#her making jewelry just sounds right in my brain

[starshapedspider]

the only character ever!! I had a ton of empty space so i just drew how i think she’d get the belly piercing i give her

[starlightkun]

flopstar ⏯ teaser [kun]

⏯ teaser word count: 1259 | full fic: 18.3k ⏯ genre: band au, retired floprockstar/venue manager!kun, rookie/keyboardist!reader, age gap (kun is older), fluff, v v suggestive (lol it’s a kun fic written by me this gets so unhinged im sorry), ft. jungwoo/mark/chenle/jisung as reader’s bandmates, wayv as kun’s coworkers & some special guest appearances maybe?? ⏯ warnings: uhm there’s some maybe weird power dynamics going on here? reader is a former fan of kun’s but like his band flopped and they never met back then so 🤷‍♀️ read at your own peril ig, not necessarily a warning but since i do avoid describing the reader’s appearance in my fics, i wanted to give a heads up—reader is in a punk/alternative band and is mentioned and/or implied to have some tattoos and piercings (other than earlobes). i don’t get super detailed, but since it’s there, i wanted to make sure y’all weren’t caught off-guard ⏯ extra info: set in the same universe as filler episodes & sugarcoated brain, but u don’t need to read those in order to understand this one at all i prommy ⏯ estimated release: saturday, december 14, 2024 3:00 p.m. eastern time

“Uh, you can settle in,” Yangyang waved his hands around vaguely. “We’re going to go see if the old man finally keeled over or something.”

“I heard that.” A stern voice resounded from just outside the green room, making the two employees jump and turn around.

A third man had joined you all, focusing an unamused gaze on Yangyang and Kunhang. He was dressed in black from head to toe, a black leather jacket over black button-up shirt and black jewelry glinting from his neck, ears, and knuckles. He wore dark pants and big black work boots too, so you were doubly surprised at how quietly he could move. While you could tell he was older than the rest of you, you definitely wouldn’t call him old. As soon as his sharp eyes flicked over to you from under a curtain of jet-black hair, a jolt of recognition zapped through you, and you grabbed Jisung’s arm at the same time that you bit down on your tongue to avoid making a sound. Your friend’s arm tensed in surprise, but he thankfully stayed quiet too. The newcomer’s gaze went back to his employees as quick as it had flitted over your band.

“Go find something to do,” he shooed them away with one swift hand movement.

“On it!” They replied in unison, shoes squeaking on the concrete floor as they quite literally ran away.

He turned back to you all, taking a few steps in to fully enter the green room. The annoyance drained from his face, and his features became beautifully neutral as he greeted you all politely. “Sorry, I was on a call, it took much longer than I thought it would. If they didn’t already tell you, my assistant manager is out, so it’s a bit hectic around here right now. Normally our weekly act is her responsibility.”

“Is she okay?” Jungwoo asked.

“Yes, she’s fine,” the manager replied. “She’s assisting our usual weekly with their mini-tour. Which is why you all are here, of course. We appreciate you agreeing to fill in for RFE on this temporary basis.”

“Thanks for the opportunity,” Mark replied automatically.

“If you all do well, it might not have to be temporary, hm?” He said, and though his words were kind, his expression didn’t change. You were beginning to taste blood. “I’m Kun, manager of Venue:Hell. Please let me know if you have any issues while you’re here. I’ve delayed your soundcheck already, so I’ll let you go ahead.”

With that, Kun stepped out as briskly as he had arrived, leaving no room for further conversation or introductions.

As soon as he left, Jisung yanked his arm from your grip and looked at you incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, what the fuck—”

“He played the keys in Vizions!” You hissed, anxiously looking over at the hallway as if he might reappear.

“Wait, like that band that only released one album like a decade ago that you’re obsessed with?” Chenle questioned doubtfully. “How can you be sure?”

“She went to like every gig they had,” Mark recounted. “Got us grounded, and then would insist on sneaking out while we were grounded to go to even more. If anybody is gonna recognize a member of that band, it’s her.”

“You should see if he’ll sign your album,” Jungwoo suggested with a grin, nudging you with his elbow.

“Or fuck him,” Chenle deadpanned abruptly, dropping onto the well-used couch, stretching his legs out. “You’re in a band now too, not just a fan.”

“You guys don’t get it, I didn’t just think he was hot—”

“That was definitely part of it,” Mark snorted.

“—He was awesome on the keys! And he wrote all of their songs, and produced their entire album by himself!” You defended yourself. “He made me realize I didn’t just have to do piano recitals and that I could do something like this.”

“Alright, sorry, Y/N,” Chenle said softly. “We were just messin’ with you.”

“Do you think he recognized you? Since you apparently went to so many of their shows?” Jisung asked.

You shook your head. “No way. I never had the courage to talk to them. And that was like ten years ago anyway.”

“I still think you should see if he’ll sign your CD.” Jungwoo patted your shoulder. “It’d probably make his day.”

“I don’t know, clearly the band thing didn’t work out for him,” Chenle added. “He might want to just forget it all.”

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously, then let out a dejected sigh. “Nah, it’s not like I carry the CD with me everywhere…”

Your set at Venue:Hell that night was a hit, if you did say so yourself. It wasn’t nearly as big of a turnout as the Valentine’s event you’d played at, but that was to be expected for a random Thursday night. The crowd was surprisingly engaged, especially since you were careful to incorporate a couple covers of popular songs into your set.

Running off the stage, the five of you immediately tackled each other in a group hug that was all yelling, elbows, sweat, laughing, and chaos.

“One down, three to go!” You cheered, ruffling up Jisung’s matted hair.

“Oh my god, we’re doing this again!” Mark added breathlessly.

“Boo!” You all immediately jeered at the corny joke he made every chance he got. “Tomato! Tomato!”

He laughed loudly as you and Chenle pushed and jostled him, but not enough for him to fully leave your circle. Jungwoo tugged him back in.

“Good job, guys,” Dejun, a stage tech, congratulated you as he passed by, starting to break down some of the equipment on stage.

Your band broke apart to help the staff shut down the stage for the night as other music played over the speakers of the venue and patrons chatted and danced on the floor. A few came up to the stage to talk with you as you worked, interested both in you all as the new weekly, and what had happened to the old weekly. They seemed relieved to hear that Roses for Eyes wasn’t gone for good, and were really enthused in the feedback they had for you.

After putting your equipment that you would be taking home in the green room, you all decided to stay and mingle for a little while more. If this was only going to be for four nights, you wanted to make them count and do as much as you could to get your band’s name out there. You ordered a drink from Sicheng the bartender, at which time you found out that the 50% employee discount applied to you too for the time being. Turning back to the crowd, you strained to spot any of your bandmates among the bodies.

“Hey,” Kun had appeared next to you at the bar, and you jumped out of your skin.

“Fuckin’ Christ, dude,” you coughed, trying to catch your breath. “Can you teleport or something?”

“Sorry.” He seemed more amused than apologetic. “Good set.”

“Thanks.” You took a sip of your drink to avoid looking him in the eye.

“Who did the arrangement for that first cover?”

“I did. Uhm, it obviously wasn’t for a rock band, so I had to do some tweaking…”

He nodded, looking actually impressed. “You compose?”

“Me and Mark for the most part, yeah. The other guys pitch in on songwriting sometimes, too. Chenle’s adlibs are crazy good.”

“Cool. See you next week.” Kun pushed off the bar, disappearing into the crowd.

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@winkeuu

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“Maybe just an outfit or two,” Kon says, blushing furiously in the direction of the mall fountain. Tim considers pressing his luck with jewelry, but figures he can sneak accessories in later. Like, subtly. Or just incredibly blatantly and shamelessly, which is probably likelier to work on Kon anyway. And shoes, while he's at it. 

“You did promise me a fashion show,” Tim reminds him. Kon manages to blush darker, but also grins. 

“Guess I did,” he says, then wags his eyebrows at him. “Think they'll let us in the changing rooms together?” 

Tim's brain instantly self-liquidates and leaks out his ears and ruins his shirt, or at least it really feels like it does. 

“I think you can always sneak me in if we have to,” he says with a smirk, using every single drop of his Bat-training to look and sound like a normal person making a lighthearted joke and not a desperately horny five-alarm fire who is suddenly thinking thoughts. 

Kon laughs, so apparently it works, thank god. 

Tim takes advantage of the granted permission to get Kon to the closest department store and clothes-hunting, which to be honest he's not particularly sure how to do correctly because he mostly shops while thinking things like “how do I make myself look like a normal teenage civilian from Bristol?” and less things like “what would my very attractive teammate who doesn't know how to be a normal teenage civilian from anywhere most like to wear?” He mostly just nods encouragingly while Kon looks at things and helps him pick the right sizes. 

Also he tries not to be reduced to a desperately horny five-alarm fire every time Kon asks his opinion about a shirt or whatever and then listens to it. 

He has no idea why he's so into the idea of Kon wearing clothes he suggested or picked out, but Jesus, he just really is. Note to self: never let himself pick out Kon's clothes if the team has to go undercover or incognito or anything like that. Outsource that one to Cissie or maybe Cassie, just for the sake of his focus. 

. . . actually, maybe not Cassie. Cassie might have similar issues to his current ones, if they let her dress Kon. 

. . . . . . then again, if he lets Cassie dress Kon, then he has plausible deniability if Kon ends up in–never mind. 

He probably needs to just stop thinking about this, he decides. Though that’d be easier if Kon stopped asking his opinion, probably. Like–just a little. 

“What about this?” Kon asks thoughtfully, looking at a mannequin wearing a fitted bright red tank top that’s half mesh and a pair of black leather pants so tight that they could pass for leggings. There are belts. And buckles. And . . . straps. 

Tim is pretty sure he’s not going to manage to stop thinking about this. 

“If you try that on in front of me, we’re getting banned from this store,” he says frankly, telling himself he’s joking. Kon laughs, so that helps. 

Tim is definitely not joking, though. 

“Maybe the fire engine red is too obvious,” Kon says, giving him a sly grin and walking past the display. “Gotta stay classy, right? Go a little subtle.” 

Tim’s traitor of a brain pictures various takes on Kon dressing up “classy” and he suffers for it. Goddammit. 

“We should get you something dressy too, actually,” he says, and Kon looks briefly puzzled. 

“What for?” he asks. 

“Well, what if I want to take you somewhere with a dress code?” Tim says with a shrug. Kon probably wouldn’t be into, like, live theater or any kind of formal concert or art gallery event or anything like that, but a nicer restaurant or something, at least. 

“I don’t think places with dress codes want me there,” Kon says with another laugh, shaking his head. 

“I don’t care,” Tim says. “I want you there.” 

Kon lets out another abrupt laugh, then flees between two of the taller racks as his face reddens again. Tim hopes that’s because he’s flustered, not because he thinks he’s being weird. 

He really needs to work on his flirting. He’s kind of just fumbling around mostly-blind here and hoping he hits on something Kon’s into. It’s not like Tim Drake is actually Kon’s type, but if Kon’s just testing the waters with a guy for once, well, he probably wouldn’t care about that anyway. Tim’s still not sure if this is just him experimenting or not. Kon hasn’t said anything about not mentioning all this to anyone, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants anyone knowing either. 

Kon had looked a little weird when Tim had made that crack about explaining him to his dad earlier, come to think. Being nervous about being mentioned or ID’ed would explain that reaction. 

Tim peers into the racks after Kon and finds him with a messy pile of clothes in his arms, doing a very committed job of pretending to be very invested in a table covered in T-shirts with either superhero emblems or cheesy puns on them. Tim has to repress a snort of laughter, but the idea of Kon wearing a “talk nerdy to me” shirt is objectively hilarious. He's pretty sure Kon would sooner eat kryptonite than listen to nerd talk. 

“Find anything good?” he asks. Kon grins sheepishly at him. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Wanna hit the changing rooms?” 

Tim desperately does but also probably should not. However, he also probably shouldn't be a teenage vigilante who lies to his dad about what he does all night and fights random Gotham rogues with an extendable bo staff and obsessive detective work and very little else. 

“Sure, yeah,” he says because of the part of him that stalked Batman and counted flips and broke into a memorial for a Robin costume, and then he follows Kon to said changing rooms. Kon beelines right for them, which seems weird because it's not like he's been to this mall before and they definitely didn't pass them, so–“How did you know where they were?” 

Kon grins slyly at him, adjusting the pile of clothes in his arms. 

“‘Versatile’, remember?” he says. Tim's confused for a second, then realizes–

“Did you check the store layout with TTK?” he asks in bewilderment. 

“You kidding?” Kon asks with a laugh. “More like the mall layout.” 

“Like . . . right now?” Tim asks, still more bewildered. Kon looks smug. 

