#for all of 5 seconds until I remembered there's a real city with that name and that my hometown is too tiny for concerts. (it has no venues

[six-improbable-things]

Raynes songs always go hard, but the lyrics for Tie Me To The Tracks are something else:

"You showed me what you are but I couldn't believe you. Assumed you were a star, and never really wondered why your eyes were burning red."

"I see the carrion crows, I hear the whistle blow, I know it's coming soon. I'll close my eyes, imagine what the big surprise could be and say goodbye. Wish I didn't have to die, but I'm not gonna see you again."

"You can tie me to the tracks if you wanna. You can stab me in the back, and I'll take a moment to relax cause at least I'm not gonna see you again."

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Series: Come away, O human child! Part 2:

She dreamed of paradise

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Read part 1 here.

Warnings: explicit domestic violence and abusive relationships. Descriptions of physical violence. Reader is married and has a child.

Summary: Spencer sees a mark on you. He decides that if no one is going to do anything about it, then he will. If only he can convince you to accept help.

Steve was strangely calm on the way home. He had asked the sheriff for permission to take you and Willy away during his lunch break with the excuse that he was worried about the disappearance of women that had been happening in town, just like an ideal husband, but you knew the real reason, he wanted to keep an eye on you.

"Well?" he asked, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at you.

You knew it was best to let him speak first, so you waited for Steve to start, no matter how tense you were.

"The FBI guy, what did he want?"

"Nothing much, he was just playing with Will, he knew magic tricks."

You didn't mention the terror you felt when you saw that your son wasn't by your side, he could never relate to that, he could never understand the deep emptiness that existed inside you when Will wasn't around. He was all the light you needed.

"And you let some stranger talk to our son? I can't leave you two alone anyway."

Sometimes you didn't quite understand Steve's intentions, even though you knew there was a reason behind everything.

"He's FBI, isn't he?"

It was a risky move, rebutting what he was saying. Luckily for you, it seemed to be a good day, because he did nothing but raise an eyebrow and snort.

"I don't want you two anywhere near that guy."

You just nodded, distracted as you wondered what was so special about Dr. Reid that Steve reacted like that, your curiosity piqued. Was he trying to push you away from one more person before any bonding had even begun? Surely he couldn't have been afraid that you would turn him in since you had already understood a long time ago that no one would help you or even give you a second glance. If I could go back in time, I would have run as soon as Steve showed interest in joining the police. A bunch of conniving vibrators, they were.

"We'll never see him again," you reassured him.

"Well," your husband muttered, "you know why I do it. I have to protect my family."

With a silly, fake smile on your face, you agreed as you stroked his arm, looking through the rearview mirror at Will sleeping in the back seat. You could do this for another 13 years, right? Just hang in there.

•••

Spencer gathered his things from the table, putting them in his bag as he prepared to go to the hotel, hoping to get a good night's sleep and work with more focus and renewed vigor the next day. He spent the rest of the day reliving his interaction with you down to the smallest detail, remembering and recalling her tone of voice, her posture, and her submission when her husband appeared. If was right, his name was Steve.

The policeman in question left the police station for an hour and returned soon after, casting long glances at Spencer, none like yours, who followed him to his hotel room, until he laid his head on the pillow and far beyond that, invading his dreams.

•••

5 days in the same city was a lot on the Spencer scale. Enough to make the UNSUB profile, but not enough to capture him. He lived in the shadows, preying on the most vulnerable people in that small, broken society that was your little town: the women. More specifically, the housewives. Spencer spent these days wondering if you had any job.

"What the hell?" He heard Morgan's voice exclaim with surprise, raising her head to look at the source. That's when spotted William, wandering around outside the glass-walled room they were in. The boy walked between the tables as if he belonged there, but stood out from his surroundings. "Who is he?"

"Cop Steve's son." Spencer murmured, attracting the attention of his colleagues.

"Do you know him? How?" JJ asked.

Spencer shrugged. "Kids like magic. He came here a few days ago, must have run away from his mom again. I thought Morgan had seen him before."

"Well, I didn't see. There's something strange about that boy's father-" Turning away as he spoke, Derek was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and a child's voice shouting happily.

"Dr. Reid!"

As if it were second nature, Spencer rose from his seat to kneel in front of the child and greeted him back with a smile.

"Hey, Willy," he held up his open palm, which made the boy laugh and high-fived him, "What are you doing here, kid?"

"Mom came to bring Dad's lunch again, but I wanted to see you."

Spencer sighed with an understanding smile, looking around at his classmates who stared rather shocked at their very natural interaction.

"And does your mom know you're with me?"

The look he shifted to the floor said everything the doctor needed to know.

"You can't just disappear, young man. Do you know where she is?"

Will nodded. "In the big room with Daddy."

Spencer looked at Hotch, who understood immediately and sighed tiredly before nodding and nodding towards the door, permitting him to leave.

"Let's find her then, shall we?"

William walked out hand in hand with the man, leaving Spencer shocked that a policeman's son was so ill-educated, regardless of his age. Children could be sociable. They should be. That didn't exclude all the evil that lurked outside the house - or inside - the boy seemed the pure image of naivety. Worrying. He couldn't tell you why he cared so much.

"So, Willy, why did you split up with Mom? You heard what she said, she gets worried when you disappear like that."

"Because they were starting over."

"Starting what?" Reid asked, frowning and looking down to see the child's face, who didn't answer. "Starting what, William?" he asked again.

•••

"How did you manage to lose sight of him? For God's sake, this is a police station!" Steve exclaimed furiously, although he growled quietly. He didn't believe in announcing his problems to the world.

"I let go of his hand for a second and he disappeared!" You retorted, your eyes watering as you thought about what he could have gotten himself into this time. "It's not my fault," you continued, hugging your body as if trying to convince yourself.

Your husband snorted, scorn appearing on his face as he approached, and suddenly any courage you had was thrown out of the window. You looked around, at the walls that gave you so little privacy. We're in public, you thought, like a mantra. He didn't do anything in public. He didn't do anything in public. He grabbed your arm. Moreover, his nails dug in, forcing and tearing at your skin as his instinct acted and tried to pull your arm back, but he held back. As he always did. Apart from the pain, all you could think about was what a bad idea it was to wear short sleeves that day.

"What good are you anyway, if you can't even look after my son properly?"

Your eyes were injected with rage and you swallowed, watching the face of the man you once thought would make you the happiest woman in the world. The man who promised you the world while hugging you in a college dormitory bathroom and holding a pregnancy test with a small smile on his face. Eyes crinkled with joy as he stroked your still flat belly and whispered such sweet things. A time when you thought you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. You no longer saw any of that in the man in front of you. He ripped any last shred of hope from your cold, dead hands and then made you dig your own emotional grave, as deep as his nails could go into your skin. You barely felt the pain anymore. You didn't even feel anything, until you heard the familiar voice of the light of your life, pulling you out of that dark pit as it always did.

Quickly, Steve retracted his arm, taking a deep breath and swallowing as he turned to where he had heard his son's voice, his nostrils flaring as he saw who was with him.

•••

Spencer never got a verbal answer to his question from William, but he didn't need one. The scene in front of him said it all, and from the way the boy squeezed his hand tighter, he could tell that Will knew there was something wrong between his parents. Fortunately, the boy was too short to have the same field of vision as Reid. Luckily, he hadn't seen the terrified look on his mother's face, let alone his father's aggressive grip.

Will shouting "Mommy" and letting go of your hand to run to you provided him with a new horizon. It brought back memories. That of trying to be a mediator within a broken family, even in childhood.

•••

Steve never spent much time around William anyway, so when he left quickly, you didn't mind, you were relieved. Noticing that Dr. Reid wasn't going to move away, you sighed, hiding the nail mark against your own body as you watched him enter the room you were in.

"Hey, honey, want to play a little?" you asked, taking your cell phone out of your pocket and handing it to your son, who quickly agreed and went to the corner of the 'big room', as he called it, oblivious to the rest of the world.

"I never knew your name."

You snorted, wondering how that was the first thing he chose to say, but in the end, he did say your name.

"You don't have to hide it, I've already seen it." Spencer continued, making sure to speak quietly so that the child wouldn't hear them and to keep the anger out of his voice.

You swallowed, wondering what you had done to deserve two humiliations in a row on the same day, trying to force yourself to remain calm and expressionless, assessing how much of a risk the mysterious doctor could be to you or your child.

"I'm sorry about William again today, it'll never happen again."

Spencer couldn't stop himself from analyzing you, and what he saw brought him the most mixed emotions. You were profiling him too. You are a profiler for survival, someone who needs to know how to act in every situation so as not to get hurt. It made your head spin, your throat dry and your hands twitch. "It's called empathy. Use it to be a better person," Derek once told him.

"You know this is a crime; I can arrest him right now if you want; this room has cameras, and you're... you're hurt."

To his surprise, you laughed in his face. A bitter laugh. The kind he wished you'd never hear again.

"Are you an idiot, Dr. Reid?" you asked, without any humor. "Is that how you sleep best at night? Look around you, see where we are. In a police station full of men. Do you think you're the first to see something like that in me?"

Suddenly, it was as if a dam broke and you felt the uncontrollable urge to channel all your anger at Dr. Spencer Reid, pointing at the wound on his arm, the little blood already dried. This made the agent sigh. He had never really been able to understand how someone could hurt a person they had sworn to love so deeply.

"Well, the FBI wasn't here before."

You just sighed, pressing your lips together to stop a torrent of tears. He would never know that fear like you did. Even if Steve was still arrested, what would you do next? How would you be able to raise your son in a place like this, where your husband was the model citizen of the city and you were the bitch who put him in prison?

"You just don't understand. Please go away, Dr. Reid."

Go away, and don't you dare even try to give me false hope because I killed them all for my own good a long time ago, you thought.

Spencer couldn't accept that it would end like this. There had to be something, there had to be a way. Not for the first time in his life, he thought that people should come with a manual. It was time to do your job, even if you felt terrible about using your weakness against yourself.

"And is it worth it? Raising a child in such an environment?"

"I've managed to keep Will away for five years. So as long as he's safe, yes, it's worth it," you replied, your back to him.

Spencer sighed, squeezing his thigh as he cursed himself for influencing you like that. All for the greater good.

"Except that he already knows. Kids are a lot more observant than people think."

You turned like lightning.

"What are you talking about?"

You couldn't. You couldn't lose the only certainty you had in life. That Will was your sea of positivity, away from everything that was really going on at home, growing up happily, without any resentment. You swore that when he was born. It was the only promise it would kill you to break.

Spencer hated being the cause of the look of terror on his face this time, but like all the other times in his life when it was necessary, he took courage and started telling.

Taglist (if you want in or out, just let me know):

@yokaimoon @fanfic-viewer

A/n: I was wonderfully surprised by how well received the first part was. I hope you enjoy the second as much. Thank you for your support

[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

[fountainpenguin]

"Though we both know one day there'll be blood on the floor... but which one will betray the other more?" (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Rated T - 6,900 words

50 Words of Dale and Vicky

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

🌃 City Lights AU

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

🎲 Randomlists.com's 50-word generator

50 scene snippets about two inseparable BFFs and a string of bad decisions. Predates lemon pit torture.

OR, Dale and Vicky were friends when they were kids.

(First 5 prompts under the cut)

50 Words of Dale and Vicky Friday August 14th, 1992 - Friday April 14th, 1995 Summer of the Pink Star - Spring of the Small Sunflower

1. Balance

Even Dad raised an eyebrow at the redhead who took the mutton bustin' like a piece of sticky tape. The sheep charged through the Dimmsdale Dimmadome's mucky arena, the girl thumping up and down on its back. With every second she clung, the crowd surged higher and higher with excitement- cheering already! Did she sew her sleeves to its wool or something? 6-year-old Dale, safe behind the chute fence, braced his arms a little straighter; craned his neck a little higher.

"Whoa… She's cruisin' like a roadrunner."

One flump of a small body later, the little girl went tumbling through the muck. But she won, of course (and scored the traditional belt buckle emblem plus a set of 4 family tickets to Wave 'N Rage to prove it). The girl cheered into Dad's microphone and jumped up and down. Watching some black-haired woman and a redheaded guy (who must be her two parents) fawn over her, Dale had to wonder… if she had any siblings.

