pillow stacked together to form a silhouette of her. He turned around and noticed the wardrobe that was sprung open, and her satin lounging attire tousled into a ball on the hardwood floorings. Confused, he looked over to the window sill and his guesses were right, she had escaped from her tower.

Without hesitation, the God of the Sea jumped out of the window and plunged right into the waters, not even caring if that had caused a huge splash to alert the guards as he had no time left to spare. He had to rescue her.

Earlier on, when Rafayel had left her chambers, he went back to Lemuria to speak with Amund. When he arrived at Armund's door, Arvia came out of the house, eyes widened when he was face-to-face with the lilac-haired God. "Your highness." Arvia half bowed and went along his way. Swimming past Rafayel and off into the weeds that were littered around the towns of Lemuria.

"What was Arvia doing here?" Rafayel asked as he closed the door to Amund's abode and finally meeting Amund's eye.

"His family was in dire need of some pearl essence. His mother's throat was ruined and his siblings are all ridden with coughs that drains their blood." Amund responded as he placed vials and bottles of medicine back onto the shelves. The clinking and clanking of the vials and bottles are the only sounds filling the silence before he continued. "Your Highness, you cannot delay any further. Our people are dying. And they desperately need the heart."

"Amund, listen." Rafayel spoke in a stern tone, hands running through his lilac strands as he looked frustrated. "I can't bring myself to do it. I just can't." The vial containing the pearl essence floated out of Amund's grasp and he looked at Rafayel with widened eyes. There comes the shouting, "You would rather watch Lemuria wilt just to save a woman that you have feelings for?! How dare you say that?! What do you think the people of Lemuria would have thought, that their one and only hope has decided to betray them all for the sake of a mere mortal?!"

Rafayel winced at Amund's booming voice, although he looked saddened with the situation at hand, his voice maintained the same as his posture, still and calm. "There shall be another way to change fate. I will do whatever I can to save my people but without the cost of losing my beloved bride. The decision is final." He turned to leave but stopped, whipped his head back and he warned. "Anyone who acted against my orders shall die upon my hand."

...

The waves batted against the shores, feigning a scene where the water desperately wants to come onto the shore. Just like how the mermans once dreamed of wanting to walk on land and having to dive back into the waters based on their own will. But they were bound, bound to the waters as coming onto land would not impose any leverage for them.

Rafayel ran across the beach, eyes searching every inch of land and water to find his beloved. The sun is rising and the pastel skies no longer gave Rafayel a sense of comfort but it added onto his paranoia, assumptions of the worst case scenario constantly teasing their way into his mind.

His heart suddenly hurt like someone had shot him with a canon ball and he fell in his steps, clutching onto his chest as he struggled to breathe. Not long after when he regained his breath, something felt different in him. Something felt like a--- a beating heart. Rafayel gasped at the feeling as it further confirmed his nightmare.

He ran as fast as his mundane legs could carry him down the shore and passing a cliff, he witnessed a figure, sprawled out on a rock limply, and he screamed. "Y/N!"

He trudged the waters and climbed up the rock, not even caring that the barnacles had sliced off pieces of his sole. He did not care at all as the scene in front of him would trigger bloodshed afterwards. Y/n laid on the rock, eyes closed, but blood trailed from her eyes, nostrils, and ears, staining her once beautiful white dress into a bright crimson red. Her chest bared a gaping hole exactly where the heart was supposed to be situated.

Rafayel reached out his shaky hands to touch her cheeks and in that moment, he got a brief flashback of her last moments. Her screams echoed through his mind, but none of her screams mouthed the word 'STOP'. Amund was there, alongside with a couple of other mermans that were holding her down. Amund was slicing into her skin, carelessly opening up a big hole on the left side of her chest just to retrieve the heart from her.

Rafayel's tears streamed when the flashback showed y/n stopped screaming and twitching when Amund grabbed the heart out of her body, holding it high up in the air as if it was some trophy earned. And just like that, the flashback ended and Rafayel was snapped back into reality, with her body laid right in his arms. He whimpered, but no sounds were emitted from his throat, his cries were silenced by the throbbing pain within his heart.

Watching her pale and faceless expression, Rafayel held her face close to his neck, getting his body stained with her blood like how he would always get paint stained on his clothes whenever he was painting portraits of her. But this time, he did not want the stain to be washed off. He did not want it to fade either, as it would remind him of the pain his own people had brought upon him.

"Why?" He asked the air, as you would no longer be the one to reply to him. "Why would they do this to you?" His voice a hushed whisper as the ocean started to rage. "Why couldn't they at least make it painless for you?" He was referring to the drowning that should have taken place prior to the ceremony of removing her heart. It would have hurt way lesser than this, it would have been more comforting, it would have lessen the bloodshed that would be committed by Rafayel.

"I will always, always wait for you my love. No matter how long it takes." He stood up, with her still in his arms, and he looked out into the horizon, staring into the waves that would soon remind his people of his identity of being the God of the Sea. The dark clouds started to close in, accompanied with lightning strikes that fears the men at seas. Rafayel held her lifeless body, clinging onto whatever warmth that was left from her body before he mustered up the courage to say this. His eyes turned from the usual blueish-purplish shade to a dark set of purple pupils. "I shall bring damnation to my people as how they had brought damnation to me."

Sequel here: Retribution

Parallel Universe Ending is up! Read through Retribution and you shall find the link for the parallel not-so-angsty ending!

And there you go my darlings, I wanna watch that tear drop :)

I think I will come out with an alternate not-so-angsty ending if i feel like it sometime in the near future. Lemme know what you guys think hehe <3. If any of you fancy for any requests of similar calliber or even new ideas, drop me a dm :>

[verdantlights]

Thoughts/Analysis Part 2 (but its coherent)

OKay so i slept (finally) after staying up since wednesday morning and only getting roughly 5 hours of sleep in total?? until I finally managed to get decent hours of sleep last night. anyways. i am still not normal in the slightest over round 7 but i have many more thoughts, am a lot more coherent, and have had it swimming in my head for a while.

TW for mentions of drug use. I'm gonna start with Luka. I've stated in the edit I made of the original post as well as in a few reblogs, but Luka is a victim. A lot of people are Luka haters, and that's valid! I am also, to an extent, a Luka hater.... even if I have a thing for blonde twinks with issues. But his character is also incredibly interesting. If you are familiar with Honkai: Star Rail, then you might understand what I'm saying when I think Luka is a combination of both Sunday AND Robin. He has the trapped bird in a cage mentality from Robin with the need for order and control mentality from Sunday. Order and control referring to winning being the only thing keeping his sanity in check.

Luka, as a human pet, is aware that he is playing a losing game. He needs to win, but he knows that winning Season 50 is not the end. He may have won against Till, but now the segyein are going to put him against Hyuna, considering Hyuna and Mizi were referred to as special guests. The way he looked at Hyuna in that last scene was part of him realizing this. It's the face you pull when you realize something horrible, but you need to keep face/keep your composure.

Their ear pieces are similar to their collars in that they show the emotions of the wearer. We can clearly see Till's earpiece glowing red the entire time (up until Mizi appears), and Luka's is constantly glowing green. Luka was seen in hysterics pretty much the entire time like the one frame where he's holding in his laughter.

Luka was drugged on something that makes him euphoric and lose his sense of control, like weed or cocaine. He found fucking with Till to be the funniest thing ever, but it's not normal for Luka to be so outwardly expressive of his elation. We know he enjoyed fucking with Mizi, even if it let to getting his ass beat, but even then, he wasn't as expressive then as he was with Till. That leads me to believe that he has something in his system to heighten his emotional output as well as some sort of adrenaline drug like what Till was most likely given.

What bugs me is that they don't show us what color his earpiece is as he looks at Hyuna. We see Till's earpiece turn green at Mizi, but does Luka's stay green as he looks at Hyuna? I feel it was orange, but that's just me.

Luka now knows what's about to happen, which is also why Hyuna tries to stop Mizi. Hyuna knew the whole time that if they were to save Till, they'd be walking straight into the trap. Mizi's heart is too kind and she's desperate to save Till.

Thankfully, what Hyuna had gone there for originally seems to be completed. Whatever files she was downloading was complete before she went after Mizi, and I think that's where were gonna see Issac and Dewey again. I think she might've been uploading those files to them so that they can take the lead from there. This leads me to my prediction for the next episode. (ill get to till last, hes my little meow meow and im not normal about him)

I don't think Blink Gone is done. I believe there is a part two to the Finals, and that round 7 wasn't even the final round. I've already stated that the most likely thing to happen next is Luka v Hyuna, but then I also talked about Issac and Dewey.

Hyuna could have gotten her hands on high profile data regarding Alien Stage. She sends the data to Dewssac, and they shut down the stage from the inside, allowing the resistance to come in and do a massive sweep, hopefully before either Hyuna, Luka, or Mizi dies.

Now, as for Mizi. We know Mizi is the main character, and there are people who are saying Till's death boosts her hero arc. Now there are two ways I see this happening, either:

Vivinos keeps up their streak of tragedy and kills off everyone, leaving Mizi isolated entirely.

Or someone (dewssac, hyuna, mizi, maybe even luka) pull through and live to save more people.

If it's the first one, Till is dead dead. If the second, Till has a chance at being alive.

There are many reasons why Till is most likely alive, and as a hopeful feeler... I also am clinging onto the more hopeful ending (the second option). Not just because "Haha guys I need Till to be alive, he's my bias" but also because seeing Mizi completely isolated and forced to fake a smile and perform would absolutely fucking destroy me and I don't think I'd ever be the same after that, honestly. Like that genuinely scares me.

There's the narrative of ALNST and vivimeng's beautiful storytelling. That is my number one hopeful reasoning for Till being alive. If Till dies here, it would be utterly nonsensical and it would ruin the narrative. It would completely void all of Ivan's character, for starters. I was just talking about this with @rockwgooglyeyes and Vant (idt they wanna be tagged here), but Ivan's character is static. He is not dynamic or fluid, but he is extraordinarily complex which makes up for it. He never really had an arc of his own unless you count what happened in his past during/before being bought by Unsha. His death is meant to haunt the narrative, meant to haunt Till. So why would he die, only for Till to die a few hours later? It would completely ruin what he was meant for and it would be so unsatisfying and bitter.