“They just made a new batch of pretzels back at that pretzel stand,” he says. 

. . . Tim needs a moment. Or a lifetime. 

“You can just . . . do that?” he asks. “Feel whatever’s going on in your range?” 

“Yeah,” Kon says. “Honestly, it's kinda distracting sometimes. Makes it hard to focus, you know? So I try to tune it out when I can, but sometimes it comes in handy on the job when there's, like, a hidden door or something. Though it's easier when I'm just walking around like this, ironically.” 

Tim has absolutely no way to explain how useful “can make an accurate map of an entire mall and possibly then some just by standing in it” actually is as a skill, to say nothing of spotting secret doors or hidden safes or concealed assassins or anything like that. If he'd known Kon could do that sooner, he'd have been starting every single mission in an unknown environment by making Kon do that. 

Crap, now he has to trick Kon into telling Robin he can do that as soon as possible. Tim has no idea how Kon didn't lead with that trick, though. That is like–that is just–he thinks maybe TTK is just broken. Like, as a power. He thinks Cadmus gave Kon a literal cheat code for life, in fact. If this were a video game, Kon would need to be immediately nerfed or no one would ever play any other character. 

Tim despairs for his capacity to ever be normal about this bastard and follows him into one of the bigger changing rooms, resigned to his fate. Kon has no apparent concern for the five-item limit and there isn’t an attendant around to stop them, so he just takes the whole pile of clothes in and dumps it on one half of the bench. Tim’s not sure if he’s leaving the other half free for discards or for him, so–

“Sit back and enjoy the show, man,” Kon says as he flashes him a bright grin before peeling off his sweater, which answers that question pretty quick. Also, nearly evaporates Tim’s sanity. Kon’s literally still wearing his damn suit underneath and it nearly evaporates his sanity; what even is that? 

He is in so, so much trouble here, isn’t he.

[hearts4werka]

The Devil Herself

Summary: You’re the famous Ghostface killer in the town of Boston while your ex-bodyguard Christopher is also an FBI agent investigating your murders, you overhear his conversation with his mother about a set up date with another woman so you decide to pay the woman a little visit after the date… Genre: Horror, slasher, age gap (it’s not a big one), female killer, obsessive stalker, crime investigation, The FBI, arranged date Warnings: This fic contains darker themes that may trigger some readers like gore, kidnapping, acts of torture, illegal possession of various of dangerous weapons ( don’t do this irl ) obsessive female!character, cursing, murder, detaching-limbs. Read At Your Own Risk! authors note: this turned out wayyy longer than I expected it to. I started to write this last night still kinda shocked how I finished it in one day. I’m already writing pt.2 to Missing and need to finish that but here’s a long Chris fic for while you guys wait for it. There might be a pt.2 to this too but I have to see if y’all will want one. Hope you enjoy!

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

The Halloween season is right around the corner and I’ll have to do some work to set the atmosphere for the lovely town I’ve been slashing for couple of good years.

I am called ‘The Ghostface killer’ around this town, known mostly for the gruesome crime scenes I create which I’m proud to said in know for that, how I always manage to cover up any evidence that could lead to discovering my identity.

There’s been many before me, some were better some worse. Dating back almost centuries, I can say I’ve been through some stuff in the past. I don’t want to get into detail with it but let’s just say I’m on a revenge mission, murdering and torturing the people who’ve hurt me in the past.

But there’s a little problem flowing in my mind… my ex-bodyguard, Christopher.

He’s an FBI Agent, often a bodyguard or guarding something. The FBI are currently investigating ‘The Ghostface Killer Crimes’ how do I know? Oh it’s obviously because I stalked him, unfortunately I also found out some unpleasant things too.

His mother has set up him with another women for a date. And it’s fucking tonight.

I may have hacked into his chat logs as well and overheard him and his mother talking over the phone when I was just watching him on the cameras with sound recorders I’ve installed along with the cameras.

As much as I try to let go of him, when I manage get him out of my mind and focus on other things at hand he just latched onto my brain and messes with it, just coming back each time like a boomerang.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

I’m getting ready to discretely stalk Christopher’s date, dressing up normally but keeping my mask on me since I’ll be doing some dirty work today and I can’t get blood on my beautiful face, can I? But mostly to hide my real identity from her.

I walk into my closet, picking out a black corset along with some matching black jeans that make my body look amazing together with the corset, I want her to see something pleasant to look at before she will go out.

Adding the finishing touches such as jewelry, a black leather jacket draping it over my shoulders and black boots I glance over at the mirror of my bathroom and fix my hair. I almost feel like I’m getting ready for a date to which I chuckle internally at the fact I’m going out for a completely different reason. ( outfit here )

I grab my bag off the bathroom counter it was sitting on, walking over to a big black duffel bag dropped on my bed I pick out what weapons I would like to use today.

Picking the classic and iconic knife along with a small electric saw but also a gun for extra fun, I shove the gun into a hidden pocket in the leather jacket and drop the knife and saw in the bag of today’s choice.

Inside of the bag already resides my phone, a digital camera I take pictures of my beautifully gruesome crime scenes and of my victims for little pieces of memories.

After I’m done preparing, I make sure everything is in place and locked as I finally walk out of the house.

Time to start this little shitshow

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Im in my car, sitting in front of a fancy restaurant the date was planned at with my laptop sitting my lap, watching them through the restaurants cameras I’ve managed to hack into. People really need to make their security devises have a stronger protection because this was easier than I thought it would be.

My blood boils with jealousy as she reaches out with a napkin in her hand to wipe off a piece of the food they’re eating that got left on his upper lip. If she puts her hands on him again, I’ll cut the motherfuckers off and give them to him if he continues to allow it.

He’s very aware of having a person stalking him but he doesn’t know who it is even being an FBI agent he couldn’t simply figure out who it is, I grab my phone out of my bag and open the messages app. Typing out a simple text I send it over to him and watch him on the cameras for his reaction.

Me : Is someone running off with other women? Keep having her hands all over you and you’ll see what happens next.

Seeing him excuse himself to check the message on his phone I’ve sent, a look of horror and caution creeps into his features as he looks around nervously but he hides them with a tight smile from the woman that’s completely oblivious of what the message contained nor why he suddenly changed in demeanor.

For the rest of the night, he avoided her touch as much as he could but slip ups did occur. At the end of the date he cautiously walked her back to her car, I was parked not far away from her so I saw everything with my eyes. When they say their goodbyes she leans in and places a gentle kiss on his cheek before getting into her car and proceed to drive away.

He returns to his own car and just sits there lost in thought, the look on his face etched into his features, more evident now that he’s alone. After a few minutes he starts the car and drives away.

Now it’s time for the fun part to start.

I tracked the woman’s home address before they went on the date and found out all of the basic knowledge about her without unnecessarily digging too deep, putting her home address into the gps now it’s finally my time to drive off.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

After a while of driving I finally reach my destination and park in front of an old-money house thats a pretty good size for someone who lives alone. Looks like mommy and daddy’s wealth payed off for her.

I have a feeling she’ll be fun to torture.

I grab my bag with all of the supplies I need and get out of the car in one swift open of a door, walking around the car I face the trunk. Opening it I take out a cloth along with a small bottle of sedative.

Popping the cap off the bottle I pour some of it onto the cloth, glancing around the containments of my trunk if I won’t need anything else, grabbing my signature mask as the last item I need and slide it over my head now concealing my face.

With one efficient and swift move I close the trunk and finally head towards her house, time to do some breaking in now, put the bitch to sleep and drive her to my house. After I’m done with that I’ll have some good old fun with her.

Going through the back door that thankfully was left open behind I quietly enter the building, checking if anything besides me is lurking in the dark shadows covering her house and find nothing, no sign of any animals too to which I sigh in relief. I really hate killing peoples animals. ( don’t actually kill animals irl )

I slyly maneuver my way through the darkness and up the stairs, them creaking as if I’m in a horror movie. Getting up the creaky ass stairs I see light coming out of one of the rooms, assuming that’s where she’s currently located I decide to put more of the sedative on the cloth in my hand to make sure she doesn’t wake up during the ride back to my house.

Scanning the surrounding area I can’t help but wonder if she left the door unlocked, she does live alone so no one could technically get into her house and into the bathroom while she’s in there, right?

As I come closer to the bathroom my ears suddenly get assaulted by music coming out from the slightly opened bathroom door, she has shit taste in music.

Creeping up to the bathroom door I widen the open hole with my hand as quietly as possible to not draw any sudden unwanted attention to it.

I take a small peak inside and see the shadow of her figure through the shower curtains she’s concealed behind, thinking this is gonna be easier than I thought I slowly enter the room and make my way towards the shower.

Pulling open the curtain my eyes are met with my target being completely nude while water rains onto her naked body from the shower head secured to the wall in front of her.

Without giving her anytime for further reaction than the horror slowly spreading across her features I slap the cloth over her mouth to muffle her screams pouring out of her mouth.

When she falls asleep I get her out of the shower and put the clothes she left in the bathroom onto her body, tossing her over my shoulder again I carry her back to my car and drop her into the backseat.

I drive off from under her house and on the path back to my house.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

We arrive at my house and I check into the backseat to see if she’s woken up.

“Still knocked out.”

I exit the car and take her out of the backseat, tossing her over my shoulder again and carry her into my basement or how I like to call it ‘The secret layer of crime’

Walking down the stairs and underground I drop her from my shoulder and into a bloody wooden chair in the middle of my basement or torture chamber, tying her down to it with a thick rope that was sitting next to it on a small wooden stool so she doesn’t get away when she finally wakes up.

Next to the chair is a white plastic table with various torture weapons I usually can’t carry around with me, opening my bag I dump out the weapons I took with me earlier.

I wait for her to wake up because I need her to be fully conscious during the whole process, I’m gonna make this painful for her. Mentally and physically.

After a few minutes of waiting she finally regains her consciousness and looks at me with the same horror on her face as when I took her, she tried to scream but realizes her mouth is ceiled shut with a cloth taped to her mouth.

A sinister laugh rumbles in my throat at her desperate tries to pry her way free or scream for help, this basement is sound proof so no one will hear her even in the slightest mumble.

“Oh are you trying to escape? You poor little thing, how sad.” I say with mockery lacing my tone, my eyes settle down on the table full of weapons and her eyes follow right behind, her horror spreading further and becoming more evident.

She violently shakes to try and loosen the thick rope she’s secured with tightly to the chair, grabbing a knife off the table I walk over to her. My shoes creating echoing foot step sounds that bounce around the walls of the basement.

Leaning down and getting up close to her face I raise the knife to her jawline and slowly trace it, the cold blade leaving goosebumps behind its path.

Her eyes become glassy and tears roll down her cheeks, a smirk spreads across my face at the beautiful sight of her being scared.

“You know why you’re here?” I ask, knowing I won’t get a clear answer out of her, the cause of it being the cloth taped to her mouth.

Shaking her head negatively, meaning she’s saying no and I become amused by not having a lack of an answer from her as I expected. She’s really desperate to stay alive, how pathetic.

“Well you don’t have to know but let’s just say you might be loosing some limbs today, hm?”

Her eyes widen at my sudden statement as her horrified state intensifies along with her desperate tries to escape, the sight is complete gold or a rare find that can only be dug up deep in the cold mines.

I slide a small stool with some blood covering the surface of it and place it under one of her hands, extending my hand behind me onto the weapon table I grab the mini electric saw.

Without hesitation I flip it on and it starts up with a roar, bringing the circling saw blade to her wrist and saw right down which detaches her hand from her arm. Blood sprays out from her arm and onto my clothes and everything around it as I take the severed hand and place it onto the weapon table.

Grabbing the stool and putting it where her other hand is and copy the same procedure of detaching the hand as on the other.

When that’s done I put the new severed hand next to its sister on the weapon table along with the now blood-covered saw. She’ll die a slow, painful and torturous death after I’m done with her.

I hover my hand over the weapon table and select a weapon at random, I grab onto something long and sharp, knowing what it is already I grasp the leather handle of it and bring the blade to her neck, slicing it open but not enough to kill her yet.

Putting the weapon down back onto the weapon table I walk over to a chest and open it, taking out a small carboard box among different body bags, trash bags and gloves I’ve left in here because I was too lazy to throw it out.

I close the chest and place the box on top of it, walking back to the weapon table I grab the severed hands and then go back to the box and neatly place them inside.

Thinking of what to add to it I decide or grab my camera from my bag I dropped onto the ground after taking out the weapons I took with me earlier I take a picture of the tortured and slowly dying woman on the chair. Just a little memory for him to remember.