That was wicked…

Her name was Vicky Aingeal. And he was about to be the best friend she never asked for.

2. Cattle

The next time he saw her, it was at the state fair. The scruffy scarlet ponytail hadn't changed. She wolfed down a funnel cake at a table, her parents to either side (and sharing their own). Powdered sugar smeared her lips and fingers. That stuff had to be so greasy… but it looked delicious. Dale, who had already been a Bright Young Man and a Very Well-Behaved Good Boy (semi-interchangeably) for the past 5 minutes while his dad talked about cows and bovine and steer and heifers with Mr. So-'N-So (Cue laughter; they were friends), decided he'd finished standing in the hot sun, bouncing on his toes. He darted his gaze between Vicky and the back of his dad's head. Another 20 seconds flickered by. This time, Dale's stomach even growled. And if that wasn't a sign, what was?

"Dad-"

Dad didn't stop talking, but he did move his hand to Dale's shoulder and gave a quiet squeeze. Not now, said the gesture, so Dale went quiet. He played with the big brim of his hat, staring at Vicky and her funnel cake until she stopped eating and raised her head. Their eyes flicked across each other. Dale jumped and glanced away. Back to the cattle. The Dimmadomes showed fat and healthy cows every year at… the cow-showing event. "Open dairy," Dad called it with his friends (SO awesome; all fancy). Dale never remembered the name except this time of year, but he definitely knew cows.

"Dad," Dale tried again. But dad kept talking, squeezing his arm again, so Dale went quiet for real and softly picked at his nose. The grown-ups talked cows, milk, and hormones… And when that all wrapped up, Doug scooped him up and set him on his hip in one shwoop.

"Now, what's all the fuss, son? What's got your knickknack paddy whacking?"

"Dad, I want a funnel cake."

Doug Dimmadome (owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome) threw an unreadable glance at the table where Vicky and her parents ate. It might've been unreadable because Dale was only 6. "Too risky, kiddo. It's probably got dairy. Now come on, son- You wanna lead the herd with me?"

3. Instrument

"Huh," was the first thing Vicky said when she came across the refrigerated butter sculpture. Seriously? Three giant cows playing in a band? "Pretty weird." It was a huge amount of butter and that was kinda impressive all in all, but… did it serve any purpose? It wouldn't last. Who would want to keep that thing cold for months? Even winter wouldn't get cold enough to not melt it. She looked for a price tag, a card- anything that indicated it might be for sale. Was this thing just donated? Free of charge? I wouldn't want it either, but that feels like a waste. I'm sure SOMEONE would buy it. Some kind of stupid, rich…

She was still there, leaning so close to the clear case, her nose could've touched the nearest instrument, when someone tapped her shoulder. She yelped, hit the case (with her face), and spun around. "Who-? … Oh." That weird kid who'd been staring at her while she ate lunch. When Vicky blinked at him, he pushed the brim of his big hat up with one thumb. He even smiled.

"I saw you at the mutton bustin'."

"The what?"

"You rode the sheep? Most people don't stay on that long."

"Oh, yeah. That sheep was a loser."

The kid blinked, like he actually cared about some random sheep's feelings or something. Honestly, with a name like mutton bustin', whoever was in charge of that thing probably cooked it up and ate it by now. "Well," said the kid, pretty slow on the word. He put out his hand. "I'm Dale… Donovan. And you're Vicky, right?"

"Uh, are you following me?"

4. Sheet

He showed her the chicken tent, the pigs, and the cattle (with their parents trailing behind, of course- Dad had a lot of business to talk and Vicky's parents didn't seem to mind he was there, even if Vicky still gave him weird sideways looks like she couldn't decide just what to make of him). But little by little… those shoulders that looked like tall fenceposts started coming down like a gate sinking underwater.

Then he showed her something super interesting over her shoulder while he tore down the sheet with the name Dimmadome scrawled across it. Look… Is it so wrong to want a friend who likes you without asking about your dad getting rich?

He ignored the confused looks the cows shot him as he bunched the paper in his hand.

5. Resonant

Y'know what? There was something REALLY funny about watching the awkward kid jump about 10 feet in the air (skeleton practically leaping from his skin) when a piercing whistle carried through the air.

"Th-that's my dad," Dale stuttered. "I have to go. Um. 'Bye."

Huh. So, did he not like to add the 'good' in 'good-bye' either? Maybe he's more self-aware of the crushing weight of existence than I thought. Not the worst quality in a friend.

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[bugbro]

Important Internet Safety PSA!

This post is specifically targeted at minors.

Hi kiddos! I'm making this post to remind all regressors on here that they should be extra sure to stay safe online!

For a while now, I've seen minors posting things that are not safe 🙅 but anyone can benefit from following these tips. Especially those who regress, and can be mentally children at times, should be extra cautious online.

Warning! : mentions of potentially triggering topics in relation to online safety, stranger danger, etc. Please only read when big, not regressed!

Read Under The Cut ⬇️

Things Minors Should Not Share Online:

1) Your Real Name.

Never share your full name online. Your first name is less dangerous, but if you can, I would still go by pseudonym (Ex: Sunny, Lambie, Tiny, Bear, Baby Bat, etc.) or fake name. Your name may feel innocent, but personal information is very important.

2) Your Location.

This one feels obvious, but more people do it than you think! Yes, I mean do not share your address...but I also mean: Do not share what school you attend. Do not share what state you live in. Do not share what city you live in.

3) Your Age.

Do not tell anyone that you are a minor. People online should not know that you are a child. As a child, you are especially vulnerable to being targeted by people online.

Age regressors in general are pretty commonly targeted by p/redators online, but stating you're a minor won't make you more safe from them - it will make those predators more likely to want to message you.

Remember to also not share your birthday! Your exact birth date is personal info. If you wish to share birthday stories, gifts, etc, or tell people of your birthday, be broad. Mention it's your birthday month at the beginning/end of the month :) rather than the exact day.

4) Your Triggers.

People online should not know what specific things trigger you. This information can be used against you. Yes, this includes information in DNIs.

If you must have a DNI, be generic.

"DNI if you post kink, blood, eating disorders, transphobia, these things trigger me." is too much personal information. This is just a list of things that trigger you. People online should NOT know this information. ❌ ❌

❤️ Generic DNI examples:

"DNI if your blog is unsafe for children"

"DNI if you post N/S/F/W content."

"DNI if your blog is k/i/n/k, c/g/l, or NSFW." ❤️

Remember to use your block button liberally, for anyone who makes you uncomfortable.

5) Photos of yourself.

There are multiple reasons why posting photos of yourself, as a minor, may not be a good idea.

First, regression is very stigmatized. Choosing to connect your face to something so stigmatized is a very big decision, one that can be difficult to make at a young age. The internet is forever, and it's very important to consider how you might feel about these photos later in life.

Second, regression is SFW, but p/redators don't care. While the pictures of you with a paci, or you in a diaper may be completely innocent and nonsexual, bad people can still access them. This doesn't mean you can never post photos - but waiting until you're old enough to really understand the risks is a good idea.

In general, photos of your regression can be unsafe but...you can share photos without you in them! Pictures of your snacks, or a toy can be nice to share. Just make sure there's no personal, or identifying info in your pictures :) and then show off your cute drawings or toys.

Personal information is very precious. Be very careful with who you share it with! If you are an adult, you have the knowledge to make the decision on whether or not you think it's a good idea to share this information. But if you are a child, you're usually not old enough to understand what sharing personal info can mean.

I know a lot of these may feel really restricting. You might think "isn't that a little much?" and yes, they can be a lot to ask. But staying safe is super important.

It's important for you kiddos to remember that most of you are in categories that can make you extra vulnerable. Being minors, being neurodivergent, being queer, having faced past trauma, being an age regressor...are all things that can make you especially vulnerable.

If you decide to share these things anyway, I hope I've encouraged you to try to do so sparingly. Maybe you can share some of these, but decide to make others private.

Stay safe kiddos!

[livsateez]

drift king (street racer!yeosang x reader)

drifting came to yeosang as naturally as breathing. the sound of the tires dragging against the ground sounded like music to him.

yeosang thought his life was complete just being known as d.k — drift king. that was, until he had seen you at a race and decided he needed you in the passenger seat.

it had been any other night for yeosang, hanging around in the old parking garage with harsh lighting, waiting for the next person to try to take the drift king title. men and women alike came from all over just to try to beat him. he had seen so many people at his races, people’s faces started blending together. he never gave anyone more than a second’s glance, until you.

he knew for a fact he had never seen you before, he would’ve remembered someone as beautiful as you. he watched as you looked around the garage, you looked like you felt out of place — like this wasn’t your ‘normal scene’. he was about to walk over to you but he felt someone grab his shoulder.

“okay yeo, i have your nex—”

“who’s that?” yeosang cut wooyoung off, nodding slightly in your direction.

“her? that’s y/n, san’s friend. speaking of sa—”

“yeah, yeah that’s nice.” yeosang trailed off and headed towards you.

he watched as you leaned against a car and looked around as if trying to find someone. you pulled out your phone, and quickly put it away after realizing the garage had terrible service. you ran a hand through your hair and looked around again, searching for san. yeosang could tell everything around you was making you uneasy.

“hey, are you okay?” you jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to walk up to you, let alone talk to you.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you. you just seem a little nervous, i wanted to make sure you were alright.” he offered you a small smile. he seemed genuine to you, unlike the people san usually went against.

“yeah, i’m okay. i just lost track of my friend, and apparently he’s up next but he’s no where to be found.” you looked around the sea of people again, san still no where in sight. with that, you let out a sigh.

“maybe i can help you look for him.” you shook your head at the offer.

“it’s okay, to be honest i’d rather stay here. it’s easier to wait for san to come back from his nonsense rather than go look for him. for all i know he’s on the other side of the city and i’m expected to drive this death trap home.” yeosang laughed at that. even though he had just met you, the thought of you driving san’s nissan 350z was amusing to him.

“i’m sure he didn’t leave you here, but if you want, i can keep you company until he comes back.” he leans on the car, now standing next to you. you smiled up at him, thanking him silently.

“i’m y/n by the way,” he smiles back at you.

“i’m ye—”

“d.k! you’re up man, let’s go!” wooyoung’s voice echoed from across the garage as san finally appeared from around the corner.

“y/n i know i left you alone, i’m sorry. i’ll make it up to you i swear!” san says and sees yeosang next you.

“i walk away for 5 minutes and d.k comes to take my good luck charm away?” san laughs as you rolls your eyes.

“relax san, he was just trying to be nice,” you turn back to yeosang. “i didn’t get your name.”

yeosang looked over at wooyoung, who was rushing him to get back to his car.

“i’ll tell you after i beat your friend real quick,” and with that, he headed back to his car.

to say yeosang beat san was an understatement. you had never seen anything like it. you followed the crowd of people to the garage’s roof the second both cars peeled off, and it felt like by the time everyone got up there, yeosang was waiting for san to finally show up. everyone crowded around yeosang and wooyoung, singing praises to yeosang and giving wooyoung money they owed after betting on san. you however, stayed back, standing with san and inspecting the damage on his rear bumper that he gained during the race.

yeosang pushed through the sea of people to walk towards the two of you, he noticed you cock your head to the side and heard you say—

“i mean if you don’t stare too long it’s really not that bad!” san looked at you in disbelief.

“not that bad? i nearly tore the bumper off the car!”

san looked up to see yeosang walking over and scoffed.

“you come over here to gloat?” you hit his shoulder lightly and rolled your eyes. san looked at you confused.

“be nice.” you told him quietly, and looked at yeosang. “sorry, he’s a sore loser sometimes.”

“no worries. i actually came over to say you did good, you almost had me. you had me worried for a second, i’m not gonna lie. when you get that bumper fixed, you should come back.” yeosang held out a hand for san to shake, and to your surprise — he did.

“oh. thanks man, i appreciate it. i’ll definitely be back,” san looked behind yeosang and saw someone waving him over then looked at you.

“i’ll be back, you gonna be okay?” you nodded.

“i’m fine, go do your thing. i’ll be here,” san nodded and walked off, leaving you alone with yeosang.

“well, you beat my friend. do i get to know your name now?” yeosang let out a soft chuckle.

“i’m yeosang. sorry about running off earlier.”