However, there's also the thematics of ALNST. Rock called out @pwippy for this already, but I'm gonna call them out too because fuck you plip (/j i love you plipster). Rock put it really well in these two excerpts I took from his post:

"Alien Stage is a universe full of suffering and pain for humans, forced to perform until they literally die on stage, all for the entertainment of the audience. It's not even meant as a way of exerting control or oppressing them, though it serves that purpose, because why would the seygein bother to oppress something that can't even fight back? Why go to the trouble of controlling something that is just a pet, whose cries are the fuel for a new age?"

Once again mentioning the Hunger Games because I genuinely can't help myself I love THG way too much, but that's the key difference between ALNST and THG: the human pets aren't being forced to do this because of a past rebellion and are being punished by the oppressing government... They're being thrown into this for fun. Full credit to @alien-til-i-stage who said this as a joke, but it is really fucking real, but the segyein bringing their human pets to watch ALNST in the audience are like people bringing dogs to a dog fight in real life. And that, I fear, puts into perspective as to just how much of a pet the humans are to the segyein. They are only there for entertainment. The resistance is mostly a thorn in their side as of right now (dewey and issac better change that next episode or istg) and killing these humans is simply just fun for them. They know humans can be hostile, just like dogs, but they tame them and make them docile and obedient, only to make them kill each other in the end, even if it's through a singing competition rather than an all out teeth and claws brawl. (except for round 5, that doesnt count)

"In this world of pain and suffering, perhaps death is a mercy. If Till is truly dead, then he no longer a tool for his oppressors, he is free of their control. For Ivan and Sua both of their deaths were mercies to them- Ivan was able to die for the one he loved, as was Sua, and neither of them were forced to live in a world without their beloved."

(thank you rock i love you pookie snookie)

He also mentions that it's not in character for Till to die, which I completely agree with. Till's persona is that of someone who wants to win, but not in the same way Luka needs to win. Till wants to win to live and survive with those he loves, he wants to win to beat the system, but considering how dystopian of a world this is, as much as he wants to win and save Mizi, he craves death as a freedom.

That out of the way, another thing that @junebluues actually got me to think about was this:

The bomb has Till's eyes and is crying as it knows it's going to die (assuming it's a sentient alien like Freddie). And the comparison here honestly opened my eyes a little bit and got me thinking.

Was Till a catalyst? Because that was a smoke bomb. I ended up thinking about it for a minute and came up with three possibilities where Till is a bomb/smoke bomb:

Mizi is using Till to hide her feelings

Till is the bomb that sets off a chain of events

Till is used to hide/cover up the real plan for either the segyein or for the resistance

I don't think it's the first one, I feel like it'd be closer to the other two, but any three of those could work. Because Mizi's feelings of despair over her situation can be hidden behind the hope as she reached out for Till. But as the smoke clears (Till dies) she remembers that it was, in fact, a bomb.

EDIT: Also, the lyric that plays during the smoke bomb scene is "No, don't look back now" which also kinda leads me to believe that Till is the start of a chain/domino effect. Once you knock the first domino, you can't go back.

I think someone somewhere had also talked about Till being forced to be used as a catalyst/bait again considering how well it worked here. There's a good chance Urak might have supplied the drugs to Till and also paid out or WAS paid out by another person to use Till as bait. Urak wouldn't want his pet that he is grossly possessive over to die that easily without every ounce of use being wrung out of him,,, something something Till being a Trojan Horse of sorts (thanks rock for that one, too).

EDIT: I also remembered that during the sequence in the song where the audience is singing the chorus and we see Ivan on the screens, is when Till looks like he's about to pass out. What gets me here is the fact that it is quite literally a chorus of vultures. The audience singing the chorus with images of Ivan surrounding him and seeing Luka mimic Ivan made Till realize that he was surrounded and that's when he started losing hope. It's why his reaction to Mizi is so prominent, because it's like she was there to save him from the vultures. The audience singing is my favorite and also least favorite part of the video/song because the feeling of being surrounded and cornered with everyone against you and their voices echoing in your head... really does it for me. I really want to animate this sequence from up close in Till's POV.

Anyways the 4th reason i had for the bomb theory was that Till is smoking hot (sorry). okay im done now i think,,,,,, i might actually come back with more because i think i forgot something... but i cant remember..... i forgor.....

other tags: @shakingparadigm @aakaneeee @ivanttakethis @k9punkout @crustyfloor @apriciticreveries @bluemoonscape @tsukacchako @nottoonedin @paperstarry

side note that i genuinely put more effort into my analyses than i have ever put into any school essay ever

edit: FUCK I WAS SUPPOSED TO ANALYZE THE LYRICS AGAIN GOD DAMNIT i dont feel like doing that anymore ill just do it later maybe

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

[joedirtymadre]

The Cake

MASH X READER (Taking requests 📲 pls send some!) **SMUT

“Come on, spit it (Y/N)!” Lemon groaned as she shook me. “Spit what out Lemon?” I asked, while continuing to be shaken up. “Have you and Mashle… done anything intimate yet?” She whispered the last part. “Did you forget that I’m right here?” Finn sweat dropped. “No, but I mean you’re one of the girls, Finn. Plus it’s either this conversation or the guy’s one where Lance and Dot argued over the cutest girl, and Lance’s only option is his sister,” Lemon explained. Finn and I sighed, she’s got a point. “But still Lemon… that’s a little too private to talk about…” I blushed. “So you have done it!” Lemon screeched. “How was it? Was it nice or was it bad? I heard if I guy is a good bowler then you know… and Mash is… well he’s just strong so he can take down all the pins,” Lemon said. “And the alley,” Finn added. “Nevermind that! Details, (Y/N)! Was it romantic? Freaky?” She asked. “No… well none of that because we haven’t done anything,” I said softly. “Oh…” Lemon said. “Yeah, well I don’t know Mash has never seemed too interested in that kind of stuff, I don’t know,” I shrugged. “What do you mean, have you tried hinting at it?” Finn asked. “Sort of? One night we watched a movie in my dorm and a… scene came on! I thought it would spark the mood a bit so I scooted closer to Mash and I decided to… place my hand on his thigh,” I blushed, covering my face from Lemon’s sly smile. “You go girl, show him who’s boss!” She laughed. “But… he then asked if I thought the muscle was softer than usual. I guess he noticed a difference between the two and my hand placement confirmed his suspicions,” I sighed. “Jeez,” Finn winced at the comment. “I mean we all knew Mash was dense but I didn’t think it was that bad,” Lemon frowned. “So maybe it’s for the best that we just hold off,” I smiled. “Have you thought of talking to him? I mean Mash probably wants to do stuff like that too, but since you never brought it up he doesn’t see the reason to either,” Finn said. “You’re probably right Finn, but… it’s embarrassing… We’ve been together for almost a year and I’ve given a couple of hints already. I was hoping he would’ve caught on by now,” I sighed. “Well why don’t you give him a love potion? It’ll probably boost his spirits, if you know what I mean,” Lemon whispered. “I don’t think drugging my boyfriend without his consent is really the best idea!” I shouted. “Kidding!” Lemon smiled. “I don’t think she was…” Finn sighed. “I’ll just keep things the way they are. Plus he has to catch on one day right?” I asked them, both of them shrugging at the question. “Oh I have to go to the library! I told a friend I would help her with her project!” Lemon shouted and ran off. “Bye!” She yelled and we waved back. “I should probably get going too, we left the group in my room… I just hope they didn’t break anything…” Finn cried and walked off. “See ya (Y/N),” he moped. “Bye,” I laughed and headed back to my dorm.

I laid on the bed thinking about the conversation with Lemon and Finn. “It’s almost been a year… and I think I’m ready, but maybe Mash isn’t…” I sighed. “Oh well,” I shrugged. I can’t be upset that he’s not comfortable with engaging with any of the hints I’ve given him. “Why don’t you give him a love potion?” Lemon’s words are repeated in my head. I quickly shake my head. No. No. No. That’s a crazy idea, plus super wrong. “I think I’ll just nap all this off, get my mind off all this stuff,” I sighed to myself and got ready for bed and quickly fell asleep.

I woke up later to a knock on my door and got up to answer it. I opened it and saw Mash on the other side holding a bag. “Hi Mash,” I said sleepily. “Were you sleeping?” He asked. “Yeah… I felt stressed so I thought I should just take a nap,” I explained and stepped aside to let him in. “Then Lemon was smart to give me these things,” he said as he walked in and dropped the stuff on my desk. “What did she give you?” I asked as I shut the door. “She gave me cake and tea,” he said. “Cake and tea…?” I thought suspiciously. She wouldn’t… “Can I just have a quick look?” I asked and snatched the cake box. “Uhh…” Mash mumbled. I opened the box and… it looks fine? Well the box is from a local café and it seems like an average cake made at the shop. “(Y/N)?” Mash asked, peering over my shoulder. “Haha, sorry. I just got so excited to see the cake,” I said awkwardly. “Ah… well there’s also some tea-“ he said and I swooshed over to the prepared tea and opened it. I mean it looks ok… or does it? Don’t all potions look like regular tea?? “Oh well… I think this is Jasmine tea… and I’m allergic to Jasmine tea!” I said and headed to toss it. “Oh, but I’m n- oh you tossed it…” Mash said disappointedly. “Sorry Mash,” I apologized. “It’s fine, you’re just having a stressful day,” he said and patted my head. “I just… I just had a weird conversation with Lemon earlier so I think I’m just being paranoid. Let’s just enjoy some cake,” I smiled. “Conversation? What was it about?” He asked. I blushed, “Nothing! It was girl stuff, don’t worry about it!” “Oh… well ok,” Mash shrugged.