I take the Polaroid out of the camera and grab the knife off the table, stabbing into what’s left of her hand to draw some blood onto the blade of it and I write a small letter with it on the back of the Polaroid.

After I’m done with my little letter I return back to the box, closing it and ceiling it shut with some tape I had in my grasp.

Grabbing the box and the Polaroid I exit the basement and go into my car to give Chris a little surprise. By the time I exit the basement the sun is already coming up and starting to illuminate the world.

I drop the box next to me in the passenger seat along with the polaroid and drive off to his house. He should be awake by now since he usually wakes up when the sun comes up.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Arriving at my destiny under his house I take the box with the Polaroid and get out of my car, walking over to the front door of his house I place the box down onto the doormat that has ‘Welcome!’ written across it in black bold letters on a white background.

I neatly place the Polaroid on top of the the box that’s slowly leaking blood from one of the bottom corners and onto the white and black doormat, I ring his doorbell and walk back to my car to drive off from under his house before he saw me.

The note on the back of the Polaroid says is bloody letters.

‘Like running off with other women so much? Here’s a little surprise for you but I’ll say one thing. You are mine and no other woman is allowed to lay your hands on you. Ever again.’

- Your lovely Stalker

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[empressdede]

Disrespectful

Chapter one

London’s heels clacked as she walked down the hall, her eyes focused on the paper in front of her. Anyone who saw her and was in her way made way for her to pass through.

It wasn’t easy taking over her father’s company, especially when it was a male dominated career to begin with. But it never stopped her from putting her foot down and letting everyone know that she had what it took, regardless if she was a women or not.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt” her assistant, Mariah, stated as she walked beside London. “Your husband’s on line 1.”

London let out a sigh, she wasn’t really in the mood to deal with her husband’s complaining about her always working and taking business trips. She just wanted to finish this day so she can go home and pack for her weekend getaway.

“Okay. Come get me in fifteen minutes to come get me for my 2 O clock meeting.”

Mariah furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. She swore her boss’ schedule was clear for the rest of the day.

“We don’t have a meeting at-“ Her words were cut short with the daring glare from London. “It must’ve slipped my mind, won’t happen again Mrs. Murphey.”

“It’s London.” She corrected quickly before walking into her office to pick up the awaiting call.

“Hello love.” The excitement in her voice was very fake, but she figured she’d faked it enough times that it sounded like her regular happy tone.

A deep chuckle was heard through the phone that caused her to really smile.

“I haven’t heard from you all day and all I get is a fake ‘hello love’?”

“I’m sorry baby, your calls are supposed to go straight through to my office or Jada’s. I miss you.” She sighed, this time longingly.

“I miss you too and this weekend it’s just going to be us. We’ll go wherever you want to go, get away from all the white noise and I can take care of you.”

“I hear Singapore is nice this time of year.”

Another chuckle ran through him again, it was no secret that London’s next desired vacation spot was Singapore, she’s been talking her ear off about it since her sister came back from her own trip a couple months back.

“I already booked the room for our hotel, I texted Paul to get the jet prepared for everything. When you finish work, pack your bags and come see me at work. We’ll go straight after.”

And that was all she really needed to hear.

London laid her head back onto his shoulders as she caressed Roman’s arm. They both were relaxing in the tub after fucking their brains out all over the hotel room. Her eyes were laser focused on the ring around his finger, the gold jewelry looked good against his skin.

Her eyes slit over to the ring that was placed on her own hand. The ring always shined in the hotel lights the brightest.

She moved her hands to interlock their fingers, his gold ring settling right to her silver one.

She smiled at the memory of how their day started. After the jet had landed, Roman was quick to hurry and get them to the hotel so that he could really take care of her the way he desired to.

“My wife and I are celebrating our one year anniversary.” Roman had told the receptionist when she asked if their stay would be for business or pleasure.

“Whatchu thinkin about?” Roman had asked to break the silence that had filled the bathroom.

A lazy smile spread across London’s face. “You…. Us.”

Roman let out a small hum of acknowledgment, his hands rubbing her legs. “What about us?”

“How we’re perfect for each other.” London had replied. Roman pressed a kiss to her temple, trailing it down her face from her cheek till he reached her neck.

London moved her head to allow him more access to her neck as she let out a sigh. This reminds her of their activities from not even 20 minutes ago.

“Fuck Roman I’m bout to cum” she had announced as he continued to poke at her spot.

Roman’s forehead stayed placed on London’s as he watched as he took her there. Hair sticking to her brown skin, sweat making her body shine under the hotel lights - she was beautiful like this and it was because of him.

“C’mon baby, cum on daddy’s dick. It’s yours right?”

“Yessss”

“So cum. Let ‘em know how I’m making my wife feel.” Roman rasped in her ear and London came with a cry.

Their hands interlocked above her head as their mix matched rings were placed next to each others. It didn’t matter though, it never mattered because even though their rings were tied to their own marriage…. It didn’t stop them from claiming each other as husband and wife.

“I love being here. With you in my arms, traveling the world with you, I love you.” Roman claimed, raising his arms to wrap it around her body.

“I love you more. And one day, once the smoke in the mirror’s clear up; one day I wanna wear your ring instead.”

These moments were the moments London kept close to her heart. Was it wrong to love another man other than her ‘husband’? Maybe. But in her mind, those marriage documents meant nothing, Roman was her husband as much as she was his wife.

She never tried to hide him either. If they were out in public and anyone seen, they never cared. Roman was who her heart called out for, and there wasn’t a person in the world who could take that away from her.

Not James, her documented husband and surely not Tiara, his documented wife.

____________________________________

London had met Roman five years ago, at a mutual friend’s wedding. At first, her first instinct was to cuss out the person who bumped into her, making her spill the expensive champagne on her equally expensive dress.

London took pride in dressing to impress, and for someone to just bump into her as if they were being careless around her didn’t sit right with her. The curses she was going to fly in the mysterious persons way died on her tongue when she made eye contact with who the person was.

Roman Fuckin Reigns.

To say he was fine was an understatement. Dressed in an all-black fine wool Dior suit, Santos de Cartier watch on one wrist, gold wedding band on his finger. He screamed big dick energy and that stopped her angry turmoil right in it’s tracks.

It had taken her a moment to compose herself; still finding herself tongue tied as he got napkins and helped usher her to the bathroom to clean up.

Imagine her surprise when she seen he waited for her to get herself together.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t see you. Lemme pay for the dry cleaning bill for you.” He had offered and London raised an eyebrow at his offer.

Before she could reply, she heard someone call his name and a gorgeous woman approached.

She was a baddie. Form fitting dress, buss down jet black middle part lace front, and plush lips. She looked London up and down like she was a fly getting too close to the food at a barbeque.

“Babe, I was looking for you everywhere.” The women stated, her hands moving to clutch onto Roman’s upper arm.

“I’m sorry baby, I had accidentally bumped into…” He trailed off looking back at London as he realized he never got her name.

“London. London Murphey.”

He gave her a curt head nod. “Right, well London, I’m-“

“Roman Reigns, and I’m his wife; Tiara Reigns.” His wife had cut in to introduce herself and London bit back her laugh.

“I accidentally bumped into her and she spilled Champagne on her dress.” Roman finished explaining and London nodded her head, agreeing with him.

“Your husband was just offering to take care of the dry cleaning bill. And since this is a custom from Dolce and Gabbana, I’ll be taking you up on your offer.”

London had pulled her business card out of her clutch purse and told him to call during her official business hours so they could set something up.

London flashed Tiara a friendly smile, seeing as the women obviously didn’t like her talking to her husband. She lifted her left hand to show off her own, silver wedding ring. “Now, I’ll be off to find my husband.” She stated before bidding them goodbye and strolling right past them.

The orange of her dress looked really good against her skin complexion. The melanin really popped with the dress and Roman couldn’t help but stare. Not that anyone could blame him, London is a beautiful woman.

London on the other hand, even after finding her husband, couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering to the corner where Roman kept himself. Damn he’s fine. She thought to herself every single time she looked. A couple times their eyes would catch each other’s and a teasing smile would be formed on both their faces. It was obvious they found each other attractive.

Now usually her panties didn’t get wet for a married man, especially seeing as she is married herself. But when Roman had called two days later to settle the bill for dry cleaning, she couldn’t stop herself from engaging with him; especially when it seemed like he was flirting with her.

He paid for the dry cleaning and even went out of his way to buy her another dress, for her troubles.

“You know you didn’t have to go through all that trouble of buying me another dress.” London stated kindly with a smile.

Roman smirked, “Oh, it wasn’t any trouble at all. A beautiful women like you deserves to be in a beautiful dress like that.”

London had bit her lip, walking around her desk to stand in front of him.

“It’s just such a shame you’ll never see it on me… ya know… since it’s such a beautiful dress.”

“Who says I’ll never see it on you?”

“I do. Unfortunately for you, this’ll be the last time you look this beautiful woman in her face.”

Roman let out a hum, as if he understood. But he didn’t move, he kept his eyes on the women in front of him. She displayed her confidence very well, but her eyes couldn’t hide the fact that she found him attractive as well.

“Let’s go to dinner. Not only did I ruin your dress but I spilled the rest of your champagne. Let’s go to dinner and that’ll be the last time you see me.” Roman stated with a small smile, he didn’t know what it was about her that made him wanna see her, but he knew he wanted to see her again. And as beautiful as she is, he wouldn’t cross that line with her…. He’s married after all.

“Dinner? Roman I’d hate to be the one to remind you that I’m married.” London reminds.

“I’m not asking you to go to dinner as a date Mrs. Murphey, I’m asking to be friendly. We can have a friendly dinner can we not?” He asked, an eyebrow raised at her almost challengingly.

Well, if anything it beats not having any plans for the weekend. And who was she to turn down free food.

“Alright Reigns. Friendly dinner.” She confirmed, nodding her head at him.

“Perfect. I’m free on Thursday, at 8. I’ll have my driver come get you.”

“Okay. Thursday at 8. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.” He promises and the room goes still as they stare at each other again.

It wasn’t until Jada comes in to tell London that she has 10 minutes before her next meeting, that they finally broke eye contact.

And it was no surprise on anyone when London actually wore the dress to the dinner; he did buy it for that purpose of course. Roman knew the dress would look divine on her and with the way his eyes trailed over her body as she walked to the table, he knew he made the right choice.

____________________________________

Albeit their strong attraction to each other Roman and London didn’t cross that line with each other. London had found out that Roman had been married for eight almost nine years, but had been with Tiara for 11 years.

Roman also had the pleasure of finding out that London had been married for six years but has been with James for 12 years.

And they respected that. London respected Roman’s marriage. In fact, she thought the two looked very good together, and even though she’s been friends with him for a year and a half now, she couldn’t seem to shake the desire to have him.

Especially like nights like tonight.

Tiara was throwing a huge birthday bash at their vacation home and to her surprise Tiara had invited her to come. Tiara had claimed she wanted to meet the lucky man in her life since she’s never seen him.

Which meant James would be attending with her to the event. Not one of her favorite pass-times.

You’ve used the excuse of not having anything to wear for every other event I’ve invited you to. Now you don’t have an excuse, see you tonight XX ROMAN

London bit her lip as the notecard, and it was things like this that made it hard for her to keep things strictly platonic with him. It’s why she almost never went to anything he invited her too, she feels like once she’s consumed enough champagne, she’d jump his bones.

She pulled the dress out of the bag that it came in and she laughed. It almost resembled the dress that she had on when they first met. No wonder he bought it.

“Babe are you ready? The driver’s gonna get here in 30 minutes.” James voice called out from the living room and a sigh left her mouth.

James was a good man, he was one of the top selling real estate agent in Florida and helped his brother run his family business. He was a good provider, made sure she would want for nothing, not that she needed him for that anyways, her money was long too. In her father’s eyes, James was the perfect match. Together they were an over educated black couple from proper families on the road to the American dream of corporate America.

He just didn’t give her the excitement Roman did. Didn’t really engage with her like Roman did, and that made it hard because she didn’t want to step out of her marriage. But the more she spent time with Roman the more found herself almost not caring.

She contemplated on wearing a different dress just to throw him in a loop, but she couldn’t find it in herself to do it. He bought the dress for her to wear tonight… so that’s exactly what she’d do.

After she fixed herself up, getting dressed and placing her heels on; She stood in front of her vanity mirror to fix her hair, making sure her faux locs were swooped in the right place and James walked in, face scrunched in confusion when he seen her dress.

“I thought you were gonna wear the black dress I picked out for you?”

“Something got on it. I didn’t want to take too much time getting ready so I just threw this on.”

James nodded his head, before tilting his head toward the door. “Drivers downstairs. I don’t want us to be late.”