“it’s okay, things happen,” you shrugged.

you two kept talking for a while, and you silently thanked san for taking a long time to come back as you found yourself finally enjoying your time at one of his races. after about fifteen minutes of talking, yeosang noticed the roof of the garage starting to clear out seeing as the next race was about to start.

“you wanna go for a ride?” he asked, feeling maybe a little too bold.

“you don’t have another race?”

“i can skip one, it’ll be alright.” he held his hand out for you to take. you held his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers.

“lead the way.”

[asykriel]

Love is the Death of Duty - 11.

® do not repost or translate !

☆ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Male! Targaryen OC

☆ Status: Ongoing 

☆ Summary:  

“He is half of my heart.”

War made monsters of them all, but it also brought the two second sons together in a flurry of death, love, deceit and delusion. The story of Aemond Targaryen and the eldest son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, Maegor Targaryen, second of his name. 

☆ Warnings: Sexual content, explicit violence, dark themes, targcest etc.

☆ AO3 ☆ || ☆ Wattpad ☆

☆ CHAPTERS: (Prologue) / ( 1 ) / ( 2 ) / ( 3 ) / ( 4 ) / ( 5 ) / ( 6 ) / ( 7 ) / ( 8 ) / ( 9 ) / ( 10 ) / ( 11 ) / ( 12 ) / ( 13 ) / ( 14 ) / ( 15 ) / (16 from now on upcoming chaps only on-  AO3  ||  Wattpad  )

☆ Masterlist ☆ ||  ☆ Spotify Playlist ☆

➸ Previous part

➸ Next part

CHAPTER 11

Lord Corlys, all I ask of you is spare a ship and a handful of men to take my brother to Dragonstone. 

I promised my mother I will keep him safe.

────────────────────────

With dawn comes the clash of steel and wood, arrows whirring through the air, the roar of dragons echoing across the tumultuous sea and flames burning brighter than the sunrise. 

Maegor and Aemond flank Dorne's armada from opposite sides while Addam Velaryon with the Driftmark fleet meet them heads on. The two Targaryen Princes fly and torch in sync and this time Vhagar is not kept in the shadows as a backup plan.

Like the war machine she is, Aemond unleashes her and she seems to remember from the old days how the Dornish smelled when they got charred. It fills her with renewed vigor and youth because not even the few scorpions that manage to scrape her or latch into her flesh slow her down, instead they only make her burn with more fury. And perhaps even Saagael's ferocity reminds her of the times she fought side by side the Black Dread.

As more of the Dornish ships burn or get sunken beneath the waves by the Driftmark soldiers, Maegor steers his dragon and torches right through the enemy again, scorpions flying without precision, failing to hit the swift target. This time he doesn't turn the Cannibal to circle around and launch another attack, instead he keeps on flying straight ahead, leaving Aemond behind to assure the destruction of the fleet and the Seasnake's victory.

When the time is right, I will make my move. I trust Prince Aemond with my life, and so can you.

The black dragon soars through the skies, cutting through the clouds as his wings beat faster than ever before and Maegor has just one target in mind. 

Sunspear.

Dorne, a land known for its independence and resilience, has become Maegor's obsession since last night, his mind churned with plans of conquest. And not only this, but a chance to prove himself once and for all in front of his family and anyone else that might dare question his worth.

I'll show you a real dragon.

House Martell was always too prideful, stubborn and hot blooded. It led to poor decisions and now they had to pay its long awaited due to House Targaryen.

It was Princess Alliandra Martell, seventeen of age, who became the current ruler of Dorne. Her father, Qoren Martell died at the hands of Daemon's spies, years after the first war in the Stepstones, while she was still just a child, not to young to forget however.

She has made a fatal error by sending the majority of her forces to conquer the same barren islands. An inexperienced and reckless choice enabled by her own small council. A mistake that Maegor intends to fully exploit, using her negligence to strike at the heart of Sunspear itself. Now the city is weak and it beckons to him like a ripe fruit ready for picking. 

The distance between the Stepstones and Dorne is covered quickly on the back of a dragon as fast as the Cannibal, and by the break of noon a shadow begins to grow larger and larger upon the sand walls and buildings in Sunspear.

Rare clouds in the sky casting their shadow on the lands, the Dornish think  at first, until the form becomes larger and clearer and they hear the deafening roar that turns their blood cold under the desert sun.

They don't get the chance to react. Maegor spares no time or mercy and he allows the Cannibal to do what he loves the most.

Burn.

Mass hysteria settles in. The people below scatter in fear, scrambling with no direction, their voices echoing with cries of panic as they try to run for their lives and find a hole to hide in. 

But nothing escapes dragonfire.  

Fools did not keep a single Black Scorpion in the city, sending them all with the ships instead. Chaos erupts as the remaining soldiers scramble in a desperate attempt to defend their home. But the arrows shooting at the beast do nothing against the armor that were his dark scales. It was a futile struggle against the might of a dragon and the ambition of a Targaryen.

Every corner of the city is engulfed into blaze and panic. Maegor slowly becomes drunk with bloodlust and power, laying waste to everything below him. His ears pound with adrenaline. The hopeless screams of suffering fuel him more instead of making him take pity in them and cease his attack, while the Cannibal shows them why the smallfolk call him a harbringer of death.

By now half of Sunspear and its people were in flames. A blazing inferno.

The seat of House Martell is left untouched however, on purpose. Maegor wants them to watch from the balcony of their Old Palace how he turns sand into ashes. Break their minds first so that they will bend the knee easily. 

Burning the city continues, until he hears the loud rumble that reverberates through the air. The sign that Maegor was eagerly waiting to hear. It meant only long awaited victory and peace of mind for him, knowing that his lover is unscathed. Not that he ever doubted him or his dragon's might.

Aemond and Vhagar, having decimated the Dornish ships alongside the Seasnake's fleet, appear on the horizon and the older Prince's eye is fixed upon the blazing city, his nephew's masterpiece. The scorching ceases momentarily so that the two of them can be reunited in the air. Maegor wastes no time and takes the lead, flying the Cannibal straight towards the Old Palace with Vhagar on his tail, their presence a formidable display of power.

The two dragons land in front of the castle's gates, flattening whatever structures or humans were under them and the ground shakes under their sheer size. 

Aemond and Maegor dismount and they begin walking together in silence, stealing a few glances from eachother, towards the last feeble display of defiance. No one tries to oppose or stop them. The surviving Dornish soldiers, now faced with the terrifying presence of the Targaryen dragons, can only submit to their riders and they lay down their weapons as both beasts bare their sword like teeth.   

Even if she did not burn this time, the sight of Vhagar alone,  sends shivers down the spines of the Dornish people. The stories of Visenya Targaryen riding Vhagar during the time of Aegon the Conqueror have been passed down through generations. The dragon's flames had scorched the Dornish lands, leaving scars upon the sands that still whispered tales of devastation. 

Now, Vhagar's presence once again cast a long shadow over Dorne. The people see in her the  symbol of the Targaryen might that almost crushed their ancestors' resistance. And today might be the day when she might finish what she started decades ago.

As the two Targaryen enter the main hall of Old Palace, the Princess, her steward and two knights from her guard meet them halfway, the rest of her small council and the courtiers watch in fear and anxiety from the shadows, behind pillars or from balconies. Maegor notes how she immediately locks eyes with him and Aemond, walking with a regal aura around her, trying to seem like she is still in power while her city is smoldering.

Aemond watches her and her knights carefully, a hand on the hilt of his sword as his shoulder is pressed against his nephew's, both of them keeping close to each other at all times. If anything goes wrong he is confident him and Maegor alone could slice through all of them without the aid of their dragons.

"Alliandra Martell." Maegor calls out first, the tone of his voice cold and commanding.

"Maegor and Aemond Targaryen." She mirrors him but her tone is full of spite at the word 'Targaryen'. 

Maegor's jaw clenches slightly.

"Your pathetic attempts to claim the Stepstones have left your home vulnerable and weakened. Without an army too, I made sure of it." Aemond scoffs at her and the two knights exchange worried looks behind her back. A few gasps are heard throughout the hall at the news.

"Surrender now, and I will spare further bloodshed. Dorne shall bend the knee and unite under the Crown's rule with the rest of the kingdoms." Maegor wastes no time laying out exactly what he wants.  House Martell has no options left anyway. Him and Aemond could wipe out every trace of their bloodline, if bastard-making was not one of their main hobbies.

Hushed whispers begin to echo around the main hall, some blaming the poor decisions of the Princess and being in favor of uniting with the rest of the kingdoms. Even in Dorne, Targaryen loyalists emerge, especially in the face of death.

"Our sands have weathered countless storms, including you, Targaryens . We shall weather this one too." Princess Alliandra, her expression a mix of defiance and desperation, takes a step forward. 

"Dragonfire fire burns hotter than any Dornish sun, you should know this by now." Aemond says sharply.

"I'm being generous by giving you a choice, bend the knee and spare the rest of your city and people. I will take Dorne either way, it matters not to me if it's just sand and ash." Maegor was slowly starting to lose his patience going back and forth with her. The Princess needs to decide fast.

The courtiers' voices become louder by now but neither Princes pay attention to them.

"You're no better than Daemon Targaryen. He did the right thing by naming you after a mad tyrant. Perhaps you will have the same fate as him?"

"Watch your tongue." Aemond sneers at her, taking a step in front of Maegor, protectively.

The two Dornish knights both instinctively grip their curved swords.

The younger Prince places his hand on his uncle's elbow, rubbing an unseen thumb against the fabric of his coat to get him to relax. 

"Spare me the history lessons. You don't know anything about my house. And I'm starting to lose my patience." Maegor glares at her harshly. 

Time is ticking against the Martell. 

"Perhaps some more burning will make the Princess decide faster , wouldn't you say nephew?"

Before Maegor could answer his uncle, the steward excuses himself and takes Alliandra aside where they are joined by the rest of the Martell council. What begins as a hushed choir of whispers soon starts into senseless bickering and both Princes can feel their nerves stretched out to a breaking point, especially Maegor who was already irritated from the start.

"Your time has ran out Princess. I've been more than patient, considering I've been dealing with your Triarchy mongrels for a long time." Maegor barks, his voice echoing through the hall. This seems to finally get the Princess and her council to fall silent.

A subtle change is noted by both Princes, Alliandra Martell no longer holds her head high and confident, instead she is frowning at them with visible anger on her face.

Aemond keeps a close eye on her. Wary of the sudden change of attitude.

Instead of her coming before them again to speak, the steward, an elderly Martell man does, bowing his head and keeping it low when he closes some of the distance between them.

"My Princes, we accept your conditions and generous offer to unite under the same Crown, but we beg of you, spare the rest of Dorne."

This is it? All her initial defiance just to be outpowered by her own council?

Somehow Aemond is not buying it, but nonetheless he gives his nod of approval when his nephew glances at him, almost as surprised as him by the sudden change.

"Some wisdom at last." 

(Art by me)

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Time passes quickly and by the time the flames throughout the city die out, night settles in, as well as momentarily peace.

 Realizing that resistance is futile, the Martell Princess feigns submission and disappears from their sight, leaving her steward to invite Maegor and Aemond to a lavish feast in their honor as it was protocol. The Targaryen Princes, reluctantly accept the invitation, keeping their guard raised with a sense of caution lingering in their hearts, while the dragons still rest right where they were left, keeping guard and forbidding anyone to enter or exit the castle.

While preparations for the feast are taking place, Aemond never leaves his nephew's side. They are both given their own private quarters, but neither of them feel comfortable being alone in what not long ago was their enemy's lair. 

"We should send out ravens." Aemond suddenly speaks from the large divan he is lounging in. He raises his nose from a random Dornish book he picked to look at his nephew.

"I'm sure they found out from other sources by now." Maegor sighs, leaning back against the armchair he is sitting in. Weeks of build up exhaustion really caught up with him by now. All he wishes is to be done with this charade and fly out somewhere with Aemond where he would have some peace alone in his company. He's not exactly keen on breaking bread with the Dornish and faking enjoyment, especially since some hours ago he was burning down half of Sunspear.

"Which is why we should personally send ravens. Unless we want our families to go at each other's throat for this piece of land." Aemond puts down the book and stands up from the divan.

"You know they will either way. But if you insist, write the letter, uncle, I trust your words better than my own." Maegor closes his eyes, resting the back of his head against the armchair as he feels his uncle's fingers carding through his silver locks.