We cut the cake and luckily I had some strawberry milk saved. “That was a good cake,” Mash said. “You only had a bite…” I sighed as we sat on my loveseat together. “Yeah, but I had a lot of cream puffs earlier, and I only worked out for 2 hours today. Don’t want to eat to pass my calorie intake,” he explained. “Just 2 hours?” I laughed. “Yeah, Lemon stopped me to tell me you were having an off day,” he said. “Ohh, well sorry for interrupting your workout, but thanks for coming over and the cake was delicious! I almost ate the whole thing,” I said and kissed his cheek. “It’s fine,” he smiled. I think I'm getting hot..? “Hey Mash, mind if I open a window? It’s getting hot in here,” I said and quickly opened my window to let in some fresh air. “It is?” Mash asked. “Yeah it’s super hot… and the fresh air isn’t helping!” I huffed and stuck my head out the window. “(Y/N) are you ok?” He asked and placed a hand on my lower back. I winced, his hand was hot to the touch. “Yeah, w-why do you ask?” I responded and looked back. “C-C-Cause it’s f-f-freezing in h-here,” he chattered from the cold. “O-Oh, I’m sorry!” I closed the window and sat back down. I felt my body beginning to feel like it’s on fire, but not sweaty but burning… “What’s wrong with me…?” I whispered. “Hey, it’ll be alright,” Mash said and pulled me into a hug. God the hug was burning me even more, but in a good way. I want more. “Mash, touch me more,” I said desperately. “(Y/N)?” Mash said, confused. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, my body's on fire. Even you touching me makes it burn more, but I want more…” I whispered before pulling him into a kiss. “Mash…” I gasped when we pulled away for air. “Y-Yeah?” He panted. “Why haven’t we ever done anything… more?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat up even more. “M-More? I don’t know. You never asked or talked about it so I thought-“ I interrupted him. “I always gave away hints, it’s kind of embarrassing,” I laughed nervously. “You did?” He asked, shocked. I nodded shyly. “Well… then let’s try it,” he said and pulled me into a rough kiss. God my mind is going blank.

Mash carried me to my bed and laid me down softly. I watched as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. Exposing his bare chest, and god-like body. “N-No compression shirt?” I blushed. “Not today,” he said and got on top of me, quickly pulling me in for another kiss. He pulled away and quickly went for my neck, licking, sucking, and nibbling every inch. “M-Mash,” I said, feeling dizzy. “Let’s take our time,” he whispered into my ear, causing goosebumps to crawl over me. All I could do was whimper in response. “I never knew you could make these kinds of noises,” he said against my skin. “Let me hear more,” he said in a demanding tone, and began biting my neck a bit harsher. “Mhm!” I let out. He finally pulled back and stared at me. I took the chance to try and catch my breath. “Sorry about this (Y/N)…” Mash said, and before I could ask he placed his hands on the buttons of my shirt and ripped them apart. Exposing my bra, “Mash!” I blushed, and tried to cover myself. Before I could Mash pinned my arms above my chest. “Don’t hide them, please,” he pleaded. “M-Mash…” I gasped and relaxed. “Good girl,” he said deeply, but keeping his hand pinned against mine. With his free hand he traced his thumb from my lips to the tip of my waistband. “W-Wait! I don’t want… to be the first one…” I bit my lip, too embarrassed to finish my sentence. “Don’t wanna be the first one naked? Alright then,” he said and slowly got off of me. I watched as he quickly removed his belt, allowing his pants to fall. Leaving him in only his boxer shorts, I gulped and wanted to follow his lead. I slowly grabbed the hem of my skirt and slipped it down, Mash helping me throw them off. Now we were both left in nothing but our underwear. “You’re so sexy,” he said as he pounced on me again. I moaned and gasped at each nip or kiss he would leave, my body still feeling like it’s on fire. “M-Mash, stop teasing me,” I said desperately. “Someone’s impatient,” he chuckled. “But that’s fine, I don’t think I can hold off any longer either,” he said as he placed my hand over his bulge. I blushed and pulled him in for another kiss, I felt bad that he was the only one taking the initiative. “Lay back,” I said. He nodded and sat back and I slowly got on his lap, he placed his rough hands on my hips. I began to reach for my bra and removed it slowly, I finally unclasped it, letting my breasts fall. I watched as Mash stared at my body, letting his eyes roam over every inch. “Do they look n-nice?” I said awkwardly. “They’re perfect,” he said as he cupped one of them with his right hand, surprising me.

Before fully reacting he pushed me down, “Ma- Ah!” I moaned, feeling his mouth swallow my breast. I grasped onto his hair tightly, and covered my mouth with my other hand, not wanting my neighbors to hear us. As soon as I muffled myself, Mash looked up looking disappointed. He pinned my arms again with one of his hands, “Don’t do that again,” he demanded. I blushed and nodded shyly. “Good,” he said. “Mash, I think I wanna do-“ before I could my sentence Mash ripped my underwear off. “H-ahhh?” I laid there in shock. “Me too,” he said and pulled down his shorts. I looked up and saw his cock ready to go. “A-Ah,” I let out. “Let me prepare you,” he said. I nodded and spread my legs a little wider. I gasped when I felt a finger slide inside me, “Mm!” I gasped. Then another. “Ahmm!” I moaned, quickly biting my lip trying to muffle myself. “It’s so hot and wet,” he said, huskily. I looked up and saw his eyes staring down at me, hungrily. “I’m gonna move now ok?” He asked. I nodded, and felt Mash slowly insert his fingers in and out. Oh god I’m gonna go crazy, he’s going so slow! I began moving my hips slightly, trying to increase the speed. “Too slow for you?” He chuckled, as his eyes glowed in amusement. I suddenly felt the increased speed, “Ahh~! Mashh~!!” I cried out. “Is this better now?” He asked and continued using his two fingers to thrust and occasionally widen my pussy. After what felt like an eternity I was done! “Mash!” I huffed. “What’s wrong (Y/N)?” He smiled slyly. “I’m ready now, please?” I pleaded. “Please what?” He asked as he slowly removed his fingers, causing me to whimper to the sudden loss. “P-Please?” I repeated. “Come on say,” he said as I felt something hard begin to rub my lips. Oh god this man is making me crazy. “Just fuck me already!” I practically shouted. “Whatever you say, princess,” he smirked and thrusted himself deep inside. I quickly felt full and needed a minute to catch my breath. “H-Hold on…” I gasped. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said softly and dropped down to kiss me softly. After another minute or two, I nodded and allowed Mash to start moving. He went slow at first, but after a few minutes he quickly began thrusting faster and harder. “Ma-aash…” I drooled as I gasped with each breath. “Fuck (Y/N)… you’re pussy feels so good,” he grunted and let go of my pinned hands. “MmMM!” I moaned in response. I quickly arched my back, feeling an overload of ecstasy as I felt a thumb brush over my clit. “I really liked that reaction,” Mash panted and continued to rub my clit at an intense speed. “W-WaiT!” I cried, feeling a knot in my lower stomach grow bigger and bigger. “I think I’m- maSH!” I let out and threw my head back as I felt a wave of pleasure rush through my body, but I quickly threw it back up as I realized Mash wasn’t stopping. “Ma- Sensit…ive!” I moaned and grilled onto his shoulder tightly. “I wish I could, but someone’s pussy won’t let go of me,” he smirked and continued thrusting me at the same pace and began rubbing my clit again. I quickly placed both hands over my mouth and again Mash quickly pinned them above my head. “Nice try,” he grunted. “Ah! Mm! Mash~!” I moaned, filling my room with the sounds of my moans and Mash thrusting in and out of my pussy. “Fuck… I’m close,” he said in ear. “Cum! Cum!” I begged him. “Not before you do, one more time,” he whispered in my ear. He unpinned me and returned his hand to my clit, playing with it again, bringing me closer and closer. “Mash… I’m-“ I choked and threw my arms around him. “Me too,” he grunted, thrusting deeper each time. “Mashhh!” I cried and dug my nails into his skin, once again my body flowing with ecstasy. “(Y/N)…!” He moaned with one final thrust, filling me before pulling himself out and falling next to me. We both took our time trying to catch our breaths and Mash soon pulled me in for some cuddles. “That was nice…” he said sleepily, before I heard some light snoring. I giggled and snuggled into his arms before falling asleep as well. Before I forget… make a mental note to thank and also kill Lemon tomorrow.

The Next Day

“You guys did it? Well… you did skip classes today, so it all makes sense now,” Lemon laughed. “Yeah, the cake sort of did the trick,” I blushed. “Cake?” Lemon asked, confused. “Yeah the cake and tea you gave Mash because I wasn’t feeling too good. You put a love potion in it didn’t you? Well… it’s fine cause I’m the one that ate it so I’ll forgive you this time-“ I was quickly interrupted. “(Y/N) what are you talking about? I bought that cake at the café we always go to. I went with my friend after we finished the project. I remembered you said you wanted to try the red velvet,” she said. “H-Huh?” I blinked. “Y-You thought I put a love potion in it!?” Lemon laughed. “Y-You didn’t?” I blinked again. “Girl… you must’ve had a placebo effect or something…” Lemon said. “Oh…” I said, speechless.

[laswells-ashtray]

hi the post about soap buying ghost the blanket has been on my mind like all day and i have to hear more. if you have more. please. 🙏🙏🙏

this is the only ask I have right now that isn't about Sergeant Price and MacMillan so I welcome it happily. I'm running out of ideas for those two.

Soap bought the blanket as a pisstake, he'd walked past it in Home Bargains in September, it was out with the Halloween shite, and he'd bought it as a joke. Honestly, he'd expected Ghost to throw it away or give it to someone else.

He'd been in Simon's room more than once for... professional conversations between a sergeant and a lieutenant. And not once had he spotted the blanket, even when he was face down arse up on Ghost's bed. And that happened a shocking amount.

But then he walks in on Simon asleep with the blanket and he decides two things: Ghost is just a bloke and he urgently needs to wife up Simon Riley.

The next time they end up sprawled out in Simon's bed together, he asks about it.

"Ye ever use that blanket I gave you?"

"Yeah, I also rescue kittens and bake for the elderly."

Nevermind, he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life with an Englishman. He's better than that.

"Kept it for when the draft gets bad around here in the colder months." Simon admits quietly, like it's some kind of punishable offence that he's using a blanket for its intended purpose. Like enjoying a gift is a foreign experience.

The next time Johnny lands his arse in Simon's bed the blanket is there, coincidentally that's also the first night he sleeps in the Englishman's bed.

They fall asleep and Soap thinks nothing of it until he wakes up at around 3am, Simon is still dead asleep as are most people on base. He's firmly pinned under a quietly snoring lt. Simon is lying on top of him with a hand over his waist, but instead of grabbing onto him his hand is firmly gripping the edge of the blanket in a tight fist. And given how flat the edge of the blanket is, Soap has to assume he sleeps with that same edge in his hand most nights.

It isn't until one day they're all blethering that it makes sense. Gaz is talking about how his sister is expecting a baby and he's already bought the wee lassie her first bear, one like he used to have when he was wee. That becomes a whole other conversation.

"You didn't have a teddy bear when you were a kid? Really?!" Gaz sounds appalled but it doesn't surprise Soap, he can't imagine The Captain Price with a wee bear. He just imagines a toddler's body with Price's head.

"My old man would've had an aneurysm if I'd been caught with something as girly as a stuffed toy."