“Okay, grab my purse and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She watched as he left the room through the mirror and quickly moved to her closet, there was just one last thing she needed to do before they left.

____________________________________

When they pulled up to the house, London couldn’t help but nod her head in approval. The house was damn near a castle, and she believed that a guy like Roman definitely would live like a king.

She held onto James hands as she walked into the house. There wasn’t that much going on, the music was playing but it wasn’t playing loud enough that she couldn’t hear the chatter of people talking to each other.

Her eyes roamed the place to take in the scene in front of her. She hoped to catch sights of Sienna, their only mutual friend, hopefully she would take her mind away from the married man who plagued her mind ever since they met.

“So tell me how you know these people again?” James asked, he doesn’t remember a Tiara being fully aquatinted with his wife.

“You don’t remember Sienna’s wedding where her idiot of a husband ruined my dress?”

The memory almost immediately click when he remembers London fighting her way through the crowd with an irritated look on her face. He remember wanting to find the gentleman to make him apologize for ruining his wife’s dress but London told him he already had apologized before she left the couple alone to find him before they managed to piss her off even more.

His eyebrows raised with a surprised look on his face. “You’re still cool with her after that?”

London let out a soft laugh. His shock was not misplaced, but if only he knew the real reason why she kept herself acquainted with Tiara. “She’s not so bad; plus she wants to meet you, meet the lucky man in my life.”

That made James smile, he leaned forward to press his lips against hers in a quick kiss. London and her husband locked eyes, and she could see the soft smile on his face. She knows its because of the knowledge that she’s been flaunting him around, but in truth her marriage was her only shield to be around Roman when Tiara was around.

The silver ring on her left finger reminding the other married women that she really had nothing to worry about. Gave Tiara a sense of security that London wouldn’t put the moves on her man.

And she’s been respectful of her marriage and their marriage. No matter how nervous Roman seemed to make her, butterflies in the stomach and brings a low simmer of lust in her loins.

She’s done her very best to keep him at arms length when she felt herself getting tempted.

“Well if she wants to meet me, that means you’ve been telling them what a great husband I am?”

London nods her head at him as if to agree but that wasn’t necessarily the case. And in all honesty, James really wasn’t a bad husband. She didn’t know what it was but something about Roman was gaining her attention.

“London." She heard a familiar voice call her and she turned her head to catch Sienna walking towards her direction.

A sense of relief washed over as she seen her friend with her husband. Thank God, I won’t have to spend the entire time here alone. She thought to herself. She flashed a smile at the couple when they walked up, London stepping forward to press her check against her cheek, kissing the air as a greeting.

"Hey girl, I was hoping I would catch you here." London stated with a smile.

"Me too, I have so much to catch you up on. Babe." She turned towards Khalid, her husband, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You mind keeping James company? I’m gonna take London to the bar."

Before he could even agree, Sienna’s hand held onto London’s as she dragged her to the bar so that they could have the conversation Sienna obviously couldn’t wait to have.

"Girl, what’s so important that you have to tell me?"

"I wasn’t invited to come here." Sienna started, which caused London to raise her eyebrow at her in confusion. "Tiara didn’t invite me because I had already told her I was supposed to be out of town. Which isn’t really the truth, but that’s neither here nor there. But imagine my surprise when Roman calls me begging me to come because he didn’t think you would show if I didn’t."

"I didn’t even know you were coming. And Roman didn’t even know I was coming because I got a personal invite from Tiara."

"The real question is why does he care that you show face at his wife’s birthday bash?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

It was a good question to ask, especially since the two have have not crossed those boundaries with each other but it was obvious that they wanted to. London did her best to prevent any opportunities where she would let temptation take over.

Roman would try to invite her in almost all the events he was going to make an appearance at or that he was throwing; and she would always come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t make it. She couldn’t blame him for the way he’s been acting though, because even though she keeps her distance with events; she found herself not caring when it came to communications.

Any time he called, she answered. It didn’t matter what time it was, if he texted her or called her, she would answer. She gave him all her time, and give him advice when he needed it. And maybe that’s why he cared if she showed up or not.

“Do you want me to answer truthfully?” London asks which causes Sienna’s eyes to widen.

“London please don’t tell me you’re sleeping with him!” She hissed out and London smacked her in the arm.

“I’m not! Jeez, Sienna have some faith in me. We are both married.”

“And yet, here we are at his wife’s birthday bash and he’s practically begging to see you.”

London rolled her eyes, that aspect wasn’t something she could control; but she knew that if there was someone she could trust with valuable information, it’s Sienna. "I’m wearing the dress he bought for me to be here. Ever since I met him Si, it’s almost like I can’t get him out of my mind. And I’ve been avoiding coming to anything he invites me to because for some reason whenever it’s just me and him… I forget that we’re married to other people."

Sienna’s eyes widen at the confession. She always thought that Tiara and Roman were happily married…. She knew that London and James were okay, but obviously there was something she was missing.

"Is there anything I can get you two?" The bartender asked once he finally showed up.

"Two Malibu sunsets for the both is us." Sienna replied to the man before turning toward London. "So… you’re trying to sleep with-"

"No! I am not." London hissed at her, smacking her arm again to shut her up.

Sienna lets a small laugh. This was definitely worth coming out the house for. "Okay, so you’re not but you want to."

London let out a defeated sigh, because she really did want to. But she also wanted to respect his marriage and hers as well. "God; Sienna, if I could just forget about the real world for just 10 minutes. And who knows…. Maybe this is just an infatuation. Once I do it, it’ll be like I got him out of my system."

"Two Malibu sunsets for the beautiful ladies."

London reached in her purse to pay but - "It’s already paid for." The man informed her. That caused her to raise her head and look around the bar area to look for him. She just knew it had to have been him. But when she couldn’t find him, she lowered her head to search through her purse anyways. She grabbed two singular hundred dollar bills and handed it to him. "As a tip." She stated and she watched the younger male smile at her with appreciation.

"Thank you; I really appreciate it." He thanked before walking to the other side of the bar with a little pep in his step.

"Sounds like to me you want a little more than just getting him out of your system." Sienna suggested but before London could respond to her friend, she felt the gift Roman left for her go off.

The panties she decided to put on last minute started to vibrate.

"Good afternoon ladies." She heard from behind her. The amused smile on Sienna’s face would not disappear.

"Roman." Sienna greeted. And London turned around to face him.

"Roman." She greeted and Roman stared at her… he wondered if she had it on. He wouldn’t be able to tell cause he had it set on the lowest setting but he was going to found out in a millisecond.

With his hands stuffed in his pocket, he discreetly pressed on the button to the remote to increase the vibrations and the way London leaned forward to grip onto the counter gave him the answer he was looking for.

"You ladies enjoying yourselves?" He questioned, a small smirk on his face.

"Well…. Some of us more than others obviously." Sienna replied, before stepping closer to the two. "I’m going to disappear for 20 minutes. Hopefully you guys can get everything ‘out of your systems’ then huh? And just incase you lose track of time, I’m gonna call you London. Come find me immediately after Kay?"

And was it wrong for her friend to encourage her to sneak off with a married man at his wife’s party? Yes, but who was Sienna to judge. Plus…. This definitely made for great conversation when London would come back. So with a small wink, Sienna grabbed her drink and whisked away from the two.

20 minutes.

"Roman." London breathed out because the panties were still vibrating against her clit.

"You look gorgeous in my dress." He whispered in her ear and a soft moan came from her lips as a response.

He scanned the area to see if anyone important was around. None of Tiara’s close friends that he could recognize were around, so he grabbed London’s hand to pull her away from any lurking gazes. Plus, he was granted only 20 minutes to disappear with her. He wasn’t going to waste any time.

When The door closed to one of the guest rooms, he made sure to lock it and push her against it. "Imagine my husband’s surprise when I decided to wear this instead of the the dress he picked out." London breathes out, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

"How surprised would he be when I send you back with soaking panties that I caused? Would he get a big head and think it’s for him? Would you lie to him and tell him that you’re wet for him when you’re really wet for me?" Roman questions, his hands trailing over her body.

London never got the chance to reply because Roman had closed the distance between the two and pressed his lips against hers in a feverish kiss. He’s been wanting to do this for some time now, and with his little window of opportunity, he was gonna make sure he got what he was looking to achieve.

Their lip’s moved against each other’s frantically, tongue swirling around the others and Roman’s body was pressed against hers, the hidden bullet that was vibrating against her clit had an applied pressure on it now and it caused her to moan against his lips.

"I want you to cum for me before I send you back to your husband. You think you can do that for me gorgeous?" He asked huskily in her ear, causing goosebumps to rise against her skin. She felt her nipples harden against his chest and her fingers were clawing at his sleeves.

"Roman" she moaned out and he was tempted to suck on her neck. Return her back with his mark littered over her neck.

"C’mon, want you cum untouched." He whispered to her, grinding his hips into hers.

The moans were freely falling from her lips, her head thrown back against the door and Roman felt his temptation take over. He leaned forward to press his to her neck.

All the sensations took over body. He heard London take a small intake of breath. Roman kept his hands on her waist and continued to move her hips with a rhythm against his. The feeling sending a euphoric feeling throughout London’s body which causes her to buck her hips against his to chase the feeling. The buzzing of the vibrator along with their bodies grinding against each other’s gave a delicious feeling that she never knew she would experience.

"Fuck Roman." She breathed out. "Don’t stop." She begged. Everything seemed to fade around them, the room being filled with London’s moans and Roman’s quiet groans. The bullet presses even closer to her clit, which causes a shaky breath escape from her. She felt herself clench around nothing and in that moment, she really wished she had more than 20 minutes.

"Gettin close for me? It’s okay, let it go." He cooed softly. The churning in her stomach was taking over her, the stimulations taking over her body and she couldn’t believe she was going to cum untouched for this man.

Roman grabbed both of legs in a swift motion to wrap it around his waist to bring himself even closer to her. The fast motion made London moan aloud; the change of position allowed her to be able to truly feel how hard he is….. how big he is.

The way she was moaning in his ear was tempting him to push her panties to the side and fill her up with everything he could give her.

"M’gonna cum." She slurred out and it was the only warning she gave before a small cry left her lips. The vibrations of the bullet taking her there. She tensed against his body, her nails creasing his suit as she held onto him as she fell apart right before him.

Roman leaned forward to capture her lips in another kiss, and it was one she found herself getting lost in before her phone rang, vibrating in her purse that ended up on the floor somehow.

"Turn it off." London whispered to him, referring to the still buzzing toy that was overstimulating her. And he was tempted to make her cum twice but they didn’t have the luxury of time.

He didn’t peel himself away from her though, just slipped his hand in his pocket to turn off the toy.

"I’ll give Sienna whatever she wants if she adds ten more minutes to our time."

"What I really want to do to you is gonna take more than ten minutes. Plus, I have to go. James will probably be-" Roman kissed her again. He didn’t care to hear about him, not when she came so beautifully for him.

"Roman I have to go." She whispered, pushing him away from her.

And he watched her try to support herself on trembling legs, fixing her dress to try to present herself. He was almost tempted to let her walk out with her lipstick smeared but he knew better…. Knew that he had to play his cards right with London.

"Your lipstick is smeared." He quietly muttered into the room.

Watching her fix herself filled his chest with pride, how disheveled she looked by the quick session. And before he could say anything else, she quickly existed the room without looking back.

Roman stood frozen, he couldn’t believe what just transpired between them. He basically just stepped out on his marriage at his wife’s birthday bash and yet…. He couldn’t find it in him to feel guilty. The desire that burned for London was lit for over a year now, how could something he wanted be so bad when it felt good?

He took a couple breaths to calm himself down, he had a semi boner that he needed to get rid of so he thought of anything he could to help him get rid of it.

When Roman appeared again to the party, he searched for his wife; wanted to see where the lady of the hour was. In the midst of searching, he saw London with a man he could only assume was her husband if the way she was dancing with him was any indication.

The slow wining of his hips against her backside made him green with envy. Especially since he didn’t get the time that he wanted with her.

But when she lifted her head and their eyes locked as she danced with her husband, he couldn’t help it when his chest was filled with pride again. Her eyes were filled with the same burning desire that he left her with.

He left her hot and bothered and now she was looking for an outlet to release her pent up emotions. If he ever had the opportunity to be alone with London ever again; he would make sure he took care of her fully.

And thats how it started between the two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I teased this a long time ago so here it is! This might be a quick series, lmao idk yet but I had this part written and I’m ready to release it. Please give me your honest opinions and feedback. Please show lots of love; I’m still new to posting my stories publicly. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for part 2 if you’re not on it yet!