Just for a fleeting moment he wants to freeze time like this. Even behind enemy lines Aemond could put him at ease with simple gestures. 

"There's still some time left. Rest up my Prince." Aemond leans over to plant a kiss on his nephew's forehead before he takes a seat at the desk, paper and quill in hand.

The corners of Maegor's mouth twitch into a subtle smile and soon enough he dozes off, lulled by the sound of the hawk quill dragging ink against the paper.

With that, Aemond sets to work, allowing himself the freedom to carefully write a piece of information that none of the possible sources know. Not even his nephew, at least not yet. He keeps it short and brief, no need for bragging and boasting in a letter. 

They could do that later on when they would eventually return to the capital, or at least Aemond hopes they will. He still has to find a way to deal with his mother and grandfather and keep his drunkard and nosey brother at bay, if he wants to take Maegor back to King's Landing with him. For now their relationship needs to stay private, away from the prying ears and eyes of his Hightower side of the family. If the harsh slap that his mother would deliver to Aemond's face, would be the only consequence that resulted from their relationship becoming public, the Prince can gladly take it. But he knows there's no way the punishment will be so light. And worse, Maegor will surely suffer more gravely than him.

At least he comforts himself with the thought that Helaena would surely take their side and support them, she knows best what's it like to be unable to choose who you want to love.

Outside of the quarters, across the hallways, the ruckus of the servants making the final feast preparations grows louder. It doesn't take long for a guard to lightly knock on the door, without daring to enter. Aemond doesn't answer verbally, so that his nephew can be spared a few more moments of sleep. They'll attend the feast when they please, now that Dorne was under their rule.

Instead, he makes his way to the door and demands a raven cage to be sent over. Naturally the guard obeys and swiftly fulfills the command with no complaints. He is simply glad to be alive. Even if a lot of Dornish people hold deep hatred for the Targaryens, House Martell especially, they are now powerless. Between submission and dying an agonizing death ripped apart or burned to death by a dragon, the choice is obvious.

Once the letter is complete, the older Prince rereads it twice before writing another copy, sealing both of them with melted wax and the Targaryen seal.  Two ravens are sent with the letters, one meant for the Iron Throne and the other for Dragonstone.

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I pen this letter with a heart filled with pride and admiration for my beloved nephew, Prince Maegor Targaryen, Second of his name. In the recent war for the Stepstones, Prince Maegor displayed unparalleled courage, determination, and leadership. He led our forces with unwavering resolve, fought fiercely in the battles, and ultimately triumphed in conquering Sunspear and the lands of Dorne. He succeeded what the Conqueror before us could not, uniting all Seven Kingdoms under the same rule.

It is with great honor and privilege that I announce to you all that, in recognition of his valor and dedication, I proclaim Maegor Targaryen as the Prince of Dorne and Ruler of Sunspear. His tireless efforts and sacrifices have earned him this title, and I have no doubt that under the Crown, Dorne will see a new era of unity, prosperity, and peace.

In the name of House Targaryen and the Iron Throne, I ask all the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms to recognize Prince Maegor  Targaryen as the rightful ruler of Dorne and offer their loyalty and support to his rule and rightful claim.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

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The older Prince is positive his nephew will be as shocked as the recipients of the letters when he finds out about his titles. But he deserves them, and who else is better fit than Aemond to give them to him? 

Poor Maegor is still sleeping soundly in that armchair, exactly how his uncle left him. Aemond lets out a silent chuckle and barely brings himself to stand from the desk. He does not want to do this, but they need to show their faces for a few hours in the main hall at least, unless they want House Martell to get delusional ideas once again.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon, dombo ēdrugon." The older Prince whispers against his nephews ear.

Maegor jolts awake, finding Aemond looming over him, hands on both sides of the armchair.

"Qybor." Maegor groans at Aemond, his body relaxing in an instance at the familiar face so close to his own.

"It's time for the feast, nephew. You can rest more, after." Aemond smiles at his annoyed face. His hands are itching for more contact, but if they want to ever reach that feast he needs to keep himself in check. And his nephew.

Maegor groans louder in annoyance, rolling his eyes. He doesn't want to endure any second longer in the presence of any Martell or Dornishman.

"Don't worry, we can leave as soon as dawn breaks and we settle our affairs here. I've already sent out the letters." Aemond reassures him.

"No. We leave after the feast, I'm not planning to exceed my stay in Dorne." Maegor stands up stretching  his tired arms. Even at night the heat and dry air of the desert is unbearable, especially since he was still cladded in his dragonrider garments.  He could swear he has sand in his boots too.

"Our dragons are tired as well as we are. You especially. When was the last time you had a good night's sleep, Maegor?" Aemond rubs over his eyepatch, turning back to the desk to dispose of any drafts he started. 

Tiredness is slowly creeping on to him as well but he can endure it longer, after all his arrival is still a recent one. It was Maegor who had weeks of fighting before him and he's surprised that his nephew is still holding himself out so brazenly. It's to be expected, he's a dragon and a warrior.

"If my head wasn't spinning from all the Arbor wine that night, I'd say when I had you in my bed." Maegor follows his uncle, closing the distance between them. He hugs Aemond from behind, pressing him against the edge of the desk. 

In a year at most, Aemond is sure that Maegor will reach his height, if not even surpass him.

"You can have me in your bed again. After the feast." The older Prince emphasizes and turns around to face him. 

Maegor scoffs at the sound of that dreaded dinner again and drops his hands to his uncle's waist.

"Or I could have you now and we can forget about that whole charade. We can have our own celebration in private." The younger Prince presses his lips against the side of his uncle's neck.

Aemond exhales a shaky breath. He can feel his willpower and composure slowly slipping. His nephew is turning into a cunning fiend right before his eyes, but he has to resist the temptation.

"You know how things work, Maegor. Bare with it for just a few hours." He runs a hand through his nephew's hair, untying the messy half ponytail that were keeping his silver bangs from Maegor's eyes.

Teeth suddenly sink into the side of his neck and Aemond lets out a soft wince. Someone clearly doesn't agree with him.

"Fine. But you need to make up for this, uncle." Maegor sighs dramatically and raises his head from his neck to look at him.

"Ao gīmigon kesan, ñuha dārilaros." Aemond chuckles. His nephew's childish stubborness and playful antics are like a breath of fresh air after the recent events.

A glint of something shines in the younger Prince's odd colored eyes.

Suddenly Maegor presses his lips against his uncle's and Aemond soon enough finds himself with his back flat against the desk, his nephew's body  pushing down on his own. 

Aemond groans in his mouth and Maegor keeps kissing him like his uncle is his sole lifeline. Wild and desperate. Maybe it was the pent up anger and exhaustion that gathered during the weeks at war, but he's starving and hungry for Aemond, worse than before their first night together.

A knock at the door reminds the older Prince that he needs to recollect his scattered thoughts and find his willpower again to be able to attend to their duties. However, Maegor doesn't seem to pay attention to it. 

His uncle's fist in his hair yanking his head back snaps Maegor out from his feverish state. They stare at each other a little longer and Aemond notes how wide his nephew's pupils are blown. 

You'll be the death of me.

Aemond clears his voice. Another knock, and the steward's voice excusing himself can be heard from outside the quarters.

Maegor slams a fist against the desk, groaning in annoyance as Aemond stands up, fixing his clothes before fixing his nephew's garments as well.

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The feast is held in the grand hall of Old Palace, with house Martell courtiers and Targaryen loyalist nobles gathering to witness the pivotal moment. 

Much to both of their irritation, the Princes are seated opposite from each other at the high table. Maegor next to the Martell Princess at one end and Aemond at the other end next to the steward.

The younger Prince could feel his blood boil the moment he sat himself in the chair and felt Princess Alliandra's presence uncomfortably close to him. This arrangement was on purpose, he's sure of it. 

Aemond watches him all the time and begs him silently to keep his calm, for his sake at least.  Maegor swallows down his anger and keeps his usual stoic facade in front of all the eyes that are upon him. Only one matters however, his uncle's violet gaze is the only ounce of comfort that keeps him grounded and collected.

All kinds of lavish dishes and drinks are brought out, carried by the servants on huge plates. Neither Aemond nor Maegor touch anything before they make sure everyone around them does. After all, if pride is the first thing house Martell is renowned for, poisons are a close second. They have to be vigilant.

Maegor tries to zone out and shut off all the noises and voices around him until he feels a light touch on his arm that makes his anger flare out instantly.

"Prince Maegor, I offer my deepest apologies. My house and people have a lot of pride, it's not like us to bend the knee so easily, surely you can understand." Alliandra Martell speaks in a smooth voice, rubbing her hand over his forearm.

For a swift second Maegor contemplates if he should rip her hand off but sucks in a sharp breath instead, removing his arm from her touch politely as he hums in approval. If he speaks now he'll say something that he'll regret. What is the Princess even playing at? First she wishes death upon him and now she's trying to seduce him.

At the opposite side of the table Aemond buries his nose in a wine cup so that the anger that makes his expression contort at the sight displayed before him doesn't become so obvious. His nephew meets his violet glare with an apologetic one and Aemond shakes his head. It's not Maegor's fault. They both have to bear this night without deciding to burn down the other half of Sunspear still standing.

The Martell Princess doesn't quite catch the hint unfortunately and keeps touching and trying to make conversation with Maegor. He's so tensed up he can feel his flesh hurting.

Suddenly she stands up, and the hall falls silent, the courtiers moving their attention to her. Aemond glares daggers at the Princess but it seems like she either does not see him or simply ignores him. 

"After many thoughts and advice from my council I wish to come forth with a proposal, one that will perhaps solidify the union between Dorne and the rest of the kingdoms." Alliandra says looking at Maegor with a smile on her lips, fake obviously, as she raises her wine cup.

The Prince raises an eyebrow and only nods, feigning interest. He's certain delusion runs deep through house Martell but he needs to play along for now.

"I propose we marry each other, that way we can strengthen our houses and forget about our clashes." 

Aemond's slams his empty wine cup loudly against the table, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword at the audacity. All attention falls to him now.

However, before Aemond can utter a word, Maegor lets out a harsh, mocking laugh that reverberates through the grand hall. 

"Marry you? Have you forgotten your place, Princess? Shall I remind you that I've brought Dorne to its knees along with you? You must confuse the term prisoner with betrothed." Maegor lets out another chuckle, staring at the Martell from his chair.

"I haven't, but I believe this marriage would be beneficial to the realm and our houses." Alliandra's expression falters but she tries to keep her composure and deceitful smile.

The Prince scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stands up from his chair, towering over the Martell Princess as he looks down on her.

"Half of Sunspear is in ruins, your army is charred and you've lost your kingdom. This isn't an alliance proposal, it's an act of pathetic desperation. And even if the circumstances were different, I already belong to someone Princess, someone who will have my heart until the end of time." Maegor eyes search for his uncle's for a moment then they return to lock with Alliandra's.  

With her plan crumbling before her, Princess Alliandra's expression turns dark with anger and her facade of hospitality is shattered as she returns to her true self from the beginning.

"You dare to mock and reject me?" she hisses, her hand reaching into a hidden pocket of her dress from behind, from an angle where Maegor can't see.

But Aemond can. And his sharp eye is following her closely as all of his senses are on high alert. 

"Have I not been clear enough, Princess? Stop embarrassing yourself any further in front of your whole court while I'm still asking nicely." Maegor scowls at her, clenching his jaw and fists and doing his best to control the anger that was boiling under his skin.

"Prince Maegor, Prince Aemond, I wish to make a toast." The old steward suddenly calls to the Targaryens as he stands up from his chair next to the older Prince, wine cup in hand.

This brief distraction is all that Alliandra needs. In a fit of rage and swift motions, she pulls out a small vial from the hidden pocket and quickly brings it to her lips. 

By the time Aemond snaps back his attention towards his nephew it's too late. 

With a sinister smirk, she forcefully presses her lips against Maegor's, forcing him to swallow down the liquid.

Gasps echoes through the hall as the horrifying scene unfolds before the courtier's eyes.

Maegor grabs her by the throat and she laughs in his face. He tries to choke her out but almost instantly he feels all the strength draining from his body. His knees buckle under his weight and he falls against the table, his vision clouding. A surge of immense pain follows and he grits his teeth trying to cling to consciousness.