"I never had one either when I was a kid. Best I had was some ratty old blanket that Mum bought from a second-hand place." His reaction is subtle, the way he freezes and realisation washes over him. Ghost doesn't talk about his childhood a lot and they never ask. But suddenly everything makes sense to Soap.

The big and scary Ghost who spent his childhood comforted by some tattered old blanket. The same one who clutches the blanket Soap gave him so tightly that he worries about the strength if the fabric.

Soap can't judge, he wouldn't anyway but he truly can't because he used to sleep with a ratty old Chewbacca bear that he'd lob off of his sister's head when she would piss him off.

If later on he buys Simon another blanket to give him the choice between the two then that's his business. And if a simple stuffed bear with a silly and all too familiar hat appears in Price's office then that's Gaz's business.

[poppy-metal]

[ literally u dont have to write a single thought for this if u want i js want someone to match my freak BUT ]

stepdaddy art and dbf patrick trailing you to a club one night? its phase one in patrick teaching art his precious baby girl breaks a few rules - which art already knows, but he didn't realise exactly how until they follow you out. you, shining bright and brilliant amongst all your friends, radiant as the sun, alight with fire. its fire, too, like how patrick was, that sharp knack for commanding a room whenever you walk into it, demanding to be given what you want. but in a softer way than patrick did. sweeter, a more girlish light. the way art is: charming, bright, sunny. kind. you, in your little skirt - when a motorcycle blows by it flies up, and they catch a quick glimpse of the cutest little lacy panties - and your tight top, miles of legs and chest and skin. bare.

you, giggling and clearly tipsy, if not straight up drunk, flirting your way past the bouncer with your friends. they follow you in, slide the bouncer a few crisp twenties for his cooperation, and watch. watch you dancing, laughing, all hips and arms and shiny hair as you twirl with your friends, and fuck, its mildly reminiscent of another girl they liked a lifetime ago, watching another girl on the dance floor, waiting for the right moment to jump in and play for her number. hypnotic.

and they watch you. flirting your way into a round of shots for you and your friends. dancing right in the middle of the throng of people. arts pleased to see you turn down any guy that approaches you - "its girls night," you giggle - and patrick has to actually fight back a cheer when your heel stomps on a particularly pushy guy's foot. you're here to have fun, to dance. but you're drunk, and needy, and the guy you do end up making out with has patricks roguish grin and arts soft blond curls, but your hazy mind barely even registers this connection, and all patrick and art see is some douchebag with his hands on their girl. the executive decision is made not to interfere, if only because art knows you'd hate him for it. so they fume until you him away to go back to your friends, and they fume the whole ride home, and they fune when you text saying you're sleeping over with alyssa - who the fuck is alyssa?! - to study, and they fume until they fuck, arts face buried in your sugary-vanilla pillows, patrick wrapping a pair of your panties around arts dick, taking advantage of the fact that art cant really see, but he can hear, hears it when patrick asks him if it "feels good, huh? you want to cum all over her panties? yeah? go on, donaldson, you always were a perv, yeah, cum all over your baby girl's panties-" and art does, whining, sobbing, begging. they both pretend they're cumming in you, even though neither will admit it - art into your panties, patrick into arts ass.

you dont notice, when you return the next morning, that someone changed your sheets. you certainly don't notice the missing panties. art hates himself for it - vows it will never happen again. it will.

-kit (slowly going insane over this au)

I'm going to kill myself, truly im at my limit - @gamesetart

in my head - you and art dont know about eachother yet - its just kink talk, at the moment. he's not sure how either of you'd react - you're so possessive and needy of him. jealous so easily - and art. he's still pretty sure art will beat him bloody when he finds out patricks touched you at all - regardless of what he allows to be talked about in bed.

its just show art that you're grown up - to get art to stop seeing you as someone who needs protecting - look at her, art, she knows how to handle herself, she knows how to use her body and dance and work the men around her - she's not helpless and defenseless anymore.

art sees you differently after that night. he already had a hard time looking you in the eye after that night when he'd imagined you - he just realizes you' dont need him to shield you from anything. not anymore. and he..... doesn't like it. can hardly stomach it - who is he, if he can't be needed? its what hes revolved his life around - around you - around you needing him. you needed him when you were younger and your own mother didn't want you but he did and he was there for you and he took you in and you needed him growing up and you needed him for so many things you needed him to watch scary movies with you because they made you jump you needed him to tie your hair for you for school you needed him to buy you pads and tampons when you ran out you needed him to cook you food and be a safe place to come home to you needed him to teach you how to drive you needed him to pick you up from your friends house you needed him you needed him you needed him you needed him you needed him. you needed him.

and now you dont.

you're all grown up and you dont need him.

does he even know you anymore? will he get to know this new person you're becoming? does he want to not be needed by you?

no, he doesn't want that.

and its all he can think about on the drive home and later when patrick fucks him in your bed and he doesn't even fight it this time - just moans like a fucking whore when patrick wraps your panties around his cock and closes his eyes and thinks about you needing him. in a different way. in a new way.

you needed a dad for so long - you made him be that for you - he can be more - he can be anything - as long as you keep needing him - as long as you dont stop -

"god, dont stop -" its a plea - one patrick grants, wrapping the cotton more tightly around his cock, fitting his balls through the opening and rubbing the fabric into his shaft - fuck - "I'm gonna cum -"

"yeah -" patrick groans. he's fucking art so hard - like he's trying to punch art through your bed, the headboard is rattling against the wall, your stuffed animals falling from the bed. "fill her fuckin panties art - she's been so bad, huh? past her curfew and she's flauntin herself to older men - keeping her old man waiting up worryin' about her - while she's out being a slut - "

if it was any other situation art would knock his teeth out for talking about you that way. at the moment he can't, hes too amped up, hips bucking wildly, he reaches down to grip his own dick - shove it down so his head it rubbing into the patch of your panties where your cunt would rest - rubbing rubbing rubbing as his toes fucking curl in your sheets - "oh fuck -" he grunts, tenses -

when he cums - it shudders through his whole body. hole clenching, strangling patricks dick as his balls empty into your panties- stretching the fabric out lewdly around his cock -

"good boy - if she's gonna be a whore under your roof the least she can do is milk your cock - "

art whines. pulses out more cum weakly. thinks hes going to hell and that hes glad you'll never find out about this. you'll never know. you'll leave and you wont need him anymore and he just needs this to cope - that's all.

[drmaddict]

Free by Choice

Summary: Simon and (Y/n) don't want children. After his vasectomy, (Y/n) realizes how much the fear of becoming a father has inhibited him.

Wordcount: 1.010

She had never experienced Simon like this before.

"The tests look good. If you want to, you have green light."

As neither of them wanted children, Simon had decided to have a vasectomy.

As he had never had a relationship before and sex wasn't really a big issue, he had never given it much thought, but that had changed.

(Y/n) didn't want children either. They're cute as long as you can give them back. She was more than willing to be 'just' the cool aunt.

The decision was final for both of them. The pill worked, but this way (Y/n) could finally stop taking it and no one had to worry anymore.

"Good means absolutely safe?"

"Yes, Mr. Riley. Your last semen sample was positive... or rather negative."

Simon just nodded and held out his hand. The doctor tried to grab it, but Simon slapped it away and pointed to the papers.

The doctor handed them to him with a slight blush on his cheeks.

Simon skimmed the pages and nodded with satisfaction.

"Thanks, doc.", he mumbled.

The doctor nodded. "If there's anything, just let me know."

It wasn't until the evening, when they were both lying on the sofa, that it started. Simon began to gently kiss her jaw, letting his hands wander under her shirt.

If only she had known then, what was in store for her.

Three hours later she wasn't really sure, whether she still had a functioning brain cell. She was lying on her stomach, exhausted and drooling on the bed. She hadn't really come down from her last high when she felt Simon's lips on her back again. Her breath caught. Simon moaned with pleasure and a little laugh underneath. "Just one more little mouse. Seven is a lucky number.", he whispered in her ear and bit tenderly into the shell of her ear.

The next morning, everything hurt. Her thighs were covered in bite marks. Her back was a mess. Her neck felt like her thighs looked and all in all, she was mostly sore. No matter how gently Simon had rubbed her with ointment.

Surprisingly, he was still sleeping next to her. Usually he would have been up and away by the time she got up. He had already trained and made breakfast, but today he was lying on his pillow, slumbering, with a cute little pout on his lips.

She turned to him with a smile. What had gotten into him? They'd had good sex, but this? Despite being on the pill, he always insisted on using a condom. He usually never came more than once inside her. Despite everything, he often pulled out and came on her. She had just assumed he was into it, but after last night?

Had he been so afraid of having a child? Had this procedure taken such a weight off his shoulders?

He moves slightly.

His eyes opened slowly.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Morning," she simply replied.

He rubbed his face and stretched. "Fuck. My back." he grumbled.

She laughed. "Serves you right."

He didn't answer that.

She snuggled against his shoulder. He buried his nose in her hair.

"You realize, you have to carry me everywhere today, right?"

"Hm. Anywhere you want."

"Why didn't you do this before, if it was weighing you down so much?"

He closed his eyes again. "I have a therapist for that kind of talk.", he mumbled.

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm serious."

He sighed. "I've never had a relationship and the one night stands were rare and sporadic." He shrugged. "Wasn't necessary up to this point. Sorry, if it was too much."

She kissed his shoulder. "It's okay. Just remember that, when I get ugly, after I get off the pill."

"Why would you get ugly?"

"Hormonal acne and hair loss are definitely coming."

He grinned. "I've been through the meat grinder once and you're worried about a few pimples?"

She pouted. "That's a sensitive subject."

He tousled her hair, "I'll help you squeeze them out, too."

She smacked him on the chest with a grin and no emphasis. He laughed.

Five months later

Simon looked at the nutritional supplement packs that had been piling up in her kitchen for the last few months.

(Y/n's) skin had rebelled briefly, but the worst of it seemed to have subsided. For two weeks, she had been in so much pain because of the inflammation under her skin that she had sometimes stood in the shower crying.

Simon had given her every bath that could even help in the least.

But now, two months later, it had subsided. Things seemed to be settling down, even if they weren't perfect yet. She had an appointment with her beautician today and Simon had thankfully stayed at home.

He was reading the newspaper, when he heard the front door open and close again.

(Y/n) came into the small kitchen. Her skin was still shiny from some cream, but she seemed to be glowing somehow.