Tagging The Lovelies: @whatdoeseverybodywant @gomussy @theninthwonder @christinabae @2-muchsauce @alichesmi @pitlissa22 @sassginaswanmills @harmshake @po3ticb3auty @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @dersha89 @serena004 @reci1996 @scarlettnoir01 @venusesworld

[sea-lanterns]

Wait, but you know how there's a ton of stories of young women being given as sacrificial offerings to dragons? What if that is how our dragon ladies meet their Reader's?

Like imagine if they have full like beeg dragon forms, and then their human forms, plus mayhaps a third in-between. So Ningguang just enjoys going for walks through the harbor under the guise of a human. And when looking over a relatively new merchant's goods, she meets you, the daughter of this new merchant, bright smile and friendly beautiful besides.

Suddenly Ningguang is taking more walks, visiting this new merchant regularly, just to see you. To have you smile at her, to hear the sound of you laughing at her rather stale attempts at humor. Its not long before her walks are no longer alone, she soon has you chattering away at her side, and any and all on lookers can see how absolutely smitten she is the entire time.

But the time for the sacrifice comes near. Ningguang is unable to take her walks to see you with all the dealing with the humans in charge. They want their perfect sacrifice to guarantee her satisfaction. And not focused enough, Ningguang accidentally describes you perfectly.

Soon you're being delivered to Ningguang, wrapped in delicate silks and small gold chains hanging from your limbs more for decoration then restraint, a light veil drawn over your features. An offering made in the hopes of maintaining the prosperity of the harbor.

Imagine Ningguang's surprise when such an adorable little thing walked into her den. Dressed to be a sacrifice, the humans who brought you have long left, and expect to never see you again. Shaking like a leave, looking so nervous, but when she finally pulls your attention to her golden gaze, she is surprised to see no real fear at all. More so however, to see you of all people standing there as her newest sacrifice.

It's seconds before the woman that you'd grown so fond up stands before you, the same one who you've fostered a massive crush on, but had no idea how to approach. Now holding your face delicately in golden claws, looking at you with glowing serpentine eyes filled with worry. Massive tail swishing behind her, both scared and pleased to see you here.

Soon gold chains are changed for bejeweled jewelry, the revealing silk wrappings now changed for the finest clothing the harbor has to offer.

And the Harbor has never known a greater peace then this. When their guardian dragon walks in all her glory, for all to see, smiling like a love sick fool down at you clinging to her arm.

I am totally in love with this idea :0

Something about the Reader being a sacrificial maiden for the Dragon! Women is just scratching my brain in all the right places. Maybe if we write this with some lore, it could be like…every 12 years on the year of the dragon, the different nations of Teyvat must offer a sacrifice to the Dragon Women so that they could bless their nation with good fortune.

Usually these sacrifices are stuff like jewelry, riches, expensive food, etc. but one year, the sacrifice is a bit different as the nations have offered a bride to the Dragon Women as the sacrifice for this particular year. That bride being you so that you could please the Dragon Women for another 12 years of good fortune 💕

Ahhhhh you guys are gonna make me write a whole Dragon! AU at this point 😅

[nekrosdolly]

everything is blue

you're vergil's "something blue."

cw; lingerie mention, established relationship, canon compliant, vergil is a cat, somewhat needy vergil, this is not a full fic just something i thought of earlier, powder blue is such a good color, sex mentioned but not described, i love 40 year olds (vergil is 43)

a/n; dear god the dmc brain rot has started... fear not! i will still be a resident evil account, just with some... extras here and there. btw i finished 3 & 1 in two days... tryhard who? i might make a dante version of this too! this will officially be my vergil divider i think!

blue. that's what reminds you of vergil- blue. deep, navy blue. sometimes a shade of indigo. if you asked him, he'd tell you that associating someone with a color is odd and something he would never do. it's silly, he'd insist, and not something he really cares for.

or so he says.

unbeknownst to you, he's decided that you are light blue. specifically powder blue, not quite baby blue, and not exactly periwinkle- powder blue.

whenever he buys you something, it's always that exact shade. you don't notice until lady points it out to you one day, after you've told her about something vergil has, once again, bought for you (an irresponsible spender, it seems, but he'd give the world for you.)

"that sounds cute," she says, leaning into the old couch cushions behind her back. the entire damned piece of furniture is old, so it's no surprise that she inadvertently sinks into your side.

"yeah, it is." you nod, leaning into her, too.

"what color?"

"blue. like a baby blue, sort of." you say and she hums.

"weird," she comments.

"why is that weird?"

"he always buys you blue stuff. like he's claiming you with a color or something." she shrugs, which moves your shoulder, too.

"huh…" everything vergil has ever gotten you- lingerie, skirts, shirts, little charms for your lanyard, the lanyard itself, bracelets with aquamarine, even some earrings with the same stone. when you ask him what color to get on your nails, he always says the same color- powder blue. you wonder if it's his way of staking a claim. he's never been outright possessive, never told you to your face that you belong to him or that you're his in every single way, inside and out.

truthfully, you'd never thought he was wired that way. maybe it's a demon thing, and part of you wants to assume it is, but it's not like you're dumb. you've dated other men before vergil, much to his dismay, and you know how they can be. maybe, when indulging in sins of the flesh, he's not so different. his touches are never less than gentle, especially when it came to the early stages of your relationship. they were very chaste, then, never below the belt until you told him you were ready. he was gentle, then, too.

he's extra affectionate when you're actually wearing the blue things he gave you- maybe one of the skirts he bought you, or the thigh-highs he nervously gave you to wear, too. even the jewelry has him touchy. like a cat, he'd press himself against your side, one hand on your thigh, thumbing the hem of your skirt somewhat obsessively as you pay attention to your phone instead of him, still holding his arm. his stormy grey eyes would be a little more blue, his pupils dilated some. pouty lips would find your cheek, your temple, your hair, anything to get you to pay attention to him without him needing to ask. maybe your theory was right.

not to mention the one day you wore red to work, he looked like somebody stomped on his heart. to anyone else, the crease between his brows was the same, the pout his lips were always in didn't change, but to you, he was sulking majorly. realistically, he knew he didn't control you, but some darker, inner parts

it's not his fault. ever since you two began dating, he'd had this obsession with seeing you decked out in his color, even though he knew it was silly.

[seeingivy]

sick with sadness

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: mentions of depression/anxiety, getting taken advantage of, pure sadness NO happy in this chapter

an: I am alive. I am convinced I have some underlying chronic disease or illness going on with the way the past three weeks have gone, but I am alive. we are all going to close our eyes and read this chapter and then move on.

previous chapter

--

Eren’s tenth birthday is the first time he feels it. 

He sits on the spiral staircase to watch the crowd roar on outside, well past the normal time he’d be asleep. He can feel the tiredness sitting in his eyes, the stuffy, starched suit his mom forced him to wear digging into his neck. There’s a mix of blue, green, and yellow confetti littered on the floor, a sticky grime to the usual pristine house his mom’s meticulousness affords - and he hates it. 

From his vantage point, he can see every corner of the party, the expansive glass doors letting him catch every person laughing, enjoying, swinging to the beat of the music. Armin and Bertholdt are pouring salt into Historia and Annie’s drinks while they use the bathroom, Sasha and Jean are being way too aggressive with the pinata, and Mikasa’s braiding a little flower crown for a very smiley Marco. 

His parents' friends, people whose movies he’s spent years watching when he grew up, studied when he was at the SHWA are on the right side of the lot, sparkling dresses getting ruined by the mud in the backyard and their expensive jewelry discarded on the tables. 

And all Eren can do is watch. Whatever it is, the block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - it’s gluing him down to the seat, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

If souls were real, his would be hundreds, thousands of miles away - detached from his real body. 

He hears a loud pounding and turns his neck to find Ymir and Reiner poking the little aquarium to the left of the staircase. The fish he picked out with Zeke on his last birthday, the picture perfect day of quiet solitude, are frantically swimming around the tank.

He watches the two of them, their inquisitive eyes laughing as the fish duck around the tank after each respective smack. The lights flicker every time Ymir pounds her closed fist against the glass, the sound so loud that it smacks against the wall behind it. 

And suddenly, the sound, that sound, is all too loud, so jarring that before he knows it there’s thick tears pouring out of his eyes and his voice is getting all tangled in his chest. He’s not sure how he got there, but suddenly he’s standing up, freed from the stairs, and yelling at the two of them. 

“Stop smacking against the glass, Ymir! They don’t like that.” 

Ymir looks over, a confused and almost bored look on her face. Reiner's eyes, he's so puzzled, only make his skin burn more. Reiner’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him. 

Is there something wrong with him?

“It’s just a fish, Eren. They don’t even care.” Ymir says, bending back over to focus her eyes on the glass. 

“They do care! Every time you punch the glass they swim away because they’re scared.” Eren says, his chest heaving too hard, his mind not catching fast enough to stop it. 

Reiner and Ymir shrug as they walk away, the two of them giving Eren pitchy awkward smiles as they each squeeze his shoulder once. And when they’re finally out of their vantage point, the tears are only hotter, faster, scalding hot as he stares at the fish in their little cave, instead of swimming freely in the tank. 

The fish, long gone, are always what come back to Eren when the feeling returns. 

When the sadness takes residence in his chest.

--

“Sorry…line?” Eren says, giving an awkward smile to the director as he turns his neck to the right. 

The director, David Lance, rolls his eyes as he cuts filming on the scene, very aggressively calling for lunch. Eren feels his throat sink into his chest, the regret settling in regardless, as he watches him angrily storm off, the cast and the crew awkwardly shuffle behind him. 

He should have spent longer memorizing his lines. Or at least reviewed them this morning. Eren shuffles his feet to the coffee cart as he starts apologizing to the cast and crew, who are all but kind to him about his performance. Truly, his only saving grace in the personal hell that he’s living in.

Deep down, Eren knew that whatever he worked on next, wod never compare to the work that he did on Attack on Titan. Getting to work with his biggest role models, all of the people he grew up with, the girl he was in love with right across the door from him - it was virtually impossible for anything to shape up. 

He just didn’t realize it would be this fucking bleak on the other side. 

The plot of Satellite Port is mediocre at best. Another cheesy astronaut movie, clearly trying to catapult off the success of the feature film that won best picture last year. A half-assed director - who can’t even fucking direct - and maybe the stupidest dialogue he’s ever seen in his life. 

Eren’s a good actor. But even he can’t fix this. 

And he’s had enough when he hears an irritated sigh behind him and turns around to find Gianna de Anola, his prissy co-star, glaring at him. An ice-cold supermodel, Gianna’s making her break onto the acting front, trying to fall in the footsteps of her world-famous triple threat mother. 

“You know, maybe if you didn’t stay up jerking off, we’d actually be able to finish this movie on time.” she says, slouching down in her chair as her assistant brings her lunch to her side. 

If Eren could, he’s strangle her assistant every time he walked over. And then her for good measure too. 

“I wasn’t jerking off.” Eren mutters, grabbing his script from the table as he flips to the end of the pages. His lines are all highlighted and he can feel his frustration growing even deeper as he remembers he spent two hours doing this scene yesterday. 

“You want to know something embarrassing, Eren?” Gianna says, twisting the straw in her soda can with her perfectly manicured fingers. 

From the look on her face, Eren already knows. She’s going to say something that’s going to ruin his whole day. 

“Please, Gianna. I’m dying of fucking curiosity over here.” 

“You spend all your time watching your little pop-star girlfriend perform on her world tour. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sacrifice the movie you’re working on, probably text her good luck before every show of hers and I’ll give you twenty bucks she won’t even come to your premiere.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

Eren drops his script on to his lap, his ears burning with irritation, at idiots like Gianna. The picture perfect image of nepotism.

Eren’s not trying to be hypocritical. He knows that his parents are famous actors, his brothers at the top of the industry, which sets him out to be a premier face in the industry. But Gianna is a whole different breed. 

Because Eren’s trying. He- he has a reason for wanting to do this. There’s a difference between him and her. 

There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s enthralled with the job he gets to do. That encourages, cherishes, deeply acknowledges that what he gets to do is a privilege. 

Eren is making art. He gets to tell stories about people's lives and take every broken part of him and make it into something great. He can pour every negative, disgusting, boring, happy, ecstatic moment he’s ever had into a scene to make it something better. 

Have someone watching his work at home feel seen, have their chest stir and their eyes water because someone out there feels the same thing he does. Make people feel nostalgic, excited, sad - to feel the feelings with him. To be with him from the beginning of the story till the end, to be excited about what he has to say and what he has to do. 

Eren’s parents are famous. And by definition, so is he. But there’s a part of him, deep down, that wants to prove himself. Show that he has feelings, emotions, something to share with people that’s true, authentic - and not just because it was what he was meant to do. 

And he knows that’s not the case here. 