"You treacherous harlot!" Letting out a snarl of desperation Aemond jumps over the table, drawing out his sword in the process and slicing through the steward who, no doubt had a big part to play in this sick plan. Only two foolish guards try to stop him from reaching the Princess, the same two from earlier. 

"I'll send your father my deepest condolences." Princess Alliandra leans over Maegor, whispering in his ear. 

"A shame though, you were such a looker." She traces a nail over a thin scar across his left cheek.

Adrenaline courses through his veins. Acting on instinct, Maegor musters all remaining strength left and, with a fierce determination, he hurls himself from Alliandra's embrace against the floor. He shoves his fingers down his throat, retching until he manages to vomit all of the contents of his stomach in an attempt to rid his body from the poison before it's too late.

Aemond mercilessly cuts through the guards, blinded by sheer fury before he rushes to his nephew's side.

"Seize her!" Aemond shouts but no one dares to move yet, too frozen with shock or fear or perhaps they are all part of her plan. 

The loud growls and restless rumbling of the two dragons right outside the castle walls reminds them of their presence and they quickly make up their minds. By now both beasts sensed something was wrong, especially the Cannibal through his strong bond with Maegor. Eventually house Martell's own guards finally seize their former ruler, awaiting further orders from the older Targaryen.

Princess Alliandra simply stares at Aemond with a satisfied smile on her lips. She knows the outcome of this, but if she can take at least one Targaryen with her, it's a victory in her book.

"Qibor.." Maegor coughs and lets out raspy breaths. 

"Shh Maegor. Ȳdra daor ȳdragon, vīlībagon. Nyke kostagon daor ojughagon ao." Aemond's hands tremble as they cup his nephew's face. Suddenly panic settles in, the thought of losing Maegor like this before they even got the chance to spend their days together is unbearable.

Whatever the poison, it is a very potent one and Maegor would surely be dead by now if it wasn't for his quick thinking. Judging by his state, there are still some traces of it left in his system.

Rushing to the table, Aemond grabs a bowl of salt and pours it into a water pitcher before running back to his nephew.  He forces Maegor to drink large gulps of salt water and waits until his nephew starts retching and vomiting again until there's nothing left to come out from his body.

"You fool, he already swallowed some of it. Your nephew will die and you will make sure to watch." A sudden laugh makes Aemond see red. 

The urge to cut Alliandra's head off her shoulders gnaws at him, but he can't allow her such a sweet, painless death. No. She needs to suffer the same way she made Maegor suffer.

"I'll make you pay. You and all of your treacherous leeches that aided you. Take her outside." The tone of Aemond's voice drops to a dangerously calm.

Throwing his nephew's arm over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, Aemond heaves him up. Maegor feels like he was threading the thin line between consciousness and total darkness while the sharp pain still tears through him, from head to toe. His legs feel boneless as he is suddenly raised up, but he struggles to stand despite the pain and helplesness and stumbles along, supported by his uncle. The guards follow, Alliandra now silent behind them. 

Even in this state, Maegor is raging in his head, angry that he ended up being defeated so easily. 

Angry that he cannot rip the Martell bitch limb by limb with his bare hands.

At the entrance of the Old Palace, the dragons are restless and distraught under the night sky. At the sight of his rider's weak body getting dragged by Aemond, the Cannibal lets out a roar, seething with fury. The beast lowers his head bearing his teeth and growling dangerously at Aemond. Vhagar rumbles and snaps her jaws in the air, close to Saagael's head as a warning.

"Daor! Lykirī!" The older Prince shouts at the two beasts. The last thing he needs is for them to start ripping each other apart.

Maegor groans painfully trying extend a hand to his dragon. The moment he lets go of his uncle however, he almost crumbles to the ground if not for Aemond to pull him back against his body.

The Cannibal lowers his head further, bringing it closer to his rider. He inhales and exhales deeply, taking in the scent of the young Prince before he lets out a low, silent cry.

"Ziry gōntan bisa." Aemond tells the beast and there's no doubt that he immediately understands by the way he reacts.

 Slitted sapphire eyes like Aemond's gem get locked on Alliandra's form. Her face suddenly drains of color when she meets the Cannibal's cold glare.

"Bring her over."  

The guards reluctantly obey and approach the Princes, all while both Vhagar and Saagael watch, sizing them up with a predatory glare as the men cower in fear before them. 

There's no trace of pride or ambition left on the Martell's face. All of her previous confidence and foolish bravery is now replaced by dread and fear.

"Mazverdagon zirȳ hīghagon." 

A final command is given.

Make them scream 

Before the guards or the Princess can react, both dragons lower their head in synch, opening their massive jaws and closing them around the three at the same time, with Alliandra being in the middle. Despite their sheer size, both Vhagar and the Cannibal act with precision, careful to keep their main target alive long enough to be able to feel the pain. The two guards are ripped apart swiftly and almost too painlessly, they aren't the main course however. Alliandra has the privilege of getting torn apart methodically, limb to limb like Maegor wished until her agonizing screams turn into a gurgles and eventually die out completely just as quick as they started. 

If they had any time to spare Aemond would have personally dealt with her, but Maegor is the priority now and he can feel him get weaker by the minute. There's no time to waste. He needs to take him to be tended by maesters as fast as possible.

Staying in Sunspear is not an option. After the scheme that Alliandra pulled on them, there's no one trustworthy in Dorne and he's not stupid to risk getting Maegor poisoned again and killed under the pretext of receiving medicine and care. 

The Stepstones are the closest, but even if the Seasnake's maesters are skilled, there's isn't a lot they can do with the few rations left and even less medicine.

The second closest option is King's Landing. That plan too falls through as Aemond can't risk suddenly bringing Maegor in such a vulnerable state. He barely got away with flying to the Stepstones in the first place, after much nagging from his mother and grandfather. It will raise up too much suspicion if he suddenly shows up with his nephew like this and it will surely cause an even bigger rift between their families as he's certain both Daemon and Rhaenyra would misinterpret and accuse him of poisoning the younger Prince instead.

So Aemond chooses the third option, the safest bet. For Maegor at least.

Dragonstone.

────────────────────────

Translations:

Ñuha jorrāelagon, dombo ēdrugon = My love, wake up

Qybor = Uncle

Ao gīmigon kesan, ñuha dārilaros = You know I will, my Prince

Ȳdra daor ȳdragon, vīlībagon. Nyke kostagon daor ojughagon ao = Don't speak, fight. I can't lose you

Ziry gōntan bisa = She did this

Mazverdagon zirȳ hīghagon = Make them scream

[totalswap-official]

WAAAAAAAAAH

Click in "more" to see Zeck's introduction

. Name: Zeck (Zacarias Bernissage)

. participant 5. The "o treco"

. Age: 19

"Hey! I'm not stoned, I'm just f*cked up!"

. Acception Token:

-Zeck entered in the reality show with Nipper and Ayesha, His real name Zacarias Bernissage but he choosed "Zeck" as his in-game name to make it more easy to you to call him.

He's surely disturbed, whanever you approach him he just tell you a creepy 'fun' fact.

He say that mostly of his actions are just on purpose ya know? Just to scare people, but sometimes he doesn't want to act like that, he thinks that he needs to change.

. Why he entered in the reality?

Money.

. What he wants to do with the Money?

Just to pay his Therapist and to make sure that he has alot of money when gets older.

. Zeck's Past:

-When Zeck was young boy, his father toke him to the city to be in the same home that his mother, but his mother was never in home and his father was an alcoholic.

It all started when he was 8, everything was doing great until his father tried to kill him. But until some tragedy happened, Zeck's mom arrived and stopped the situation.

In the same Day he got so Angry that he started to watch THAT type of videos of people getting hurt, ya know? And after that his psychologic was ruined.

As far he can remember, he did that because wanted his father to get hurt but he didn't wanted to hurt him, so he started to watch THAT type of videos to "contain" the anger

. Additional information:

Zeck is Bissexual

As far he could experience, Zeck surely is Neurodivergent

He's cuddleble, he said that he just knowed about that because someone did that to him once (wow, I wonder who did that)

He's Brazilian but he's also half Russian and German (massive red flag if you ask me)

Zeck just have an urge to tell people the creepy 'fun' facts that he know because he thinks everyone should know about it.

Mostly of the time he just acts Creepy to scare people on purpose, but when he accidentally acts Creepy and Scare someone he gets sad on himself.

He is Apathetic about seeing violence, he can get attached to people but he won't feel any hard feelings if that person get hurt.

Zeck is REALLY afraid of dying or getting hurt.

He has 2 cats, 1 pug (dog) and other 2 dogs. He takes care of them since they we're babys, so they don't attack each other or something.

Zeck has THAT many of pets just to them comfort him because... Well, traumas and insecurities right?

. Musical References:

His second name is a reference to "Vernissage" by Pisse

And just that I guess?

[wiredaughter]

day 5: anxiety

Fight or Flight

john doe×bruce wayne ♡ hurt/comfort ♡ pov second person ♡ anxiety attack ♡ preslash ♡ ao3

Saturdays. He always comes earlier on Saturdays, so you make sure to clear your scrapbooking away on time. You mean to surprise him with it, but it’s not yet ready, so by the time four in the afternoon rolls around your desk is empty in the least suspicious possible way. So four o’clock comes, and goes. It’s only natural, he’s a busy man. You pace your room, not unhappy but ticked off some; lately you find yourself missing him and then recriminating yourself for missing him. It’s a cycle that only works you up.

By four twenty three your desk has a couple of notebooks lying on it, and a textbook. Idle on your wait, you’ve created a likely decoy for a man that’s not here. You exhale, falling back into bed, He’ll be here. He said so last time. He’ll be here. You pace, repeat those words to yourself like a mantra, one you can’t stop poking holes into. For all his words, his intentions, he’s got no good reason to be here. After all you’ve done to each other, even if he’s put it behind him it doesn’t tell you he hasn’t put you behind, too. People move on.

You’ve thought yourself into a cloud of despair and chased it away a couple times before he finally makes it, at fifteen to five. He calls your name before opening the door, and you’re on your feet in an instant, smiling. He's here, and it's like nothing can get you down now. He’s apologetic, just got back to Gotham and came as soon as he could, and you appreciate that. You appreciate that, you do. You really must be the bane of his life, getting him back to the city in the middle of a potential merger. He doesn’t accuse it, instead getting you to explain what you’ve got up to in occupational therapy, and you manage to shove those thoughts to the back of your head where they belong.

It’s not until his phone rings and he excuses himself because he absolutely has to take this, giving your arm a quick touch before he exits for the hallway, that you find yourself unable to keep them away. He’s got a perfectly okay life without you, you’re nothing but a remnant of a past he’s let go of with no problem. You’re holding him back. The realisation is like a blade to your chest, and you feel your heartbeat picking up. You’re keeping him from the life his friends, his real friends, want him to live. You fold on yourself as you feel nausea raise up your throat. You need to tell him it’s alright, you need to tell him you’ll be fine. Will you be fine? You need him, more than that, you want him with you, in ways you've got no right to want of him. No right, and still the want eats at you in hysteric bursts. Three things you can see, you remember from therapy, things you can see. You see your unfinished game of cards on the table, you see… your own shaking hands and you see him.

‘John? Are you alright?’

He’s here, he’s done with his phone call and he’s here, seeing you freak out over nothing, and this is not what you planned, and… he’s asked you a question, he did. You shake your head before you realise what you’re doing, then nod hesitantly. There’s movement on your peripheral vision, and he’s crouching in front of you. Close. Too close. You wish he’d get even closer. Closer.

‘Just breathe with me, will you?’ His arm moves up and down like marking a tempo and weird as it is it does help to follow its rhythm. You grab his hand midair and pull it to your chest in a movement that feels as instinctual as a reflex, whine low on your throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

He squeezes your fingers, bringing his other hand to cup your face. ‘You don’t need to apologise-’

‘I do.’ Your voice is quiet but firm, and you’re standing up to get away because you’re not going to be able to say your piece this way. ‘I need to, because I’m making your life more difficult, and I made you cut your trip short, and even though you keep trying to be my friend I cannot be the kindof person you should be friends with, and I never will! Because you keep trying and I cannot be-’ You cut yourself short when he catches your hands where you’re throwing them in the air in wild gestures, bring them down to a relaxed hold between your bodies. You sigh, concluding; ‘I should be better.’