Unimpressed, she threw her bag onto a chair and sat astride his lap. She immediately pressed her lips to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. Taken by surprise, he tried to figure out what was going on when she pulled at his shirt. He had no idea what was about to happen.

Hours later, he lay wrung out on the bed, breathing heavily.

"I want another round. When can you manage that?"

"Today?" He looked at her in shock. She nodded.

He looked up at the ceiling, shocked. "Nothing happens here for the next three to five business days."

She looked at him, pouting.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked, pulling her hand towards him, which was already exploring again.

"Not only is my skin fourteen again, but it looks like my libido is too."

"But I'm no longer fourteen mouse... My jaw hurts... And my back."

She grinned. "Will you at least take a bath with me?"

"At least? That was eight rounds!"

"Nine is a lucky number."

"Oh Fuck."

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 43

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 8k

TW: Violence

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Wednesday, February 3rd; 7:30 PM - Cafeteria

What a strange day I’ve just had. I expected it to be the worst day of my life, but in the end, it wasn’t so bad. It was even better than yesterday. It seems like starting the day in Lucy’s arms was what I needed to regain my energy. To think I had promised myself to stay away from her so I wouldn’t suffer from my feelings... However, last night was a necessity for my mental well-being after what happened with Korbin. I wouldn’t have slept without her. I wouldn’t have passed my economics and management exams without her help either. I have to admit it: she saved my skin again, and all in just one evening. Her study sessions are more effective than Alessia’s, even though I wish that wasn’t the case. I enjoyed studying with Alessia. It had become our thing, but it was also nice to reconnect with Lucy.

Today, since our interaction, was the first day we had a conversation. I thanked her this morning for letting me sleep with her when she didn’t have to. To my surprise, she didn’t even ask for reasons, even though I’m sure she was itching to know. She noticed my state yesterday, and I’m sure she had questions. Maybe she’s sticking to her promise not to interfere in my life anymore. Either way, whatever the reasons, I’m grateful to her. I wouldn’t have been able to give her the answers she was looking for.

On top of that, she seemed different. She was kinder. It was as if yesterday had given her hope that I’d talk to her again. Maybe she has reasons to believe so... I mean, I realized that ignoring her wasn’t the best idea, even if it was necessary to stop resenting her as much. Talking to her again after this break reminded me why I like her, and even if she doesn’t offer the kind of relationship I want, I’ve missed having her around.

Aside from that, my day was rather peaceful, against all expectations. My tormentors decided to leave me alone today. At least, that was the case until now. I’m caught off guard when Korbin sits next to me while I’m quietly talking with my friends. I have to admit she has even more guts than I thought. Her friends aren’t as bold as she is. Her threats scared me so much that I made sure to stay with people all day. That seemed to have kept her friends at bay, but that doesn’t seem to be the case for Korbin right now. She dares to come to me even though I’m surrounded by my friends.

“So, Batlle, avoiding me today?”

“Not at all.”

I’m a terrible liar. It’s true that except for class, we haven’t seen each other. It’s not like I’m going to follow her around either.

“My threats yesterday worked, huh?”

“Shut up, will you.”

I would’ve liked to glare at her, but I barely managed to get that little phrase out. A million shivers run through my body just remembering the position I found myself in under her hands. No one around me knows what happened, so now isn’t the time for them to find out.

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, little bitch.”

“Seriously, who do you think you are, Korbin? Leave her alone, or I’ll go get Bronze!” Alexia threatens.

“Oh no, you won’t. Right, Ona?”

I grit my teeth in response to Alexia’s pleading eyes. No, she’s right. I can’t do that if I want to avoid something worse than yesterday. I see curiosity in my roommate’s eyes, but I stay silent. I have to keep my cool. Lucy promised me yesterday that she would handle Korbin and then stop interfering in my life. According to her, this is too serious a matter for her to ignore. She also advised me not to fall into their provocations. It’s best to keep a clean image in front of Wiegman if it comes to that. Korbin laughs and pats my head as if I were a dog. My jaw tightens, and I close my eyes. Just a little more patience.

“You catch on quickly, it seems.”

“Shut up.”

“Is that all you can say?” she smiles.

“What do you want from me, seriously?” I snap. “I didn’t even know you before we were in the same class!”

“Oh, is the little one getting angry? I’m just taking away the advantages you’ve been given, bitch.”

“Enough,” Alba says, banging on the table. “Get away from our table.”

“Definitely not. Don’t interfere! This is between the princess and me.”

“Let’s settle this now, then.”

“Oh really? Is that what you want?” she asks me.

“Yeah, it’s what I want.”

“Ona...” Ale warns me.

“No, this situation is getting ridiculous. Tell me what you have against me or what you want me to do so we can be done with it. I’ll do it if it means you’ll leave me alone.”

“Stay away from Bronze.”

Her answer surprises me so much that I’m at a loss for words. So there is a connection to Lucy, just as I suspected. Her request makes me laugh, given its absurdity and our situation. I haven’t been more distant from Lucy than I have in recent weeks.

“What’s so funny?”

“She’s my supervisor, you idiot! If anyone needs to be told to stay away, it’s not me. It’s not like I’m chasing after her!”

Okay, that’s not entirely true, but Korbin doesn’t know that. Since yesterday’s incident, I’ve decided to work on our friendship again. Alexia was right when she said I was being ridiculous by ignoring her like that. However, this distance has allowed me to be less angry at her. It was a necessary evil.

“As if I’d believe you! You managed to break through her impassable wall. What’s your secret? Are you sleeping with her?”

“Excuse me?” I ask, stunned. “Are you out of your mind? What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re a lesbian; there’s definitely a connection.”

“Go to hell!”

“Everyone’s noticed how close you are,” she continues to push. “What’s your secret? Are you hitting on her? Is she in your bed?” she insists.

How can she even think that? It’s not like we’re holding hands in the hallways. Lucy has always behaved professionally here. She even tends to reprimand me when I get too friendly.

“You’re delusional. Don’t you have anything better to do than make up such ridiculous assumptions?”

“Oh! The little daddy’s princess can stand up for herself after all.”

“You... You know nothing about my life,” I spit.

“Oh... Did I hit a nerve?” she asks in a sickly sweet voice. “Does your precious daddy know you’re a slut? Oops... Anyway, he can’t be too proud of you if you’re here.”

Rage overtakes me to the point where my knuckles turn white as I clench my fists. I’ve always been reactive when someone mentions my father. Lucy made me promise to stay calm in front of Korbin, but I won’t be able to keep that promise if she keeps going like this. I close my eyes, searching for an idea that could make her react as strongly as I am. I open my eyes when the truth dawns on me.

“You’re jealous of my relationship with Bronze...” I murmur.

Her eyebrows furrow. I’m almost certain this is the reason for her behavior toward me. Her reaction intrigues me. According to my sources, she was Lucy’s student before I was. I continue with much more confidence.

“It must really bother you that the new girl who came in the middle of the year got all of Bronze’s attention at your expense. Still, it’s understandable that you’re jealous if you have a thing for her. It looks like she’s had time to figure out who she prefers to focus on.”

I smile, seeing the effect my words have on her. It seems I’ve hit a nerve too. I was expecting any verbal retort, but definitely not the punch she lands on my face. The blow is so strong that I fall off my chair. I don’t even have time to get up before she jumps on me. The shock is so intense that I can’t block her next blows, which she delivers between my face and stomach. My rage was nothing compared to hers, which she’s now unleashing on me. She doesn’t give me a moment to retaliate or push her away. I wouldn’t have been able to do it anyway. Many memories flash through my mind as if I’m reliving them. In a way, I am. Everything happens so quickly, yet it feels like time has stopped. I’m in another world. I can barely hear my friends shouting or see the circle of students forming around us. When my survival instinct finally kicks in, and my body starts moving, I realize I have no chance of escaping. The only thing I feel is her weight on me and her limbs pinning mine. But her weight suddenly disappears, and the scene unfolding in front of me petrifies me. Korbin reacts like a madwoman, fresh out of a psychiatric ward, in Bright’s strong arms. It’s like she really wanted to kill me. Someone places a hand on my shoulder the next second, but my first instinct is to shake them off violently. No one should touch me. Not now. I crawl backward to get as far away as possible from my attacker and the person I realize is White.

“Ona, get back here right now!” she scolds.

She tries to touch me again but my fear and anxiety take over, and I involuntarily stop her in a violent way. I’m lost. All I know is that I need to leave this place. I was about to get up, but a presence behind me discourages me. I was about to pull away again, but arms anticipating me wrap around me and hold me tightly against a chest.

“Shh, calm down,” she whispers to me. “It’s just me, Lucy. Calm down, I’m here now.”

My trembling, which had been constant until now, stops instantly. It’s Lucy. She’s here, holding me close. Her grip tightens even more, as if to confirm her reassuring words. My labored breathing worsens as a sob escapes me. She was finally here.

“I’m so sorry…” she murmurs. “I wasn’t here anymore, or I would’ve intervened sooner. She won’t touch you again. I promise.”

In my state of shock and with my throat tight, all I can do is nod. We stay like that for a while, with her rocking me to calm me, until Ingrid crouches in front of me. Her presence makes me retreat toward Lucy. I turn my head against Lucy’s chest, whimpering as Ingrid reaches out a hand. I still don’t want anyone to touch me.

“Let it be. I’ll take care of her,” Lucy says to her. “You deal with the other one. Get her out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Alright,” Ingrid sighs. “I hope everything will be okay with you.”

I can hear her footsteps as she leaves. Right after, Lucy gently forces me to lift my head to assess my face for the first time.

“It doesn’t look good,” she grimaces. “Can you stand up?”

I nod softly. She stands up first and then helps me by lifting me under my arms. I whimper in pain. The cafeteria has become a real mess. Teachers and instructors are trying to get overly curious students to sit down again, while others are dealing with Korbin, who is still struggling. Lucy guides me toward the exit, keeping her arm around my waist to support me. I keep my head down as we walk outside, only raising it when she takes out her keyring. I realize then that we’re in front of the classroom building. The hall lights turn on automatically as we pass through. Without a word, we continue, the only sound being our footsteps echoing in the corridor. We stop in front of a door labeled “Infirmary” on a sign. She also opens this door with a key before letting me enter first. It’s the first time I’ve been here. I wasn’t even aware that there was an infirmary in this building. I walk blindly in the dark room until Lucy switches on the light. I feel ridiculous when she sees me with my hands outstretched, searching for my way. She smiles but says nothing.