She’s a specific type. Part of the clear cut, mindless army of people with famous parents - living, thriving off what gets them attention next. It makes Eren sick, makes his stomach turn over in circles and circles until he’s churning with anger. So angry, so negative that it makes his skin itch like he’s covered in dirt. 

He looks over at Gianna, a smirk pressed on her perfectly airbrushed face from the makeup team, and he can’t help but feel the burning in his chest sink lower and lower until it’s replaced with ice cold. A hollow wind, rustling through trees.  

It’s because he knows Gianna is right. And that if an idiot like her can catch onto it, it won’t be fast until everyone else follows, until he’s the radio clown in the papers next week. 

Because despite your best efforts, Eren knows deep down that she’s right. 

You won’t be coming to his premiere. You’re above it. 

--

Eren swirls the fizzy drink in his hand as he leans against the wall, eyes focused on every person and almost no one in the room at the same time. And he’s trying to push that feeling down, the block in his chest, as he tries to memorize all the faces here, everyone celebrating in front of him. 

He’ll remember this moment as the sweetest one. When he can finally say goodbye to this godforsaken movie. He feels a smack on his shoulder and a sudden flash in his eyes, all his senses bombarded all of a sudden. 

“TMZ! TMZ! TMZ!” 

“Connie. Would it kill you to be quiet for maybe like five minutes?” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes as he shoves Connie to the side. 

Eren finds Connie, Jean, Armin, and Marco in his periphery, the three of them smiling big at him. Connie and Jean have clearly already had too much to drink - from the way their ties are loosened against their necks and the pink tints on their cheeks. 

And from the way they’re currently trying to wrestle each other at his wrap party. 

“Do you ever think about that? Armin is literally like paparazzi with that fucking polaroid camera. He’s been a little bitch like that since he was fifteen.” Connie says, squishing Armin’s cheek, as Armin frantically tries to swat him off. 

“Like you’re any better, Connie. You’ve been doing the same thing to Eren and Y/N since like the first day of filming.” Marco responds, taking the spot next to Eren, giving him a smile. 

“See but. That was me helping a brother get it. I got so tired of seeing his little horny, wimpy eyes I just had to help him out.” Connie responds, snickering with Jean.

“Oh my god. Connie look, it’s that girl from Death Note.” Eren says, pointing in an ambiguous mention. 

Connie’s so frazzled by the mere mention of her - and the alcohol in his system surely can’t help - that he’s dragging Jean to the other side of the room where Eren pointed, the two of them creating a mess of knocking things over as he leaves. 

In another life, and probably in this one too, Eren thinks that Connie was raised in a barn. 

Armin and Marco lean against the wall with Eren, the three of them staring across the room together now. After six months of pure torture - the most irritating director known to man, the biggest diva as his co-star, and the sweltering heat of Tampa, Florida - Eren’s finally been freed from the godforsaken Satellite Port movie. 

The day he’s been looking forward to, since he started all this, is finally at his front door and he can’t be more than relieved. He gets to hear the ratings for the movie at the end of the party, celebrate with his friends, and finally see you after seven months. 

And stick it to Gianna di Anola’s face that you still love him. Granted, she doesn’t know that you two are actually dating or that you even love each other - no one does besides your friends - but he can still have the satisfaction. Of imaging her stupid face pursed up in irritation at being wrong. That he has something she doesn’t. 

“Can I say something you potentially might not like?” Armin says, tucking the polaroid he just took - the tops of Connie and Jean’s eyes and a very confused looking Eren in the back - into his coat as he leans back. 

“Sure.” Eren responds. 

“I really hate your co-star. She- she’s so annoying.” Armin responds, sighing. 

Eren laughs as he pats Armin on the shoulder, amused that Armin thought something like that could offend him. 

“Imagine working with her for six months.” Eren deadpans, eliciting laughs from both Armin and Marco. 

The feeling - the overwhelming, all consuming wave of panic - is subsiding in his chest as Marco laughs at his side, the three of them nitpicking everyone in the room to pass the time. No one’s safe from the three of them - every stuck up friend of Gianna’s, the coattail hanging out of David’s outfit, and the godforsaken designer - they're not safe from the three of them

“David Lance has a stick up his ass and that’s what he used to write that dogshit script.” Eren says, his face hurting from smiling. 

“And the best part? Gianna di Anola thinks the script is amazing because she can’t even read it.” 

Armin, Marco, and Eren turn their heads to find Sukuna at their side, a devious smirk pressed onto his lips. They all laugh as Sukuna slides against the wall next to Eren, taking the glass from his hands, and downing the last of the liquid. He makes a weird face as he swallows, turning to Eren.

“Are you drinking apple cider?” 

“I don’t like to drink.” Eren responds. 

Sukuna gives him a polite nod before rolling his eyes, his glare focused toward the front door. Hyla Clarkson - the girl that Sukuna has publicly been feuding with for the past few months - just entered, pressing kisses to Gianna and her family. 

All he knows is that if he tallied up every time Hyla and Sukuna argued and fought, she would win - by a longshot. Sukuna’s still blacklisted from getting hired by certain studios - a fact he only knows because he only ever took Satellite Port because Sukuna was supposed to be there with him. It was a rude surprise when he showed up and got left to fend for himself. 

“So are you on again or off again?” Armin asks. 

“On. But- I. I don’t know - they’ve got this way of sucking you in.” he responds. 

“Wasn’t she dating that model last week? What’s his name again, something-” Marco starts. 

“No. You know how tabloids are, they-they’re always on some shit.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren puts a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and squeezes, pushing even further. 

“So did they photoshop that picture of them kissing or-?” Eren says, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“She was just trying to piss me off, it-it’s all part of the chase. Plus, you should know of all people, Eren. You’re telling me everything that the tabloids write about Ricky and Y/N is true?” 

Eren lets go, his throat dry at the mention of it. He can feel his knuckles turning white against the empty glass Sukuna handed back to him, Marco and Armin finishing off the conversation for him. Eren’s too busy seeing red to even pay attention, at the thought of Ricky James. 

Eren's never met Ricky James. But he knows far too much. He’s read every Wikipedia page, scoured every tabloid, fan page, supporting comment, Reddit thread about him. 

One of the worst parts of being famous? People can comment, theorize, and speculate about every aspect of your life. Even worse? That there’s a breadth of information to pit yourself against, to pinpoint all the perfections and none of the flaws for his self-imagined competition.

And Eren hates to think that way, to take the words of teenage girls and tabloid writers to heart, but there’s a small part of him that feels sick from the entire ordeal. Because everyone thinks Ricky James is better for you than him. 

He’s a twenty year old singer-songwriter from a small town in New York, who's recently been breaking into the acting scene. Like you, he’s one of the few premiere actors who has pulled in the industry who doesn’t come from a famous family. And like you, he’s charming and mesmerizing - beloved by the people. 

And ever since you both got cast in Little Women together - him as Laurie and you as Amy - and the press tours started all people can do is talk. And Eren, every self-preservationist thread of him gone - can only listen. Watch fans edit videos of you two being cute together for ten minutes, listen to podcasts where the two of you gush about each other's talents, see that Ricky was able to get time off in his schedule to go to your tour when Eren was stuck on Satellite Port. 

It fills him with rage. And it makes him feel less than. And every time Eren tries to shut the voice in him down, to convince himself that it’s not true and that you’re still at your best, he comes out short. Granted, a personal affliction for negative thoughts is easier to shut out. To convince himself that he’s making it up. Seventy thousand people affirming his worst fears makes it harder. 

“Wasn’t it their fault you got fired from the ensemble of Last Voyage? And Satellite Port?” Armin asks, remembering the tabloid blast from the past few months. 

“Yeah, well not her but the people around her. Her dad especially - they have so much pull, it’s insane. And-and they play mind games and shit, I couldn’t even tell you the half of it. It’s-” 

Right on cue, Hyla walks up to the four of them, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She’s wearing a long, willowing green gown and watches her stick her hand out for Sukuna. And Eren’s floored when he watches Sukuna purse his lip and give a polite excuse me as she whisks him away, leaving the three of them on the wall. 

Armin gets pulled off the wall by Connie and Jean who have returned with Misa, who is apparently a really big fan of Armin’s. And by how pink Connie is, giggling like there’s no tomorrow, Eren knows it's better to stay away from him to avoid any chance of second hand embarrassment. 

“I always miss this.” Marco says, a soft smile on his face. 

“Connie being a dumbass?” Eren asks.. 

“I mean, not particularly that, but all of us being together. It feels weird to be so far away from everyone when we’re all doing things so different.” Marco responds. 

Eren knows Marco far too well to be doing this. 

“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, Marco.” Eren asks, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“That’s my job.” 

Eren and Marco turn their necks to find Historia in a pale blue dress, a soft smile on her face. They both rush forward and immediately wrap their arms around her, both taking a second to press a kiss to her cheek. 

“So what are we psychoanalyzing Eren about, Marco?” Historia asks, the two of them giving teasing smiles. 

“Nothing. We’re not psychoanalyzing me about anything. I’m fine.” 

“Y/N. Ricky James. Everyone being so far away, but her specifically.” Marco responds. 

Historia pinches her mouth into a straight line, the look in her eyes making Eren feel like a scolded child. If it was a different person, Eren would feel pitied. By both of them. But he knows them both far too well to know they’re the few people in his arsenal who would fight for him. 

“Ricky James. Huh? Seems like an asshole a little bit.” Historia states, swiping two ice cream cups off the tray. She hands the extra to Eren, leaning towards Marco as they share the other.

“You’re just saying that because you feel loyalty to me, Hisu. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and Y/N seems to like him.” Eren responds, his chest feeling like an anvil all of a sudden. 

Historia frowns as she turns to his side, her eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

“Yeah. I don’t like him because I feel loyalty to you, Eren. But I also don’t like him because he was friends with John.” 

Marco and Eren both clear their throats and swallow hard at the mention, the regret sitting in Eren’s chest for even saying that in the first place. On instinct, Eren wraps his arm around Historia’s shoulder, Marco following suit as they both rest their heads against hers. She sighs at the touch, squeezing both of their shoulders in response. 

Mentioning John is basically like saying the devils’ name for Historia. The music producer that she had been working with since she was seventeen and the one who all but pounced on her the second she turned eighteen. Eren thinks it’s disgusting that the same thing happened basicallly happened. Levi told him that he has forewarned him.

The two of them had made so many hit songs together, he’d basically helped Historia start her music career. When they got together that no one batted an eye. They were charming and celebrated - ignoring the fact that Historia was only nineteen and John was in his thirties. That Historia looked awkward and uncomfortable near him. 

Everything came crashing down a year ago when Historia got dumped, for lack of a better word, on the side of the street and left to a swarm of paparazzi after an argument she had with him. Ymir and Sasha were the ones who got to her the fastest, ducking her into a car, and hiding her for the time being. 

But in true Historia fashion, she was never one to be quiet. She wrote Dear John. Made art out of her pain, something Eren could only admire and love her for. Her effortless way of bouncing back, of jumping straight back into what hurt her for the sake of art was something only Eren could dream of possessing.

Something he envied when everything weighed so heavy on his mind. 

“I’d kill him if he did anything like that to her.” Eren states. 

“I’d help you.” Historia responds. 

“Speaking of, I haven’t talked to her in a while. Is she taking breaks with the tour and movie and all?” Marco asks. 

“She doesn’t take breaks. From the way she’s going, I don’t think she’ll stop till she gets what she wants. Which, you need that type of drive to do this. To get what she wants.” 

Historia brings her hand up to Eren’s shoulder again, squeezing. 

“Eren. When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“It’s-it’s been a while with the time differences. When she’s not performing, she’s writing. And when she’s done writing, she’s practicing lines. There’s not really any time for that and I’m not going to be the one to pull her back when she’s in the zone and-” 

“Eren. I’m sorry.” Historia says, her voice borderline pleading. 

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal-” 

“Do you know how rare it is to have what you do? It’s insane that two people can even like each other at the same time but to be in love, so fully and unselfishly, you-you can’t let that get away from you.” Historia says, her eyes turning red and her voice getting louder as she goes on. 

“Hisu. I-” 

“We’re seeing her next week for the awards and your birthday. Just-just tell her, okay? I’ll kill you if you let something like this pass you by. Or I’ll haunt you from my grave if I’m dead.” Historia says. 

“You sound like me.” Marco says, giving her a teasing smile. 

“Shut up, Marco.” she responds. 

Eren leans into their touch, their limbs all still tangled together, as he sighs into the air, trying to focus on the good. That they’re here with him, even if you can’t be. And that'll be you instead of them in a week. 

It doesn’t work. The sadness still creeps in. 