‘I don’t need you to be. I don’t need you to be anything but what you are.’ You give him a sullen look and he, unbelievably, smiles. ‘Do you feel like I should be something else?’

You shake your head no. ’That’s different, though, you’ve got no reason to. I ruined everything. I ruin everything.’

‘Don’t I?’ His thumb slides over the raised scar on the back of your hand where his batarang went through. ‘I hurt you, I lied to you.’

The memory of the violence settles something inside of you, and you finally meet his gaze. The sadness in it takes you aback. ‘I tried to kill you.’

‘I know. We’re both changing, but that’s only natural. I don’t need you to be anything but what you are.’

His level voice leeches your anxiety away, and you’re stumbling forward to hide your face in his chest. His arms come to wrap around you and you’ve missed him so much. You allow yourself to acknowledge that, even if you can’t get the words through your mouth. You hope you’re being evident enough without having to voice it.

[honeysorwell]

Two hearts can fix everything

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 

Chapter 3

Par: Wilhemina Venable x fem!Reader

Tag list: @paulsonix​​ @d14n4ol​​ @harknspet @strawberryshorttcakkeee and if any of you want to be added just let me know!

Warning: none, I think I’m still in my clean era.

Word Count: 1,4k

Enjoy!

Y/N has never been the kind of person who wanted a stranger's company. She had her friends, her family and her coffee shop, all of them for longer than she can remember and it never occurred to her to need anyone else.

She had relationships. A boy she loved in her mid-teens, a charming girl who kept her company at the city's public library, a pretty non-binary person who worked at the coffee shop she had with her mother, as well as occasional affairs of no real importance, but one thing they all had in common was that they were people she knew.

But now, when Y/N changed the address of the coffee shop that she had owned for 4 years, the world gave her an unusual desire when we are talking about the company of the redheaded woman who occasionally showed up to order a coffee.

With her complicated name and formal attire, the redhead became someone Y/N unconsciously sought out every time the bell, attached to the front door of Gardenhouse Coffee, rang. It was hardly her, but when the purple clothes contrasted with the whole exterior, Y/N couldn't hold back her own smile.

The barista has always been a person with an easy smile. Since she was a child, she did everything to brighten up conversations between friends and was always looking lovingly at her family. When she started working with her mother in the family's first coffee shop, her sweet way of acting with everyone around her was just a bonus when working with the public.

Smiles were always returned, by men and women, and eventually that led to something more. But Y/N was never like that to get something, it was always just her instinct to give smiles to everyone.

What bubbles in the barista's mind is that there is something about the red-haired woman that makes Y/N want nothing more than to make her smile back. But maybe it's too early to think about that because Wilhemina enters the coffee shop and Y/N just wishes she could go back in time and add more purple and a kind of orange-red to the decoration. Even though the barista feels she doesn't have the ability to accurately predict the magnificence of the shade of red hair she admires from afar.

What should it smell like?

When silly questions start popping into Y/N's mind, she forces her head to shake negatively, as if the act would be able to scare away her thoughts and make the barista focus on the redhead's order.

However, the unexpected happens.

Every time Wilhemina came to the coffee shop, she ordered her coffee and waited until it was ready there, on the counter. Her attitude showed a bit of impatience, especially when the barista felt the redhead's gaze burning her back, but Y/N paid little to no attention at all to that.

Maybe the woman with the exotic name was always busy. Maybe she was late for something important and didn't have time to waste at a table.

However, on that day in question, the redhead apparently did.

The barista watched as Wilhemina approached a high table in the right corner of the coffee shop and sat down on the chair, before picking up the menu that was resting next to the napkins and observing it curiously.

It takes a few minutes, or seconds, the barista didn't really count, but when the redhead's eyes find hers, Y/N approaches Wilhemina.

"Good morning. Trying something new?", she knows she didn't scare the redhead because the woman's gaze hasn't left her face since she started approaching, completely ignoring the menu in her hand.

"Maybe… What do you suggest?", Wilhemina gives her the answer in a nonchalant manner, perhaps to mask the fact that she hadn't read the menu at all, exactly like the first time.

"To drink or to eat?"

"Oh no, I'm absolutely fine with my usual coffee…", she is extremely direct when she speaks, it almost makes Y/N flinch, but the barista doesn't.

Y/N touches the redhead's hand and lowers the menu until it is resting completely on the table. She leans a little over the surface too, just to get closer to the menu, and it doesn't go unnoticed when the redhead takes a deep breath next to her.

“Then I would recommend a yogurt cake with lemon… It's soft and not as strong or sweet as the others on the menu, so it won't interfere with the taste of your coffee.”, the barista says as she points to the figure of a simple cake compared to the others, and even though she doesn't want to, Wilhemina's eyes focus more on the fingers stretched out in front of her than on the figure itself.

“Oh… I like that…”, the redhead seems a little disconcerted, perhaps even uncomfortable with Y/N's proximity, so before speaking again, the barista moves her body away from the table and maintains the straight posture she had a few minutes ago.

“I was happy to see that you chose to spend some time here… Sitting and enjoying my coffee shop. You see…”, at this point, Y/N feels her face heat up, but she decides to just swallow her breath continuing. “I have some regular or potentially regular clients, like you… But you is the one I wait for and recognize from a distance.”

And it is as if Wilhemina's brown eyes have lost some of their shine. Before, her vision was focused on Y/N's face, but with her last sentence, now a clean napkin becomes interesting to her.

“I know… The cane…”

“Actually, it's all the purple.”, Y/N interrupts her before even hearing the entire sentence of the woman in front of her, driven by the desire not to let the redhead get the wrong impression of what she was trying to say, “I like it.”

It only lasts a second, but the barista sees the surprise in the redhead's eyes as soon as she hears what Y/N said. However, this look quickly turns into something else and is accompanied by a smile.

It is beautiful, with straight and white teeth, but it is so predatory that Y/N quickly feels like an animal about to be captured by a trap she thought she could play.

“Looking at this place, it’s hard to find a color you don’t like…”

It’s laced with venom, but Y/N is still too embarrassed to notice. So she answers honestly.

“Maybe black, Wilhielmina.”

“What?”, it’s confusing, as if the redhead had heard what Y/N said but that it didn’t make any sense, and so Y/N explains herself.

“I don’t like the color black. In my opinion, it shouldn’t even be a color, since it’s what we see when we close our eyes… I like to see the world and its colors, especially the pretty ones.”

There’s a silence. It only lasts a few seconds, and it’s enough for Y/N to think she said the wrong thing, but Wilhemina’s voice sounds before hers.

“Nice to know.”, contrary to what Y/N imagined, like another wicked smile or an eye roll, Wilhemina’s reaction was simply shocking.

The redhead blushed.

Once again, when Wilhemina received her piece of cake and her coffee, the note next to it had two hearts and her name misspelled. The same grammatical error as the other times, but it barely sounded like anything that important when compared to the quick conversation she had shared with Y/N.

It was hard for anyone to have the courage to talk to her. Maybe because of her intimidating appearance, or her deficiency, or even because of the way she carried herself and spoke to everyone around her, but the reality is that no one started silly conversations with Wilhemina. Until this barista arrived, ignoring everything that everyone else saw as warning signs.

And even if a part of the redhead wanted to just take it as an incident, it was good. Good enough that, as she ate, it occurred to Wilhemina that she enjoyed these silly conversations more than she realized.

When the redhead got up from the table, after finishing, she lazily walked over to the cashier and opened her bag.

There is something inside the bartender that just wants to say that the order is a gift for the redhead, just to see what kind of reaction it will cause, but she doesn't have much time to think about this possibility since the redhead is already handing her the money for the payment. But, before turning to the exit, Wilhemina says something to her that makes the barista's face heat up.

“Have a good day, Y/N. See you tomorrow.”

[jorjmush]

breaking news: idiot with a fish hits 255 and kills god heres the part where i do a personal review all parts of the arcane river story

dont take these seriously

the adversary as a character 0/10: words dont describe how bad he is "...Oh!" "...Ah!" shut up youre an insult to every maplestory class

lost temple keeper + vanishing journey: 7/10

i did this in 2017 but most of the content is fetch quests and an introduction to completely new things you have no attachment to maybe i should give it a little more credit as the kao twist being revealed for the first time was kinda cool and the talk amongst the fandom

reverse city: 7/10 apparently i did this in 2021? i guess that makes sense because this didnt exist in 2017 why is earth real and called friends world still not invested in the story by this point but i liked t-boy

chu chu island: 6/10 this is when i came back so i actually think this story is quite fun and i liked the characters involved but in the grand scheme of things, its not good

feels like filler, wasnt truly important until yum yum was added YEARS LATER, feels like a waste of 5 levels when i still feel like you should fight the black mage at 250 instead of 255

yum yum island: 9/10 cooooooooool cooooooooooooooooooool has the same fun and and loveable whimsy of chu chu but this time it sets up something sinister and adds to the plot

the afrien fusion, the kaling reveal, chefs kiss

lachelein + crack of subconscious: 8/10 honestly i wasnt very invested in this lucid just makes this interesting

plus im a shade so i get extra dialogue

also this town name sucks gms hates non-english words

arcana: 7/10

rock spirits and i love the spirit of harmony was this just setup for tana

morass: 10/10

alright we getting into PLOT jean deserved better, tana deserved better, arkarium deserved what he got, shey deserved better, kritias deserved better

the flying fish TALKS and the moment where he takes the form of jean and shows himself to tana is so AMAZING i love this TRAGIC STORY

the maps are awful though especially if youre low on arcane force which i was

esfera: 8/10

why dont i actually remember much of what happened here i guess the information of tana has been so stuck in my head it doesnt feel like it was presented as new information to me anymore lots of nice exclusive dialogue here though and we get to meet ollie sellas: 11/10 i will cry right here right now this is such a good story with good atmosphere and pacing i CARE for both ollie and shubert greatly

moonbridge: 8/10

this is when the pacing and structure becomes spotty because it was part of the event i chose not to participate in which means i didnt get the full experience theres just so much dread in this questline so many losses from not being ready to fight the black mage the pacing towards the second half is bad though the cutoff is so strange because it feels like you have another 30 minutes to go when really you have 5 labyrinth of suffering: 8/10

hillas beats the shit out of your morale for an hour the dread continues and continues it shall tons of exclusive dialogue, always a favorite limina: 5/10 i feel like im supposed to feel more i feel like im supposed to do more all of the bosses are very weak which is very unsatisfying, orchid is tsundere and says the adversary hasnt lost anything which ranges from maybe true to absurdly false depending on who you are the claudine vs cygnus scene is legitimately pointless, nothing can describe in words how pointless it truly is the flying fish DIES and then suddenly you have to fight the black mage the black mage whos phases last 4 seconds in story mode i only ever got hit once

the adversary dying did make me actually sad though because everyone else thinks youre truly dead the flying fish comes back (yay) and then its revealed NO ONE DIES? and most of the soldiers get UNSNAPPED? the story finishes with orchid being tsundere again and your idiot of a character sitting on the flying fish leaving the scene

i feel like im in a cartoon

kaos memory: 8/10 a tragedy of a character destined to die kao deserved better shade aftermath: 10/10 thank god he gained a reason to live conclusion: why did i even type this out im just ready to move on to the grandis story

[anticomedygarden]

until we came to leningrad

title taken from billy joel's 'leningrad'

-

The second time in her life Piper McLean saw Percy Jackson was at Camp Jupiter when he was 16 and she was 15 after months of work trying to find him. 

There was something to be said in him running to Annabeth immediately, something that she adored immensely, but there was also something to be said in the look on his face when he realized who Piper was. 

“Piper McLean?!” he exclaimed, face slack. 

She spread her arms. “In the flesh!” She smiled. 

“Wow!” He ran the fingers of the hand not holding on to Annabeth’s through his hair. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again.” Next to him, Annabeth smiled. Piper knew she was nearly as excited to see her boyfriend’s reunion with Piper as she was to experience her and Percy’s own reunion. “So, you’re a demigod?”

She nodded. “And one of the seven, apparently.” 

Jason and Leo looked at her oddly. So maybe she had neglected to mention her connection to Percy, but why was it any of their business? It had been a stressful time; she could tell them whatever the hell she wanted to tell them. Besides, they could have easily found out if they had ever taken her and Annabeth up on the offer to go to Sally’s. 