“Sit down on the bed.”

Instead of listening, I remain in place as she moves toward the cabinet with the medical tools.

“Ona?” she calls out when she sees that I’m not moving.

“N-no.”

“I need to examine you.”

I back up until I hit the wall as she approaches me. I shake my head and close my eyes. It’s beyond my strength to let her examine me.

“D-don’t touch me… Please.”

Her eyes express sadness at my rejection. I want to tell her it’s not against her, but nothing else comes out of my mouth. The survival instinct hasn’t left. My body and mind reject all contact, whether I want it or not. I hold my arms tightly against myself and avoid her gaze.

“Has anyone hurt you before, Ona…?”

I quickly lift my head to observe her in fear. Her voice was full of doubt, and seeing her now, she must be dreading my answer. I’m dreading it too. Am I ready to talk to her about it now? After everything we’ve been through these past weeks? No. Of course not. I would have preferred to disappear through a trapdoor rather than face this conversation. It’s just impossible for me to talk about this, even if it’s Lucy.

“You know, I never stopped trying to find out what was eating at you so much—”

“Please…” I interrupt her with a trembling voice. “Don’t insist.”

“Answer me…” she continues. “I need to know. Has anyone ever raised a hand against you?”

My fearful gestures betray me as she takes another step forward. How could she understand without me telling her? No one had ever discovered it before. My tears surface again. When I meet her eyes, I know she has won, and I won’t be able to hold back any longer.

“Don’t make me say it…” I admit in half-words.

I’ve never seen Lucy look at me with so much sadness as she does now. She, who had always managed to keep her pity for me in check, has just lost her last barriers. She takes one step closer, then another. She gives me time to push her away, but I no longer have the strength. Not after admitting my worst secret to her.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. Do you hear me?” she murmurs as she cautiously places her hands on my shoulders.

I shake my head, fighting mentally against myself. This experience has left me so fearful and lacking in confidence.

“I-I… It was so hard, Luce.”

I can’t even say what I’m talking about. So many things have been hard. My past, my return to life, my beginnings here, these new obstacles, but also our distance. I’ve reached my limit. All I need right now are her arms. That’s why I close the last small gap between us without thinking any longer. It didn’t take long for me to collapse into her arms without restraint and without feeling any shame.

“I-I’m sorry,” I say in a broken voice. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done.”

“Shh, it’s over,” she says, stroking my hair. “You have nothing to blame yourself for… Feli, Korbin, and no one else will reach you anymore. I promise you.”

She kisses my forehead while holding me tightly when she feels me clinging to her. No one had yet discovered what I was hiding. I was ashamed and fearful of what Feli had put me through during our year-long journey. The fact that she said it out loud shocked me. I didn’t expect her to figure it out on her own, even though the fight with Korbin gave her a clue. The images of Feli losing it because of her past and the drugs haunt my mind all the time, every night, without me being able to get rid of them. My brain keeps reminding me of them over and over. I was her girlfriend, but more importantly, I was the person she took her anger out on. I couldn’t do anything to change her, even though I tried relentlessly. I was just there to endure her moods. When Lucy notices that I’ve calmed down a bit, she guides me to the medical bed in the middle of the room. I manage to sit down with her help. I can’t face her now that she knows all my secrets. My fingers nervously play together.

“Look at me, please.”

Her voice is just a whisper. I feel so small in front of her. When I meet her eyes, I realize how close we are. She managed to slip between my legs without me noticing. I take a moment to admire the beauty of her face that I’ve missed so much, lingering on her lips that I’ve never desired as much as I do now. I hadn’t felt this urge since Feli. My stomach is churning just imagining what I might feel. Actually, no. My stomach is churning because I just leaned in close enough to brush against her lips. I quickly pull back, realizing the situation. Lucy, however, hasn’t moved an inch. She was looking at me intensely.

“I-I shouldn’t have,” I stammer in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mea—”

“Shh, just be quiet,” she interrupts, letting her fingers run through my hair.

Her fingers stop at my neck, gripping it delicately, taking my breath away. What was she doing? The answer comes quickly as she continues to watch me while moving closer. I close my eyes when I feel her warm lips press against mine. This sensation is nothing like the one I just felt. It’s much more powerful. It took me a moment to react, to understand what was really happening. Once I gathered myself, I responded eagerly to this sweet kiss, tinged with a metallic taste. Out of breath, she slowly pulls back to cradle my face. Her eyes observe the corner of my mouth where her finger lightly caresses a spot where I discover there’s a cut.

“Did I hurt you?” she murmurs.

Her question catches me off guard, given the situation. She seemed very serious, though. I chuckle, gently pulling on her jacket to bring her closer to me.

“I’m serious,” she frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, idiot…”

I feel much better. Well… if you can call it that. She smiles when I dare to put my arms around her neck. I needed to feel her against me. I missed her. As if she understood the message, she presses herself against me, but she loses her smile.

“Ona…” she begins, far too seriously. “I’m sorry. I should never have pushed you away…”

“Don’t leave me again,” I simply murmur.

No matter the reasons she had for pushing me away, all I want now is for her to stay. She pulls back just enough for me to lose contact with her body, making me groan in frustration.

- "No," I say, holding onto her. "Come back."

She hesitates for a moment before returning. Actions speak so much louder than words. I smile shyly before kissing her again. She stays, responding perfectly to this new kiss, even softer and more tender than the last. My wounds may hurt, but I wouldn’t pull away for anything in the world. Instead, I cling desperately to her sweater, fearing that this might just be a dream or that she might pull away again. Lucy takes the initiative, gently cupping my cheek with her hand. We barely take a breath before diving back into another kiss, this one even more intense and charged with emotion. It was rough, intense, as if it was the most anticipated thing we’d both been waiting for. Our bubble bursts when a whimper of pain escapes me and Lucy pulls away. I quickly understand her intention to check on me, but I don’t give her the chance. I’d rather hold her tightly, burying my head in her neck. My message seems understood because she doesn’t push me away. She just lets out a small sigh and rests her chin on my head.

- "Don’t leave me again," I repeat like a desperate plea.

- "I promise, Princess. I won’t leave again."

She wraps her arms around me to accompany her words. She gives me back the breath of air I’d lost. I missed everything about her—her arms, her hair, her scent... Alexia, Mapi, and everyone who knew were right. I should never have stayed away. I should have convinced her to change her mind much sooner. I feel lost without her. She slowly pulls away, making me react immediately.

- "Hey, I just said I wouldn’t leave again," she giggles. "I just want to examine you and take care of your injuries before they get worse. You’re starting to get quite a shiner," she says, stroking my cheek.

- "I must look awful," I mumble.

- "You’ll always be cute in my eyes."

I blush at her compliment. She kisses my forehead before turning to the shelves. I miss her presence immediately, even though she’s right in front of me, rummaging through the cupboards. It gives me a perfect view of her back and her perfectly sculpted figure. I’m still struggling to process what just happened. My fingers unconsciously trace my lips, where I still feel her presence.

- "Don’t touch."

I jump in surprise when I see her giving me a stern look.

- "Sorry."

- "Hmm. I prefer that."

She returns to what she was doing, satisfied that I’m following her order.

- "What’s going to happen to Korbin because of all this...?" I ask.

- "I’ll make sure she’s expelled."

- "Expelled?!" I repeat, shocked.

- "It’s what she deserves. If I can’t manage that, I’ll make sure she never comes near you again."

- "And what about me...?" I ask, fearfully.

- "You didn’t do anything. You didn’t even touch her, so you’re not at risk of expulsion. Wiegman knows all the efforts you’ve made from the beginning and what you’ve been through these past two weeks. I told her about it this morning."

So she went to see her. She told me she would take action, and given the situation, I’m relieved she did.

- "Who told you? Alexia?"

- "Alexia?" she giggles. "No. But I realized she knew something when I saw her yesterday. She was nervous and wanted me to find you as soon as possible."

- "Then who told you...?"

- "Your management professor. He came to talk to me because he was worried about you and what was happening in class."

- "Oh... Really?" I ask, surprised.

- "Hmm. It must have been an excuse to come and talk to me... I used him to find out what I wanted to know about you, since you weren’t talking to me."

I bite my lip. I guess I was right to be suspicious of my professor. I had noticed how he looked at her... I wasn’t so crazy after all.

- "Men still don’t interest me, Ona."

I find her leaning against the furniture, raising an eyebrow. My teeth immediately release my lip, and I blush at being caught red-handed. I know she’s not interested, but I can’t help it. I’m bi, and that man is far from unattractive. Lucy comes back to start examining my face. I whimper and clutch the bed sheets as she begins to treat me. It’s very painful, even though her touch is gentle.

- "Korbin... She... Well, she was jealous of our relationship," I admit.

- "Really?" she asks, without taking her eyes off what she’s doing.

- "She thought we were together or sleeping together... I don’t really know. Do you think... She’d be capable of telling Wiegman to defend herself?"

She gently caresses my cheek, smiling at me.

- "You don’t need to worry. Korbin is far from having a perfect record. And Wiegman trusts me. She wouldn’t have allowed me to have you in my room twice if that weren’t the case."

- "You rejected me... I have a right to be worried."

- "I was just an idiot."

- "For once, you admit it..."

- "Hey, that’s enough," she smiles.

As if to silence me, she places an ice pack on my left cheek, making me groan from the unexpected pain.

- "Hold this, please. I’m not done."

I hold it in place as she turns her back to me again. I haven’t had the chance to see myself, but I must not look great. Sometimes I wonder how I lived without Lucy. She’s everything to me. I watch her for a moment before sighing.

- "Where do we stand now...?" I ask softly, biting my lip again.

- "Well..." she starts, then frowns when she sees me. "Stop biting your lip," she scolds me. "This is the third time you’ve done it, and it’s already split. You don’t need to make it worse!"

I immediately release the grip of my teeth. She sighs, quickly applying a compress to my lip. It stings from the antiseptic, confirming that it’s indeed already split open. She keeps pressing it for a moment, occasionally checking it before looking back into my eyes. Hers are so intense...

- "I know I made a mistake, Ona... It was probably the most cowardly and ridiculous choice I’ve ever made, but... But know that I’m ready to consider you as my girlfriend if you can give me a second chance after what I did to you..."

Her response catches me off guard. I expected some cliché lines like "we should take our time" or "I’m not ready for an official relationship." I must forget that this is Lucy Bronze in front of me. She’s not a coward, even after this incident, and she’s ready to prove it by agreeing to move forward.