--

Eren closes out all the tabs of his laptop as he sees your picture flash against his screen, accompanied by his ringtone. He slides the video call open, the mere sight of you making his heart ache. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Hi Y/N. Ready for your show?” 

“Eh. Almost.” 

Eren glares, narrowing his eyes at you as he waits for your laugh. You’re basically primed to perfection - your hair perfectly blown out, your sparkly silver dress pinned down, and your glittery makeup shining. 

“Okay, okay. I’m ready, I just wanted to call you.” 

Eren frowns, realizing that his shortcomings were so horrible, that they were enough to illicit a call from you when you were this busy. 

“Because I’m a failure?” 

“Eren. You’re not a failure. You-when have we ever cared what the Elms have said?” 

The Elms officially released their gold standard review of Satellite Port last night. Eren wasn’t expecting much, knowing that this was far from his best work, but the review was scathing. And the articles that followed were even worse. He’d spent all morning reading them, his chest burning and his head becoming a solid rock weighing him down with every last word. 

The worst thing that we see nowadays is a waste of talent. A true, self-actualized potential fall short. Our latest example? Attack on Titan star, Eren Jaeger. After garnering himself a total of three nominations the Institute last award season, it seems that the actor is on the come down. His work in Satellite Port was described as insanely mediocre, almost painful to watch knowing that this is the same boy who acted in the infamous Thank You scene - which garnered him his first Institute Award win. Eren is nominated for four awards at the Institute TV Awards next week - Best Actor in a Lead Role, Best Actor in a Drama Series, Best Scene, and Ensemble Cast - which will most likely be his last nominations ever with the work that he’s been putting out. We’ll see if Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman can wrangle him in place for the last season of Attack on Titan and salvage his career. 

“The things the Elms said about you and Armin back in the day were baseless. You- they just didn’t like you because of your parents. You’ve proved yourself over time and time again. I had all these things stacked up against me, there should have been no reason I failed and I did anyway.” Eren responds. 

He watches you frown on the other side of the screen as you lean forward, your eyes washed over in concern. Eren immediately feels guilty for worrying you right before you’re about to perform, trying to save face as fast as possible. 

“I’m just going to be upset about it today and I’ll be okay tomorrow, alright?” Eren asks. 

“Just today, Eren. I’ll kill you otherwise, you little bitch.” you respond, giving him your best angry look. 

Eren laughs at your profanities, which elicits a smile from you. 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth, Y/N?” 

“Mhm. And I kiss you with it too.” 

“You’re so vulgar.” 

“Wanna know something cool? Yesterday, when I was performing New Year’s Day at the start, the applause literally went on for n-” 

“Nine minutes. And then they cheered your name for another ten after you walked off for your outfit change.” Eren responds, finishing your sentence. 

“You watched?” 

“Don’t be stupid. I watch you every time you perform. I like watching you - the faces you make when you’re singing your songs and smiling at people - it’s cute. Makes it easier when I miss you so much.” 

He watches you sigh, your face contorting into a frown. 

“I miss you too. I-I’m really excited to see you next week.” 

“Me too.” 

He watches you finish off your routine - as you clip on your earrings and fiddle with the ends of the hair as your team starts moving around you, pointing at their watches to indicate that you’re going to go on soon. 

“Wanna know the stupidest thing about your tour, Y/N?” 

“There’s stupid things on my tour?” 

“Just the one.” 

“Please enlighten me, wise one.” 

“You sing New Year’s Day with a piano backtrack instead of playing the piano.” 

“What’s the point of learning how to properly play the piano when you’ll always be there to do it for me?” 

He feels his chest stirring at the words, even more when you blow him a kiss before hanging up to perform. His phone screen is left on your contact, the picture of the two of you making him smile. 

He closes out all the tabs of the reviews, replacing them with the live stream of your show as he crawls back into his bed. And when he watches you wink at the camera right before you start singing New Year’s Day with your piano backtrack, he knows its for him.

--

“Ymir. This isn’t even half convincing.” Eren says, trying to swat her hands off his covered eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even know what’s coming.” Ymir responds, pushing hard against his eyes as she swings him into the little foyer. 

“It’s my birthday. Almost everyone we know is in town for the award show tomorrow. None of you guys have said happy birthday to me and now you’re inconspicuously leading me somewhere with my eyes covered. Oh, I’m dying of curiosity here, Ymir.” 

“You’re no fun.” she responds, lifting her fingers off his eyes. He’s met with the sight of everyone popping confetti in his face at the same time, an excited amount of cheers filling up the air. 

Mikasa and Armin reach him first, almost everyone wrangling them in his arms and smacking him on the back. Connie offers him his first legal shot as a twenty-one year old, which Levi confiscates in three seconds. Reiner rolls his eyes as he swings a sash around Eren’s neck, which elicits an insurmountable amount of laughter from everyone.

“Mother to be?” Eren asks, reading the sparkly cursive writing on the sash. 

“They ran out of birthday sashes. And giving birth is basically adjacent to birthdays, so I figured it was the best one. It was either that or a quinceanera.” Reiner explains. 

“A quinceanera is a real birthday dumbass.” Eren responds, shoving him to the side. 

Everyone’s too overzealous and excited to hand him gifts because they’re immediately sitting him down, handing him packed boxes. Hange and Levi gift him an expensive watch, the pair of them pressing a kiss to his head, before retreating upstairs to their rooms, arms locked together and whispering in each other's ears as they go up.

Reiner and Bertholdt give him gag gifts first - which are just framed pictures of every time he’s flipped off paparazzi - before giving him his real gift, their annotated versions of the original Attack on Titan script. 

Eren’s been a big fan of Reiner’s blocking notes since they were students together at the SHWA, because Reiner clearly has no conception of what the blocking notes are actually supposed to be. Instead of writing in his own staging spots and directions from the crew, he writes his own commentary on the script. 

Eren flips to the marked page, the big reveal scene, and finds Reiner’s handwriting at the button. 

Reiner: I’m the Armored and he’s the Colossal. 

And underneath, Reiner’s inscription. 

fuck. 

He flips forward a few pages to find the Thank You Scene marked as well, his handwriting on the side. 

Eren: I’ll wrap that scarf around you, as many times as you want. 

And Bertholdt’s commentary. 

yall fucking? 

Eren snorts as he closes up the script, giving the two of them a smile, as Historia and Marco plant a gift in his lap next, skillfully packed in wrapping paper with his face on it. 

“I’m not sure if I should ruin something so perfect. I just look so good here-” 

“Eren. You’re a five on a good day.” Ymir responds, unbothered to look up from the game of soccer she was watching on the screen. 

Eren frowns as he opens up the gift, a glass showcase filled with polaroids. The first is a framed picture, one of the first of the entire cast. Underneath, Historia’s handwriting is inscribed, loopy letters spelling out Long Live. Eren smiles as he sets it to the side, observing Marco's gift. A Maya Angelou poetry book.

Eren gives the group of them a smile as he scans his eyes around the room, noticing the only face missing. The only one he was looking forward to seeing. Marco grabs his hand and drags him up the staircase, as he whispers over his shoulder. 

“She left a while ago to set up her gift for you. She should be in your room I think.” 

Eren’s nearly sprinting up the staircase as he pushes open the door, a defeated sigh leaving his lips when he stumbles in. There’s a half wrapped gift on the bed next to you, where you’re face down and fast asleep. He can see that you’re still in your party clothes - the dress and birthday hat still stuck to your head - as you nearly drool onto his sheets. 

“Nonsense, Eren. We’ll just wake her up, she was really excited to-” 

“No.” Eren responds. 

Marco swallows hard as he looks over at Eren, jaw half clenched and eyes narrowed down as he moves around him, shutting the door behind him. Eren carefully yanks the party hat and the shoes off your feet as he tucks you into the sheet properly, the tears burning his eyes. 

He takes the halfpacked gift and note from the bed, shutting the light off, as he escapes into your room to open them. To take a second, to calm whatever burning, irritating sensation is ripping his chest right now. 

The gift is a vinyl, the cover art is the same as the tattoos that you guys got together nearly two years ago. There’s a note inscribed on the front, your messy handwriting on the front. 

Eren. Our music is the best music. Here’s to many more to come :D 

He turns the vinyl over to find one song on each side - New Year’s Day on the front and Invisible String on the back. There’s a list of untitled listed underneath them, clearly meant to be future songs you and Eren write together. 

And all Eren can feel is despair. The gross, disgusting feeling that sits in his chest and never goes away is going to drag you down too. 

Isn’t it?

--

Nearly twenty four hours later and Eren’s standing on the other side of the red carpet, his palms sweaty and burning. He was supposed to walk out twenty minutes ago but his feet are glued to the foam, his throat dry. 

It always comes at the worst times. His birthday party, when he saw Zeke at Christmas, when he met Ricky James at the cocktail hour and then Gianna right after. 

Every little thing that’s been bothering Eren for the past day, the past few months is tumbling into this moment, where he’s staring at the red carpet and hearing the cameras flash behind the curtain but can’t summon his feet to move beyond them. 

Eren’s embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He’s trying. He’s trying to swallow it, trying to move his feet, to get out there to stand next to you. 

It’s humiliating. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder to find Armin at his side, readjusting the collar against his neck as he gives him a smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Min.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Eren tilts his head to the side as Armin gives him a smile, before turning his face back towards the curtain. 

“I hate walking on red carpets. But they’re easier when friends do them with me.” Armin responds. 

Eren sighs, a third person now catching on to him, as he stares at his shoelaces, evenly knotted against his leather shoes.

Is he that obvious? It's like it's written on his forehead.

“So, Eren?” 

“I-I don’t know if I can be a good friend right now, Armin. I think I should leave and-” 

“You’re the only friend I need. Just come on, okay? No one’s going to talk about Satellite Port, especially if I’m with you. They’re just going to try and wrangle spoilers out of you for the next season.” Armin responds, holding his hand out. 

Eren look down at his outstretched hand, blue eyes filled with such a vote of confidence that Eren agrees, stepping out into the flashing lights with Armin at his side, the two of them gaining a considerable amount of cheers as they walk out. 

Eren walks down with Armin, snapping a few pictures, before stopping to talk to a few of the interviewers, letting Armin carry the bulk of the weight as his mind spins in thirty different directions. About where he’s standing, if he should leave, how he’s a fraud and everything in between. 

Armin tugs him nearly all the way to the end as he pushes him into the auditorium, Eren’s chest heaving as he settles into his seat in between Hange and you, though your seat is still empty. 

“Eren. You okay?” 

Eren gives a halfhearted nod as Hange and Levi pinch their eyes in his direction, sharing a look, before leaning back in their chairs. Hange’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, which is all he tries to focus on as more people start piling in - cameras, lights, sounds getting brighter and brighter. 

Eren feels a tap on his shoulder to find you at his side now, a big smile on your face. 

“Oh my god. The interviewers out there were so fun.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really liked them.” 

He feels you pull for his hand, nestling it under the pleats of your dress, obscured from the public view, as you squeeze his hand three times. Eren tries to ignore the pounding, burning, twisting happening in his mind as he focuses on the announcer, giving his opening monologue. He’s clearly doing a bit of crowd work as he’s walking around, pointing and poking fun at the stars around him. 

And Eren’s worst fear is self-actualized when he walks over to the two of you, his voice booming in his ears as the lights flash in his face. He can feel Hange’s grip on his shoulder tighten as he starts talking. 

“Here we have an international pop-star, Y/N L/N. Originally a small town girl from Canada, her soft spoken love songs, phenomenal acting, and insane dance act have left no heart untouched.” 

Eren looks over to find your cheeks pink, a big smile spread on your face. He can’t help but smile - thinking about you crying in your room after your first panels to be what you are now. 

“And you. What’s your name again? It’s sweet they let fans sit with stars now.” the headliner asks him, eliciting a large amount of laughter from the crowd as he walks on. 

Eren swallows hard, his eyes and throat burning as he sounds echoes in his ears. 

It’s funny. It’s just a joke. It’s a joke because it’s funny that no one knows who he is. It’s funny because he’s no one compared to you and-

“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Eren says, standing up and walking out. 

“Eren.”

He shakes your fingers off his wrist as he nearly springs out, loosening the tie around his throat and yanking the heavily starched collar around his neck. And it’s back. That sickening, sickening feeling in full flesh. The block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - making his legs feel like lead, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

Eren reaches for the closest room, an open bar playing a video of the ceremonies as he settles onto the bench, head pressed against the concrete as he murmurs out for a glass of water. 

Eren stays there - trying to feel the concrete cold against his forehead, his breath making his entire chest tremble, and his knuckles pressed white. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and lifts his head expecting Hange. 