Besides, the rest of their reunion would have to wait until after the battle discussion and lunch. 

----

Later, when Jason’s head was healed and the ship had been repaired, Piper and Percy finally had time to catch up with each other at dinner. 

Predictably, Percy, who she had to admit, had done a great job growing up, (cause damn those cheek bones! And muscles - for a very brief second, she was jealous of Annabeth), spent a while staring wistfully at the holograms of Camp Half-Blood. She couldn’t imagine how much he must be missing home. 

Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the wall to look over at her. “So, how have you been?” he asked. 

She was pleased to hear excitement in his voice. After nearly 5 years of no contact, she had been afraid Percy would no longer care about their letters, or worse, hate her for allowing them to peter out in the first place, but after hearing Annabeth describe him so many times, she really should have had more faith. 

She rubbed the back of her neck and turned to face him. “Oh, you know…not great,” she answered, about as honestly as she could. “You heard the story.” 

“Yep,” he chuckled. “That I did.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Welcome to your new life as a demigod. It fucking sucks, but on the bright side, you also get to be completely ignored by the parent you never knew you had!” 

Piper laughed and shook his offered hand, also getting into it. “Yeah, you also get these cool powers that come in real handy when your godly parent finally decides you’re worth their time.” They were both laughing at this point. 

“Hang on,” Leo said suddenly, making a T with his hands in the timeout symbol. “You two know each other, how?” At the other end of the table, Hazel, Frank, and Annabeth turned to look toward their side as if sensing the change in topic. 

Jason spoke up. “I would also like to know.”

Percy and Piper both grinned, and she knew he was remembering the exact same thing she was. “Okay, so it all happened 12 years ago when Piper was being a problem child at the New York City Aquarium-”

Piper broke in. “I was not being a problem child! That could have happened to anyone,” she defended herself. 

“Yeah, but it happened to you,” Percy responded and poked her in the side. “Anyway, and we were both toddlers by the way, my mom and I were at the aquarium when I happened to find Piper crying in a corner looking for her dad, so-”

“He fucking introduced himself and asked me what my name was like it was a preschool socialization lesson!” she finished for him. “Then he saw Dad and I on TV a few years later and convinced his mom to let him send me a letter.”

Percy laughed. “Yeah, and we kept up with each other for a few years. We only stopped around the time I found out I was a demigod.”

“That was also around the time I started stealing and went to boarding school,” Piper informed them matter-of-factly. 

The others barring Annabeth stared at them rather blankly. She supposed Frank and Hazel were pretty straight laced to be hearing this kind of story, but Jason and Leo should know her well enough to not be surprised. 

Thankfully, Annabeth started laughing. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. This isn’t even one of the weirder things they’ve done.”

Percy laughed. “You got that right.” 

Leo gaped at him. “What is your life?” 

“You don’t want to know,” Percy answered. 

Pretty soon, everyone went back to their previous conservations, allowing Percy and Piper to return to theirs. 

Percy was the first to start. “You know, those letters really meant a lot to me. Those were some of the hardest years of my life, and I was really lucky to have a friend like you.” 

Piper smiled. “Same here. And I’m really glad we got to see each other again!”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed. “Hopefully, this time, it sticks.”

----

A few months after that pseudo-initial meeting, Piper found herself on the steps of the Poseidon cabin, hand poised above the door. 

Am I really about to do this? she thought. Once she told Percy, there was no going back. 

She knocked. 

Right away, she heard footsteps from inside, and then the door was being opened, and she was walking through, and -

“I’m gonna break up with Jason,” she blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. 

Percy’s eyes grew wide, and he shut the door. “Maybe we should sit down,” he said weakly. 

She nodded vigorously. “That’d be good.”

Once they were seated facing each other on his bed (that he had to slide a pile of dirty clothes off of, though in Piper’s opinion, it looked no better on the floor than it had on the bed), he said, “I’m not gonna lie, this isn’t exactly surprising.”

She raised her eyebrows and motioned for him to explain. 

“I just mean, with how you started, I kinda thought you guys would’ve ended things a long time ago, what with the memory manipulation and all,” he hurried to explain. 

“Yeah,” she nodded. Piper was not at all surprised that Percy hadn’t just taken her relationship with Jason at face value; he was far smarter than people gave him credit for. “Lately, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to get past that.” She picked at his blue comforter. 

“That’s understandable. I love Annabeth more than anything, but if we’d gotten together because Hera had implanted memories in one of our minds, I don’t think we would’ve lasted very long. Plus, we probably would’ve chewed Hera out and gotten ourselves killed.” He grinned as did Piper. That sounded exactly like something her friends would do. 

She cleared her throat. This was the hard part. “There’s one more reason I wanna break up with him.” She took a deep breath, and Percy looked at her worriedly. “I think I might be-,” she hesitated, “-not straight.”

He looked at her, stunned. “When did-how did you-what-?” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “How long have you been questioning?” he finally asked. 

It was Piper’s turn to be surprised. While Percy was smarter than he seemed, she certainly never would’ve pegged him as a guy up to date on LGBTQ+ terms. 

“A while now,” she answered truthfully. “I guess it started after I put Gaia to sleep. I felt really powerful, you know? It made me think about why I was actually with Jason if we didn’t even start out truthfully. Then that kinda made me feel like maybe I didn’t need a man at all, and the only reason I thought I was supposed to be with him was because of Hera, who would’ve assumed we were both straight. Then I did a bit of a deep dive into queer media and sexuality, and now I think I’m either a lesbian or bi.” She took another deep breath, heart pounding. “And that’s it.”

Percy just looked at her, smiling. “I’m really glad you told me.” Then, he held up a finger in a wait a minute gesture. She watched him walk over to a desk in the corner stacked with books, papers, and pens and pencils. That must be new, she thought. She didn’t remember that being there the last time she was in the Poseidon cabin. A gift from his father, maybe, for saving the universe again? An answered prayer for a smooth and uninterrupted senior year from a certain goddess of wisdom? Whatever it was, she was glad Percy had it. 

Then, he shifted a stack of books to the floor, and she stared, for tacked to the wall was a small bisexual flag over a demiromantic flag as well as a demisexual flag. 

She pointed, stunned. “Y-you-”

“Yep,” he chuckled. “Me, too.”

----

Another few months after that eye opening conversation found the two of them and Annabeth at Percy’s apartment in Manhattan, Annabeth working on school work at the kitchen table and Piper on the living room floor while Percy carefully sectioned her hair into two Dutch braids. 

“You know,” Piper was saying, “I’m starting to think there are no more decent single people.”

Percy laughed. “In the whole world?”

“In the whole world,” she confirmed. They had just finished telling Percy all about the last date she had been on in which the girl had shown up sweaty, 20 minutes late, and still in her gym clothes. The girl had then proceeded to spend the entire date gushing about Piper’s dad and how cool was it to have a movie star as a parent? despite Tristan having been blacklisted and bankrupted several weeks prior. She’d also flat out refused to refer to Piper as anything but ‘she’ even though Piper had mentioned several times that their pronouns were she/they. To top it all off, the girl had sent her food back five times and made Piper pay because there was, “No way a few little lawsuits could have taken all of the great Tristan McLean’s money.” All in all, not the best date she had been on, but definitely not the worst, either. That award went to the blind date with the guy who spent the whole date complaining about how the gays were ruining America. 

“She’s right,” Annabeth called from the kitchen. “I’ve got the only good one in the entire universe.” 

If Piper could’ve seen Percy’s face, she knew they’d be seeing a deep blush gracing his cheeks. “I know, right?” Piper added. “If only we were living in a world of Percys, life would be so much easier.”

The fingers in her hair stilled. “I don’t think I’m that great,” Percy said sheepishly. “I just love her and take her on dates.”

Annabeth snorted derisively. “You also rearrange your day to make sure we have time to actually talk to each other, you comfort me after nightmares, you bring me things when they remind you of me, you let me talk to you about architecture, you don’t get mad when I beat you at stuff, you don’t step in and try to fix things for me when I’m having trouble or when I’m fighting, you’re incredibly romantic, you’re a feminist without even realizing it, need I go on?” she finished smugly. 

Percy huffed. “But that’s just basic stuff. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

Piper laughed at him, no longer trying to hide it. “And he doesn’t even think he’s special! You’re right, Annabeth, he’s the last true good one.”

Annabeth made a noise of agreement and turned back to her homework now that she’d won the discussion. 

Piper returned her attention to Percy. “Seriously, dude, that stuff isn’t normal.  You’re like, the number one boyfriend,” they informed him. “Just accept it.”

He laughed nervously. “No way.” 

She shook her head. “I’m serious! Jason and Leo are convinced that Calypso and I broke up with them because they couldn’t compete with you,” they said, smiling. 

“We’ll agree to disagree,” he said, tieing off her hair. 

She turned to him. “Fine, but mark my words. You’re gonna realize one day that you’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

Annabeth snorted again. “Sure he will.”

----

“All right, I admit it. I was wrong,” Piper said a few months later. “There was one more good single person left, but now she’s mine!” 

Percy smiled. “Is that right? Tell me again how amazing Reyna Remirez-Arellano is, cause I haven’t heard it 30 times already.”

“Gladly,” she smirked. “But maybe later. It looks like they’ve found the place.” Up ahead, Annabeth and Reyna had stopped in front of a Mexican Restaurant that Annabeth had heard about from one of her classmates at NRU, one that Reyna had somehow not heard of despite her several years as praetor. It hadn’t taken long for Piper to suggest a double date, both for the two couples to catch up as well as for Reyna to ensure that she knew about all of New Rome’s establishments. 

That was another thing Piper was eternally grateful for. Reyna had come out of nowhere. Months of first dates, helping their dad, hanging out with her family in Oklahoma, and frantically catching up on school, and one trip to Camp Jupiter had completely unraveled all of it.

Piper had been there to help Jason and Annabeth start the minor gods temple project, but her part was very brief, mostly just negotiating with the various New Rome leaders. She had ended up spending almost the entire time hanging out with Reyna, allowing them to show each other previously hidden facets of themselves. They had both done some soul searching, Reyna more so than Piper, and, after an impulsive decision on Reyna’s part, the two had ended up together, and they couldn’t be happier. 

That had also ended with Piper deciding to move on to the next phase in their life where they would do hybrid classes in Oklahoma, partly online and partly in person, allowing her to spend part of the month with their family and the other part with Reyna (and Percy and Annabeth) in New Rome. It was really the best of both worlds. 

Percy turned back to them. “You coming?”

She smiled. “Always.”

[corvuscorona]

IT'S TIME TO RANK TALES OF BERSERIA CHARACTERS BASED ON THEIR "BROKEN : WATCH OUT" RATIOS.

I have to document this or I'll die.

1st number indicates how broken the character is (when handled by an amateur who loves to fuck around but cannot remember more than 3 things at a time) on a scale of 1 (you have to play the game to win) to 5 (90% of the potential gameplay is unnecessary for winning. on chaos mode).

2nd number indicates how much you have to Watch Out when playing as the character, again from 1 (you'll be fine probably) to 5 (switch to velvet the second things start going south or Die).

ranked in order of total numerical score because I LOVE to jevil-do-anything. there is 1 tie; please consider it broken by "more manic gameplay" winning over "inherently more methodical".

ready GO!!!

"broken" is higher: character i switch to when i just want to get it over with.

"watch out" is higher: more fun on account of the risk but if the other number is too low i still don't feel like it most of the time.

scores match: simulates what i think it must be like to play fighting games.

there are gifs of mystic artes because even i didnt want to read 6 paragraphs in a row without landmarks.

6- LAPHICET: his break soul is defensive & i can't figure out how to do combos w/ him that actually make casting faster. 0:3. 1 star. do it yourself, babyboy; i cannot help you. you'll help me.

5- ROKUROU: youd think he would be more broken than this but the timing on his break soul counter-hit thingy is surprisingly fussy and it's hard to see when something's about to hit you when there are 6 suits of armor onscreen all flailing their empty limbs around at once. buttonmash city. soul waster supreme. easier to combo with but his focus must be low or something bc i get stunlocked the most as him by far. hard to play w/ finesse. 1:4 "don't get hit."