- "But before that..." she interrupts my thoughts. "You need to know why I pushed you away the first time."

- "Luce... You don’t have to..."

- "Yes, I do. I want us to start on a healthy foundation, and for that, we need to talk."

- "Alright..." I resign.

In reality, I don’t know if I’m ready to hear what she has to say. Who knows what her reasons for rejection might be, but she’s right. If we want this to work, we need to be honest with each other from the beginning.

- "I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough," she says, dropping it like a bomb and catching me off guard.

- "Wh-"

- "Let me finish," she interrupts me, and I stop immediately. "Before meeting Kiera and coming here to Manchester, I was far from being the confident girl I am now. I was actually quite the opposite. You see, I was like that nerdy girl with glasses who hides behind her hair..."

- "I don’t believe you," I interrupt.

"But it’s true," she giggles, shaking her head. "Kiera transformed me. She made me realize the potential I had and brought out a confidence in me that I didn’t know existed. I loved her. No matter how stupid she could be for doing drugs, I really loved her for the way she made me feel wonderful in her eyes. Losing her shook me deeply. »

“No wonder…” I murmur, gently caressing her.

Even though I don’t understand why she’s bringing up Kiera now, I know these revelations are very personal for her. I owe it to her to listen carefully. She takes a deep breath before continuing.

“Working here right after she died, handling difficult cases like hers, really strengthened me mentally. It was enriching and very… healing. Helping others who were struggling became important to me.”

I nod. That makes sense. I can’t even imagine how she must have felt after losing her. She must have blamed herself a lot. If I were in her shoes, I would have too, thinking I could have done so much more to save her.

“Wiegman knew about Kiera. I specifically asked her never to let me personally handle a student with a history of drug abuse, for fear of becoming too emotionally involved.”

“How did it—”

“You were the first,” she interrupts. “You were the first one I had to take care of, and I was really surprised when I found out.”

“I remember you were… You were really upset when I came back in withdrawal, and now I understand why. But Wiegman knew.”

“I know. I got mad at her about it. She apologized and explained that she really wanted me to be the one to take care of you. She thought I’d never find out, since you weren’t supposed to relapse.”

“Why did you keep me under your care then?”

“Because I didn’t want to upset you by handing you over to Ingrid. She never would have known how to manage you like I did, and to be honest, I was already very attached to you. I didn’t want to abandon you.”

My stomach warms at this revelation. My first relapse was months ago.

“It was a risk, but I knew we were already connected, and I couldn’t bear to leave you. You were starting to trust me, and you kept progressing, clinging to our relationship. I took ten steps back at that moment because I kept comparing you to Kiera at first. I was afraid you’d be like her, that you’d relapse at the first opportunity. But I quickly realized that wasn’t the case.”

I was about to respond, but her last words stop me.

“You were struggling, but you wanted to fight. That wasn’t the case with Kiera. You never stopped holding on to me like a lifeline to pull you out of it. Your determination awakened something in me, and it’s what made our relationship so powerful.”

Lucy’s eyes shine slightly now. I never realized how complicated our relationship must have been for her. I have so many traits similar to the one person who ignited the flame inside her. How could I have competed with her if she were still around?

“You see me the way she did, Ona. You think I’m this strong and perfect person, but what you don’t understand is that it’s you who makes me that way…”

Her words throw me off balance. Maybe I could have competed with her after all. The way she phrases it, she puts me on equal footing with Kiera…

“Our relationship intensified so much in the past few weeks. We opened up to each other, and it brought us even closer, more intimately. I noticed you were seeking more affection, but I didn’t expect you to want something more after everything you’d been through. I-I just panicked. I was scared. Scared I wouldn’t be enough, scared I’d ruin everything once you discovered who I really am, scared I wouldn’t be able to satisfy you. I mean, I’ve come out of my shell more thanks to Kiera, but that wasn’t always the case. We’re so different and—”

“Hey, that’s enough,” I murmur, grabbing her face. “Calm down, okay? Breathe.”

She’s been talking so fast that she hasn’t even taken a breath. We lock eyes, and now that I can, I see the fear in them. It’s like she’s expecting me to back out now that she’s laid everything bare. I smile gently, brushing her cheeks with my thumbs before speaking again.

“If there’s one thing I love, it’s our differences, Lucy. From the beginning, you made it clear that you hate parties, and I never held that against you. I’ve even cut back on my own outings since you showed me your world.”

“I don’t want to change you,” she whispers.

“You’re not changing me, Luce. You’re making me better. You’re so caring with me that I want to be better for you, to prove that I deserve your attention. And if my way of being with you makes you feel strong, then our relationship is even more special than I imagined because we’re helping each other.”

“You’re mad at me for keeping quiet, aren’t you? I wanted to make things right, you know, but when you told me I’d abandoned you the other day, I just felt like I’d ruined everything. I hadn’t felt that miserable in a long time. I thought I’d lost your trust.”

I take a deep breath, realizing the misunderstanding that arose between us from a few simple words. I was harsh that day, but I had so much on my mind. I realize now how much easier things could have been.

“That’s not the case,” I murmur. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you otherwise. I-I was disappointed and really angry, sure, but I definitely haven’t lost trust in you. I-I don’t think I ever could unless you did something truly unforgivable. I know you’re not perfect, and you’re allowed to doubt or make mistakes, just like everyone else.”

She sighs with relief. Still, her eyes reflect fear mixed with some fresh tears.

“You know, I talk a lot about Kiera because she was such a big part of my life, but she never made me feel as much as you do. I feel good by your side, and you make me so much more jealous and protective.”

“I’ve never been very jealous before you either,” I chuckle. “I got jealous when my management professor looked at you a little too much.”

“What?” she says, eyes wide with surprise. “You should have known that—”

“I know, it’s just that, I also thought I wasn’t good enough for you. I felt like you could be interested in anyone but me.”

“Oh, Ona…” she murmurs. “You really underestimate yourself.”

“So do you… I’m not afraid you’ll make a mistake one day or that you won’t put enough effort in, you know… You already do so much for me.”

Her eyes soften. She’s such a strong woman. If I were in her shoes, I’d have broken down in tears by now. She must have gone through terrible things to be able to hold back in a moment like this. Or maybe I’m just that weak.

“It seems we’re just two broken people who were afraid to rebuild together…”

“You have no idea how true that is… I was so terrified when I realized I had feelings for you… I-I was so scared you’d reject me. And also, I was always so intimidated by you.”

“Ona,” she chuckles.

“What? It’s true! You don’t even realize the presence you have. But at the same time, you always had this little something that helped me feel better… You managed to open me up like no one else ever could, Luce… If my friends hadn’t been there to open my eyes, I would have never realized that I had feelings for you. I was in denial, but now I know that this is just the beginning and that they’ll only grow because y-you’re essential to me, Lucy… And the thought that I might have ruined our relationship was unbearable and—”

“Shh, stop,” she interrupts before I break down. “You didn’t ruin anything, you hear me? It was me, but it’s over now. Isn’t it?”

I nod, trying to return the smile she gives me. It doesn’t last long, though, as I feel the pain contorting my face. Lucy laughs, understanding my discomfort. She kisses my forehead again, a spontaneous gesture that sends little butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“Sorry to interrupt this confession moment, but I think I need to keep treating my girlfriend before she starts screaming in pain.”

“Oh my God. I think I could get used to that new title…”

“Don’t get too used to it just yet. You’ll still be my student here,” she says, playfully tapping my nose. “Now, put the ice pack back. Your cheek is swelling up again.”

I follow her instructions without protest. The atmosphere has changed. It’s much warmer and more relaxed now that we’ve finally been able to get everything off our chests.

“I’m just going to take care of your brow, and then we should be good,” she tells me. “Did she hit you anywhere else?”

She asks as she turns back to search for more bandages. I press gently on my stomach to see if it’s as painful as my face and grimace as I realize it is. She had already attacked me here yesterday, so I should have known it would hurt.

- "In my stomach," I admitted when she came back to me. "But I can take care of it myself."

- "No, I want to do it if you'll let me."

- "Okay," I murmured.

- "You'll take another painkiller and lie down so I can apply some cream."

She finished with my brow before discarding all the bloodied compresses she had used. It made me realize just how bruised I must look. At that moment, someone knocked on the door and entered without waiting for permission. I expected to see Ingrid or another instructor, but instead, I saw Wiegman. I was relieved that Lucy wasn’t standing next to me at that moment. She had a strange expression on her face when she saw me. I'm sure Lucy is trying to downplay how bad it looks.

- "I heard what happened," she began. "How are you feeling, Ona?"

- "Like someone who just got beaten up," I joked. "But I'm okay, I'm being well taken care of."

- "I can see that," she smiled.

Just then, Lucy returned with a glass of water and the pill she had promised. I swallowed it under their watchful eyes.

- "Thank you for taking care of her," Wiegman said to Lucy.

- "It's my job," she replied.

- "I came to see how you were doing, but also to ask you to come to my office tomorrow morning at 8:30," she informed me.

- "Am I in trouble...?"

- "It's just the protocol we have to follow," he clarified. "Will you accompany her?" she asked Lucy. "I'd also like you to be present."

- "No problem, I'll go with her."

- "Good, I'll leave you now since you're in good hands."

- "There are better hands, but I'll manage," I joked.

Wiegman laughed, but Lucy didn't find it as amusing.She wished us a good night before leaving. Lucy stared at the door as if to make sure she was really gone before she playfully swatted my arm.

- "Ouch! Hitting an injured person, really?"

- "There are better hands, really?" she scolded me, pretending to be upset.

- "What? I had to joke about it," I laughed. "My only defense mechanism is humor!"

- "I should just let you fend for yourself then," she pouted.

- "Oh Luce," I giggled.

I always thought I was the more sensitive one between us, but here I was discovering a new side of Lucy. I took advantage of the fact that she had her back turned to step off the bed and hug her from behind. I rested my head on her shoulder to see what she was doing.

- "I don't want to do this alone," I whispered. "I couldn't have asked for a better personal nurse..."

- "Hmm... I just wanted to hear you say it."

I chuckled and kissed her cheek. She turned around when she finally found the cream she was looking for.

- "Lie down on the bed and lift your shirt so I can take care of your stomach."

- "Can I get a kiss to prove I'm forgiven first?" I bargained.

- "You'll get one if you behave," she raised an eyebrow.

- "Blackmail."

- "Deal."

- "Alright, if you say so..."