4- ELEANOR: swinging her spear like a baseball bat flinging a guy into the air and then leaping up into the air to smack the guy around while things continue happening underneath me is a lot of fun to let me keep having as often as i can use any of her dozen-hit-doing iron-stance-having artes to grab souls with and consequently her break gauge fills really fast too. would be higher on this list if i could remember which direction shes gonna step/slide/jump/fly like a bullet out of a gun when i hit any given button. the unpredictable nature of this keeps my on my toes too hard for me to ever really win with her on purpose. 3:3 & also why does she run so slow???

3- VELVET: ol' reliable. her break soul is aptly named because if the entire battle system hadnt been built around it like an SCP containment procedure this game would be unplayable. as long as you have 3 souls you can tank any hit you want while you rip an enemy's blood right out of its veins and if the tailor-made-for-that-exact-enemy attack she does at the end of the combo doesnt get you back a soul, your options are limitless - do a weak point combo or guard real good or do 2 switch blasts in a row or hit em with a mystic arte or failing all that just run in circles until one of your teammates dies and their souls fly out of their pockets. free for the taking. DEVOUR. i have only had to Watch Out as velvet like 5 times in 120 hours & two of them were because the enemy attack lasted for 500 years so when i came out of therion mode with 1hp it was still happening on top of me. 5:1.

2- EIZEN: now we are fucking getting somewhere. the second you knock an enemy down you get 2 free hits that do GOOD damage & hurl you several feet in the "behind the other guy" direction, and give you like most of a break gauge level, but First you have to Knock Them Down with a guy who gets stunned like he's punching HIMSELF 1 out of every dozen hits & has really cool attacks i wanna look at that have weirdly long windups. i tried playing as eizen to fight phoenix on chaos mode and it did NOT go well but on the other hand it went a LOT worse as every other character so man i just do not know anymore. special bonus points for having the most contentious "hard to do long combos : really cool tier-2 mystic arte" ratio, too. 3:5 i'm not kidding you really gotta watch out eizen dies A LOT

1- MAGILOU: as long as you can LOOK, A SHOOTING STAR!, you have a chance of surviving but the size of that chance vacillates wildly from moment to moment LET ALONE fight scenario to fight scenario. her combat is so simple in theory; spell absorber Just Works and spams free attacks for you that practically blot out the goddamn sun, her little meteor attack is nigh instant comes down exactly where you expect it to in front of her and stuns/grabs souls like there's no tomorrow. AND YET. i cant get used to like any of her other attacks for fear of getting hit while winding up and/or launching myself halfway across the battlefield directly into a giant bird's big stupid laser beam, doing combos to lower casting time on her artes is just as much of an issue as it is with laphicet, and in the not-so-rare circumstance that she cant stagger whatever she's hurling space rocks at she crumples like a paper bag. love watching her do her futile little gay little run away from danger in the world's biggest 2 hats, and then die. queen. 5:5 !!!

[justmybookthots]

One Dark Window

4/5 stars

Okay, this was muuuuuuuuch better than A Study in Drowning. Like, I was actually kind of scared it'd be a double-flop for me after my disappointment with the other book, but thank goodness it wasn't. It started off as strong as A Study in Drowning did for me—like, I wouldn't say SUPER strong, but I was following the plot with mild interest—and it continued to be equally interesting. 

I'd like to preface something: I AM AN IDIOT. Somehow, I had it in my brain that the Nightmare was the love interest, so when the actual love interest popped up, I didn't care and was wondering why the heroine kept mooning over him. I thought he was the second love interest or something but by the time I was one-third into the story, I was like, SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT. So I went and Googled reviews of the book and to say I was flabbergasted that the Nightmare WASN'T the love interest would be an understatement.

I was soooooooooo disappointed at first, lmao. I mean, Ravyn just seemed to be the classic brooding love interest. Even until the end when I had long gotten over this revelation, I didn't care much for the romance. I don't particularly dislike it either, though; I'm mostly indifferent. I think the problem for me was that I actively disliked the romance in A Study in Drowning, but I do feel a vague fondness for Ravyn and the heroine. That said, some of the PDA the leads were exhibiting was making me cringe. Maybe I'm just not a fan of PDA; I remember this being a small complaint of mine with Love Theoretically.

(What is with me and my shit memory? I can't remember the heroine's name. I always forget the heroine's name because the book's in her POV and I just meld with her brain. Okay. I refused to Google it and sat here thinking and I finally recalled her name: Elspeth. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong.)

I still feel that the Nightmare was a much more fascinating character than Ravyn but whatever. Also, I am especially fond of Elm. Some of his banter was so amusing, specifically when an anxious Elspeth was sitting on the horse with him, and he was like: "Trees. Could your arms get any tighter? It's like I'm wearing a corset." (This is not quoted verbatim.) I really hope we get more of him in the next book because he's one of my favourite characters (him and Ione????? I've got my eye on them 👀). I must state, though, that I don't LOVE anyone. They're all just alright. It's ridiculously hard for me to get invested in characters, I'm beginning to realise. My loss.

Anyway. The world-building is done rather decently for my taste. I don't get paragraph after paragraph of info-dump; it's all integrated very smoothly into the plot. THIS is how you do world-building – I keep thinking of Crescent City and I get shudders. (I must fairly add that A Study for Drowning also had really nice world-building.) The concept of cards with magic was fun, though when I think about it, nothing much REALLY happens throughout the story. They were supposed to collect three cards to complete the deck, and the only real action is claiming the first card. The second card was just handed over by the heroine's father, and the third still hasn't been collected yet. The fact that the word count can be stretched so far and NOT feel dull is honestly quite interesting.

I sort of delayed reading this until the sequel came out. But I'm still hemming and hawing about reading the next book right away. The thing with fantasy is that it's always best to read the sequel before I forget the world-building, but I seriously don't feel invested enough to continue immediately. I want to explore something new already. ;w; I wish I was like half of BookTok and could be a fraction of how madly invested they seem in this series. Like, I kid you not, this book was BLOWING UP.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed this moderately, and that's good enough for me. I definitely plan to read the sequel at some point. The reviews on BookTok are really good, and a lot are saying it's better than the first. I hope to find out for myself… eventually.

- 22 Oct 2023

[togachipblog]

Defining "Oldest"

What is the oldest still operating potato chip company.    While it is a straightforward question, the answer depends upon whether you require that the company still manufacture its own chips.   If not, Tri Sum is the oldest company.  

The name Tri-Sum was the result of a contest and a play on the words Try Some.  Originally named the Leominster Potato Chip, it's one of the early companies that never used the name "Saratoga Chips," the first generic name of potato chips.  It was started in 1908 by J.P. Duchesneau, a milk man with a large family to feed.  To supplement his milk income, he started making and delivery potato chips on his route.Richard and Jeff Duchesneau (3rd and 4th Generation) now run the business together today.     

When competition against the large companies who controlled a lot of the shelf space in grocery stores forced many other New England chip companies to close their doors, Jeff found a former rival to produce Tri-Sum Chips using their special recipe.  Immediately below is a retrospective that Jeff wrote in 2008 regarding survival in the New England chip market:

My perspective on the New England chip market is unique having been around the business since I was a kid. It wasn't until after college and a few years in the consulting world that I returned to take a full time position with the company in 1997. And as for most New England family chippers it was a tumultuous time to be in the industry. As small chain grocers started disappearing from the landscape so too did our real client base.  Big chains would only let you in if you paid for space, no matter how great the demand for the product was. And each of us had our private label business that we did for midsize grocery stores, but that dried up as Canadian companies, using government subsidized potatoes, undercut all the New England company bids. I remember the day that Vincent's Potato Chip had their fire and Wachusett and Tri-Sum stepped in to make their Potato Chips for them while they recovered. We knew that if they couldn't fill their ever dwindling shelf space for even a week, they would be doomed to lose it to a cast of cash carrying Frito execs. I also remember sitting at the negotiations table of Commonwealth Snacks, and investor group that was determined to bring together all the New England Chip companies into one major regional player, like an Utz or Herr's. Sadly it never came about and resulted in the demise of Stateline and Boyd's Potato Chips. And I realized that the writing was on the wall and the only way to survive was to partner up, both on the production and distribution side and that's exactly what we did. Shearer's took over the manufacturing of our unique recipe in 1999 and we struck a distribution partnership with our cross town competitor, the Wachusett Potato Chip Company that same year. And I'm proud to say that Shearer's, Wachusett and Tri-Sum are still going strong today. 

More recently, Jeff's Dad, Richard, worked out an agreement with Utz to expand distribution.  This reinvention has allowed the company to continue into its second century.    Richard is a Past President of the snack food trade association, currently SNAC International.  

Please see the article for a 1963 history of the company complied by the Duchesneau family.  Thanks to David C. Wilson, Trustee , Leominster Historical Society for  providing me with the article.  The company's web-site contains the following updated history.  http://www.tri-sum.com/history.htm.  

Thanks to Jeff for providing the Tri-Sum Logo as well as a photo of Tri Sum's 5 cent bag and a photo of Dick who donated the replica of our 1908 Horse and Wagon to the City of Leominster in honor of the company's 100th Anniversary, back in 2008. Don't miss their photo gallery at http://www.tri-sum.com/gallery.htm.

See the photo of Richard Duchesneau and his son Jeff, owners of Tri Sum Potato Chips with The Toga Chip Guy at the 2017 Chip Festival in Saratoga Springs, NY.  Tri Sum of Leominster, Massachusetts is the oldest still operating potato chip company in the world. 

The Toga Chip Company

[youngpettyqueen]

wow this had a lot more "none of these apply to me" than I expected thats hilarious

stories under the cut because seeing how not-relatable this is makes me want to share

1: I was an extra for a scene in a movie when I was really little (like 2 - 3) and Michael Fassbender was the star of that movie. I do not remember this at all. reportedly I was very upset that the headlining actors were getting fed but us extras weren't, so when the director asked me how I was doing (I was an extra on set because my aunts are casting directors so #nepobabymoment) I demanded to know when we would be getting food because I was hungry. the director had food brought for all of us and to this day I will meet friends of my aunts who go "holy shit that was you" because this is somewhat of an iconic story in my city's film industry

2: the first time I was like, 5 - 6 and I was sitting on a bench in a grocery store while my mom checked out. an old woman came up, sat with me, put her arm around me, and started telling me she was my grandma, and I had to be a good little girl for grandma, and go with her. she got up real quick when my mom started coming over and I didnt tell anybody this happened for years because I didnt register it as anything bad. I thought she was a sweet old woman who got confused

the second time I was 11 I think and I was walking to my bus stop and a guy pulled up beside me in his car and tried to convince me to get in. I said no, and he kept trying, but then someone stepped outside and he took off. that one I did tell people about and the police came to my school and I had to talk to them about it. nothing ever came of it and I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere alone till I hit high school

3: I came out in the 7th grade and was the first ever openly queer kid at that school. there was a whole staff meeting about it apparently

4: I was on the original Warrior cats forum boards for a few years where I role-played and wrote fanfic often. I interacted briefly with one of the members of the Erin Hunter writing team and it was the highlight of my life for like 6 months

5: my nonna lived with us for 14 years and I used to help her make pizza all the time and yeah she would straight up let me eat raw bacon. on multiple occasions. until my mom saw her do it and freaked out and told me to go throw up while she had to explain to my very confused nonna why you cant just let children eat raw meat

6: I got far enough in a writing contest to get my first publication when I was 17. it was a short story called Grave, Divine and I have it pinned up in my room because it continues to be a big point of pride for me

7: this girl and I weren't super close but yeah she faked having cancer for attention, claimed she had chemo appointments and everything, and eventually when people got suspicious cause she was still a) going hard in sports with no signs of her physical health suffering and b) not losing hair due to chemo, she claimed a miraculous recovery. she also faked being trans for a while because she was pissed off that people were paying attention to me after I came out as trans, going so far as to have me help pick a name out for her. the funniest part is I dont remember her actual name, just the one we picked out

8: I met James Marsters at a con when I was 16. I was super excited because I had literally just finished going through Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, and loved loved loved Spike. while he was signing a drawing I did I saw one of his headshots was of him as Brainiac in Smallville and I commented that I also loved him as Brainiac and was a huge fan of Smallville, and we got into a whole discussion on how awesome Smallville was and how genius it was for its Clark Kent growing up angle. there was no one in line behind me so we just got to chat for a while, it was great, I still brag to people about this whenever I can