Knowing I wouldn't get anything until I did, I lay back down on the bed. She lifted my shirt herself up to my chest. I winced when I saw the bruises already forming on my stomach, adding to the ones from yesterday. Lucy sighed audibly.

- "She really didn't hold back."

- "I couldn’t defend myself," I admitted timidly.

- "Hey, it's understandable after what you've been through. It's not such a bad thing; it saved you from more trouble."

I nodded and stared at the ceiling as Lucy began to apply the cream to the bruises. Her expert fingers relaxed me to the point where I closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation.

- "Are these marks from Feli?"

I slowly opened my eyes when I felt her fingers touch certain spots on my stomach, where there were small, permanent scars. I knew she had noticed them the day she helped me shower during my withdrawal. She had made a strange face when she saw my body but never commented on it. I wish those scars had left no trace, but they are part of my story now.

- "Yeah..." I admitted.

- "Did she... Did she also abuse you?"

Her question was full of hesitation. My body tensed involuntarily at the thought. I could see the fear in her eyes. I immediately reassured her by shaking my head.

- "No," I said, making her sigh with relief. "Thank God, no. She would have completely destroyed me if she had done something like that... But I think she could have if I had stayed longer. I had stopped sleeping with her, and she was becoming more and more violent towards the end. She didn’t realize what she was doing anymore..."

- "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

- "It’s in the past now."

A silence settled between us before I asked a question of my own.

- "What really made you change your mind about us...?"

- "A lot of things," she murmured. "Your reaction, your obliviousness, my feelings, but also the threats from your best friend," she laughed.

- "You two texted?" I asked, surprised.

- "A little," she admitted, making me smile at the thought.

- "Remind me to thank her then... I haven't really had the chance to talk to her these past few days, and the last things I said to her weren’t exactly nice. She must be mad at me."

- "She knows it’s my fault you didn’t write to her. As for your bad behavior, I don't think she'll hold it against you. She cares about you a lot, and I can see why you care so much about her too."

Lucy is wrong about one thing. Mapi won’t hold it against me, but she’ll definitely get her revenge. I'll have to make it up to her to avoid that. I sat up and adjusted my sweater when Lucy told me she was done. I handed back the ice pack I’d been holding. Seeing the state I was in, Lucy decided to apply a bit of cream to my cheek as well. The contrast between her warm fingers and the painful cold of my cheek was sharp. She gently spread the cream over the affected areas, then closed the tube. She washed her hands and put away the last things she had taken out to treat me.

- "Do you think I'll get my weekend pass?"

- "We'll see tomorrow. Let's go back to our room; it's getting late."

She grabbed a box of bandages and kept the cream before turning off all the lights. The cold hit me full force when we stepped outside. I realized then that we didn’t have our jackets.

- "Damn... Our stuff."

- "Ingrid took care of it. She texted me to say she brought it to my room. Come on, hurry up. It's cold!"

I hurried as fast as I could, agreeing with her. It was cold, and I didn’t want to risk getting sick again. I'd had enough of that! We crossed the campus to reach her dorm on the opposite side. The first thing I did upon entering her room was check the time. It was nine o'clock. Lucy, on the other hand, preferred to kick off her shoes and sprawl out on her big bed.

- "I'm going to take a shower."

- "No," she groaned. "Do it tomorrow morning, or the cream I just put on will be useless."

"Fine... I'll just change, then. »

She groaned in response. I chuckled and locked myself in the bathroom with my nightclothes. I was about to take off my shirt when I caught sight of my face in the mirror. My mouth fell open as I realized the extent of the damage. A black eye was forming on my left eye, and my eyebrow was completely busted. Not to mention my lip, which had also taken a hit. I rushed out of the bathroom, pointing at my face. My sudden entrance made Lucy turn around, unconcerned that she was only wearing her bra. I would have certainly enjoyed the sight if I hadn't come out to complain.

- "There is no way I'm going out like this in the next few days!" I exclaimed.

- "You don't have a choice," she teased.

She turned her back to me and continued getting dressed without being bothered by my presence. She came back towards me once she had her pajama tank top on.

- "Seriously," I groaned. "Have you seen my face?"

- "Mm-hmm," she replied with amusement. "It's not like these are permanent. You'll be fine in a few days."

- "Ugh. I hate her," I grumbled before retreating back to the bathroom.

I slammed the door, and Lucy's laughter followed. I quickly changed, and then Lucy joined me so we could remove our makeup and brush our teeth.

- "Wait, I want to put a bandage on your eyebrow. I’m worried it might start bleeding again because of the cut."

- "Do what you have to do," I mumbled.

- "Don’t be like that," she giggled.

- "I didn't expect this much damage," I sighed.

- "That’s what happens when you play the rebel."

- "As if it was my fault!"

- "I never said that."

She applied the bandage and then kissed me right after. I blushed at this small, tender gesture.

- "Everything okay?" she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded before wrapping my arms around her waist. Lucy responded to my embrace by draping her arms over my shoulders. We stayed like that for a moment, with her gently rocking me. She kissed my forehead before speaking again.

- "We should get to bed. I can keep cuddling you as much as you want there."

- "It’s strange to think you won’t be holding back with me anymore," I giggled.

- "Oh, I still will, but only when it comes to school."

- "Yeah, right," I teased.

- "I'm not joking," she smiled. "I'll still be your superior here, but I’ll be your girlfriend in private."

I had no doubt she meant every word. It’s crazy to think we still have three months left until the end. We headed to her room, where she invited me into her bed. I didn’t hesitate at all tonight.

- "Will you hold me again?" I asked timidly.

- "Of course. Choose your position first, because I have a feeling tonight might be quite painful."

I sighed just thinking about it. I could already feel the stiffness when I moved. I settled on my side, facing her, and realized that the position was surprisingly comfortable. Understanding that I was ready, she turned off the light. I could feel her breath on my face, we were so close.

- "Come here."

I felt her arms wrap around me. I moved closer to her, making sure to keep my bruises from touching her by placing my arms between us. She pulled the blanket up to my neck and held me a little tighter. I smiled when our feet tangled together, and she kissed my forehead.

- "Goodnight, Luce," I murmured into her neck.

- "Goodnight, Princess."

A contented sigh escaped my lips. My place was definitely in her arms. I would have loved to savor our first moment as a couple a bit longer, but sleep overtook me, lulled by the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat.

[strayheartless]

AGS and childhood teddy bears because I said so:

Angeal: His childhood teddy bear was made by his mother. It has lopsided ears and a wonky eye and his name is “Freddy”. Angeal did not name Freddy, Angeal’s dad named Freddy and really he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As a child Angeal took Freddy pretty much everywhere with him: to the market, do the beach, the doctors office. Even, on one very horrifically memorable occasion, to a funeral…. Now Freddy sits on his night stand looking a little worse for wear but no less loved. Angeal patches up every moth eaten hole and replaces any lost stuffing. He’s got a book on his shelf about Teddy bear repairing and no one is willing to make even the tiniest bit of fun of him. Freddy, to Angeal, is as important as the Buster sword.

Except Zack doesn’t really know what happened to Freddy after he is captured. He’d managed to rescue the little bear before Shinra came in to erase Angeal’s existence but now…?

Genesis: Genesis’ childhood teddybear sits in his bedroom on his bed and gods help you if you touch it. Genesis had many toys growing up, and all of them had backstories and personalities but Gigi was special. The bear had been given to Genesis by his mother after a trip to Junon when he was three. She had been away for weeks and despite the fact that she otherwise showed little interest in him past what he wore and ate, Genesis had missed her so much he’d thrown up crying the night she left. When she came back, bear in hand Genesis had been so delighted at the unusual display of motherly love that he’d completely failed to realise the bear had not come from Junon nor had it come from his mother. In fact the little bear came from a tiny toy shop in the market place and had been bought for him by his Nanny, who had accosted Genevieve Rhapsodos in the hall muttering:

“If he thinks it’s from you he may just be soothed better when you go away again.”

It did and Genesis was never any the wiser. All anyone ever had to do to get him to shut up was hand him Gigi and he promptly curled up either with a book or to sleep. Even when he burned Gigi to a crisp in his rage over the lie that was his life, he never knew his “mother” had not been the one to buy the bear.

Sephiroth: Sephiroth did not have a childhood stuffed animal or any kind. Hojo thought them inane while Gast fretted about the germs they carried, so Sephiroth went without. He had his locket and that was all that mattered to him for a very long time until….

Seeing Freddy and Gigi, Sephiroth is hit with unimaginable envy over what could have been. The loss he feels is stupid. It was an inanimate object for Gaia’s sake! He should not be bereft at the sight of it! Except he is, and he wants his own so badly it aches.

Sephiroth has a little ritual of patting Freddy gently on the head in greeting and nodding to Gigi when he sits on his friends beds. Angeal watches him with sympathy in his gaze while Genesis watches him like a hawk around his bear. But both of them know the reason behind the gesture and never point it out.

Until one holiday Angeal hands him a little brown paper wrapped package wrapped up in red and white twine, the way the shop owners used to wrap the toys in Banora. When Seph opens it he doesn’t speak, just touches the little tiger stuffy with reverence and lets the tears fall. Like Genesis, Sephiroth is very protective of teddy (he’s not imaginative with names leave him be). No one mentions that he stays on the pillow across from Sephiroth, and nobody mentions that most mornings Sephiroth wakes with teddy pressed to his cheek and subconsciously rubs its soft fur across his top lip soothingly.

Years from now HR will throw that same tiger doll into a black bag and into a land fill in the sector seven slums. Years from now a vendor will pick it out, clean it up and sell it to a tall man with a gun for a hand and a baby strapped to his chest who just rolled into town. He wants it for the baby, his daughter, and she sleeps with it every night.

Years and Years from now that same little girl will solomnly tell that tiger to watch over her brother while her uncle Cloud looks for a cure…

Years and years form now a winged stranger in a red leather coat with spy the little Tiger sat on the whiskey shelf for “safe keeping” and no one will know how to sooth him because no one knows what’s wrong.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your family gains new additions.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, she goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude.

“Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your papa and almost-mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, princess.”

“Five.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

‘I’m a princess, not a lady,’ you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too unbecoming; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too gluttonous. You’re a simpleton when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re graceless when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re impertinent when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“… whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It’s not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they’re being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It’s a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I’m not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn’t need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one’s here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

‘I understand, ’Nyra,’ you want to say. ‘No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.’

Read on AO3:

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!