Instead, he finds an older man - nearly in his fifties with gray hair smiling down at him. 

“Eren. It’s nice to see you again.” 

Eren lifts his head, trying to rack his fried brain from where he knows him. 

“You know, Eren. We’ve been in the same room hundreds of times. Yet, we’ve barely talked for two minutes.” 

“Ss-sorry. I don’t mean to-” 

“You and I could be really helpful to each other.” 

He slides over his card, the name gleaming back at him as the memory comes back. Years ago, at that panel, where he met him the first time. Scott Clarkson, the Stone Studios producer. 

“If you want your reputation back, if you don’t want to be the butt of the joke anymore, if you want to be the one talked about next to her instead of Ricky James, you’d give the number a call. Instead of ripping it half on principle this time.” 

Eren watches him slide off the bench, a smile pressed on his face, as he turns his face back to the screen, watching you accept the Best Actress in a Drama Series Role. He looks back down at the card, the silver shine reflecting on his face. 

Eren tucks it into his pocket. And calls the next day. 

It's the worst mistake he makes.

--

next part

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[hanmaitani]

Life Lately

PAIRING - Oikawa Tooru x Reader WC - 1.0K GENRE - Angst SYNOPSIS - life lately looks a lot like containing yourself to your room. like voluntary solitary isolation's the right thing to do.

PREV PART | MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

A week and a half.

It had been a week and a half since Tooru had broken up with you.

Only a week and a half.

And only 4 days since you'd said goodbye to the house you'd lived in together.

You sniffled a little bit at the memories and pulled your blanket up to your chin as you stared at the window of your small room.

A small knock on the door made you turn your head slightly to look at the piece of wood. Like you would suddenly develop x-ray vision and see the figure on the other side without having to get up.

"y/n? You awake?" You bit your lip ad stayed quiet at the sound of Toshiko's voice.

You felt bad. She was being nice enough to let you drag a good amount of your things into her spare room for the time being. Refusing to even let you pay a portion of the rent.

"I just haven't seen you in a few days." She sounded worried but you couldn't bring yourself to call back. Instead, you swallowed hard and shifted, pulling the blanket fully over your head as you curled into yourself.

You'd spent the first day at her apartment being extremely productive. You'd set up your room, gotten a huge assignment turned in for school finally. You'd put in paperwork requests for an apartment with another friend.

And then you'd gone to bed and barely gotten out of it since.

There had been no response about the apartment. About the assignment. About the job you were waiting for. Everything was quiet. And so you were too.

You'd left your self-isolated room for the bathroom and that was it. And only when you knew Toshiko wasn't home or was already shut up in her own room.

You listened to the sound of Toshiko's sigh as she walked away from the door. You let out a sigh of your own.

There was a feeling of irritation against your leg and you swiped your hand across the sheet only to catch some crumbs from chips you'd eaten earlier. You let out a quiet, dry laugh, disappointment lacing the sound, and shook your head.

The clock on your phone screen read 7am.

You only buried your head back into the pillows again. Not that it did you any good.

You'd been awake for at least 8 hours, occasionally scrolling through social medias and spacing out. Staring at the wall and then the ceiling and then the window.

You really did hate yourself when you got like this. Containing yourself to your room.

But you'd convinced yourself that no one wanted to see you like this. Not even yourself. With bags under your constantly glassy eyes.

You could be happy for a moment. Every now and then. Forgetting what had happened and laughing. And then in two seconds it could feel like a switch went off in your brain. Like you were his with a brick of reality.

Voluntary solitary isolation had to be the right way to go about it. To keep my friends from suffering through watching me go through this.

It was no different than anything else, you told yourself. You would find a way to heal on your own and then at some point you would be okay enough that your friends wouldn't notice.

After what felt like only a few minutes of playing with the piece of jewelry that used to symbolize you and Tooru's relationship, a ringing drew your attention.

You glanced at your phone again. The clack read 11am.

You swallowed nervously as you say Hajime's name dance across your screen.

You sat up, coughing to clear your throat. Desperate to try and make it sound like this wasn't the first time you'd used your voice in a few days. And then you answered the call.

"Hey, Haji." You winced at the hoarseness of your own voice but Hajime seemed to ignore it.

"Hey, y/n, I just wanted to check in with you. No one's heard from you in a couple days." You laughed softly in response, a half-hearted sound trying to soothe his nerves as you heard him hold back a sigh.

"Don't worry, Haji," you glanced around your room. There were a few cups and dishes next to your bed, the only ones you had in this apartment. Ones you'd refused to get up long enough to put away. "I've just been trying to catch up on some school work." You lied straight through your teeth.

If he knew that you were lying, he didn’t say anything. Let you lie to him about what you’d been doing holed up in your room alone.

"Y/n, you know that just because we're friends with Oikawa," the sound of his name sent a pang through your heart, "it doesn't mean that we're not here for you." He let out another sigh. "Y/n we care and wanna help if we can."

You stared at the pile of clothes in the basket that you’d brought over from your last place. You’d gotten ambitious during your one day of productivity and washed it all, attempting to wash off any trace of him, any trace of the heartbreak.

They’d been sitting there since.

"Don't worry, Haji, really." You would get to it soon, fold it all up and hang it up nicely. "I just need a little bit of time and I'll be all good."

After years of knowing you, it only took a few seconds of conversation for him to know when he would be getting nowhere with you. "If you're sure?" He hesitated, not wanting to give up on me quite yet. "Would it hurt to get out for just a night?" He tried to push one last time.

The words were right on the tip of your tongue again, "Don't worry, Haji." I winced at the meaning behind my half-hearted assurance.

Don't worry, I'm sure that it'll be any day now that I decide I've served my time and I let myself out.

a/n thanks for coming to the free therapy of fictionalizing my irl breakup experiences. yes this actually happened. partially based on an unreleased song by @/leannafirestone on tiktok

TAGLIST - OPEN @all-in-the-fandoms @pearl-blue-musings @winniethepooh-lover

[drkmgs]

Too good at goodbyes

Lou Miller x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, unsure love

story type: one shot

This one was a rush one. My brain just whipped this up, and I couldn't stop writing it. Also, I don't know what direction this was actually going, so I hope it turned out fine.

You must think that I'm stupid You must think that I'm a fool You must think that I'm new to this But I have seen this all before

You aren't stupid. You aren't a fool, and this is definitely not new to you.

You watch Lou leave your side when she finds out about the revenge Debbie is plotting towards her ex-lover, Becker.

You watch them argue. You watch Lou being frustrated and unsure about the revenge plot. You watch your lover – actually more on pursuer be worried about her crush or according to her ex-crush – this right here is the main reason why you haven't accepted her being your girlfriend.

I'm never gonna let you close to me Even though you mean the most to me 'Cause every time I open up, it hurts So, I'm never gonna get too close to you Even when I mean the most to you In case you go and leave me in the dirt

"Hey, Y/N. Are you okay?" Lou playfully shoved your shoulders as she sits beside you. She noticed how gloomy you looked and wanted to cheer you up. "Yeah. I'm just tired. I'll go to bed. Goodnight, Lou." You gave her a weak smile and walked off towards your room. Her gaze just follows your movements.

"Why don't you talk to her about it, Y/N?" Tammy comforted you as she caught you silently sobbing. "I don't know what to say, Tam. I know they are partner in crime, and I have no right to be jealous because I haven't accepted her yet, and I can't accept her because of how she is now. I know I sound selfish, but I have been hurt before, and I don't want to go through all that again." You cry more.

But every time you hurt me, the less that I cry And every time you leave me, the quicker these tears dry And every time you walk out, the less I love you Baby, we don't stand a chance, it's sad, but it's true

"Could you stop avoiding me?!" Lou snatched your arm to make you stop walking. You stopped walking but didn't face her. "How many times do I have to tell you? Debbie is my best friend and I'm worried about her." She let your arm go. "Best friends? I'm 100% sure best friends don't look at each other like how you look at her, Lou. I'm not an idiot. I know how people look in love." You face her this time.

"You know what? Believe what you want to believe. Talk to me when you can trust my words." Lou said before leaving you standing in the hallway. "Action speaks louder, Lou." You whisper, breaking your heart.

I'm way too good at goodbyes (I'm way too good at goodbyes) I'm way too good at goodbyes (I'm way too good at goodbyes)

They got all the jewelry and successfully framed Becker. They are all gathered in the loft, drinking champagne and talking about the mission. When Tammy pointed out you're missing. Lou furrowed her eyebrows and looked for you around the loft. Finally, she had the brains to check your room.

It was empty. All of your belongings were gone. There was only a note on your bed.

Dear Lou,

Congratulations to the successful mission. I want you to know that I love you and I'm setting you free. Even though we weren't officially together. You mean so much to me, and it pains me to leave you, but you deserve someone better. Don't worry. I'm not taking this to heart as I'm already used to it.

I'm sorry that I'm too good at goodbyes.

Goodbye Lou.

Y/N.

That's when Lou realized she should have paid more attention to you. Now you are gone.

[milks-thoughts]

Rottmnt x human sister reader, splinter decides she should go to a human high school so she could be around her own kind and learn more. And the bros are all pretty protective over this and are worried about her being in human school.

I’m trying out a new header style! Tell me if you enjoy it or if I should go back to the color strips!

Summary: Reader goes to school, hell ensues

TW: vomiting, a nasty panic attack in a public space, talk of animals insides

Notes: anyone mentioned in this that isn’t from Rise is an oc of mine! Please don’t use them in any works without explicit permission

Study Sessions

You stared at your father as he called a family meeting, usually, these go horribly wrong. Especially as of recently, when your father decided that you, the youngest and the only girl (other than your older sister, April) should go to school…and not the school Donnie and (as of recent) Draxum have been teaching. No, human school. A human high school. You sat down at the table and hugged your knees to your chest, Donnie leaning on the wall, Raph and Leo sitting in the chairs and Mikey sitting on the counter. Splinter smiled but before he could speak Red spoke “ Pops- if this is about school I’m sure Donnie could teach her about algebra and..whatever else human kids learn! “ Donnie snarked “ I could teach her rocket science! “ Splinter nodded “ I’m sure you could purple but, she needs to be with other humans, learn to socialize “ you looked away as he slid papers on the table “ April’s parents did me a favor and enrolled her with Casey Jr! “ you felt doom and anxieties cloud your chest, you took the papers and read it, the papers were illegal documents that Donnie made…you read through each line before getting your schedule. How fun. It was seven classes a day with each class being an essential skill…apparently. What I’m the actual fuck is Home Ec.

The next few weeks came quicker than anticipated. Donnie made you and Casey matching bracelets, they were emergency bracelets (ignoring that your ninpō could just…tell them if something was wrong). And of course they were genius tech! He was making an empire after all! You did clothes shopping with April and also learned how to be socially acceptable with not only April's help, but also Sunita…and finally, the dreaded day. You and Casey stood shoulder to shoulder and stared at the high school, it was bustling, a few interesting faces but mostly everyone already knew each other. There was a larger group, of about seven people. You noted how one had a pretty sapphire necklace and a prosthetic arm that was so fluid it rivaled Donnie’s own he made for Leo. You gave Casey a hopeful smile and walked into the high school, you were immediately overstimulated. Going from a rather empty sewer to a high school was anxiety filling. A blonde haired girl bumped into you, when you turned to apologize for being in her way she immediately apologized. She was probably 5 '6 with sea green eyes and blonde hair “ my names Nyssa, you two seem a bit lost- do you need some help? “ Casey immediately nodded, Nyssa smiled and held out her hand “ oh right! They/Them! "Oops. You smiled and spoke your name, Casey following your lead. Nyssa led you two to your first class “ Your schedules are exactly the same, I didn’t know they could do that. You may get separated when testing comes up, you could be boosted into honors or lowered to just skills class “ Nyssa stopped at the first door. How amazing, math at 8 AM.

When the class finished you saw the white haired boy meet up with a brown haired girl with a tiger eye brooch. All the jewelry you’ve been seeing was very similar to Sunitas cloaking device, the brown haired girl seemed to be a senior based on how old she looked and sounded. You smiled and led Casey to your other classroom. Science.. how lovely, you knew you’d get this fine. Casey had a bit less of knowledge than you, they didn’t exactly have a need for schooling in the apocalypse. While you…well your brain has been nurtured by your older brother since the both of your youth. You could speak four different languages fluently, you could do some math that college students learn, you could do most things. Your biggest problem? American history. You learned Japanese history, your father telling you myths and legends that he learned. And you knew a bit of history from China. A sudden electrical feeling ran through you and Casey, it was simply a blue warmth, less like a fire or a sun and more like an electric heat. You were more than happy to welcome it into your ninpō, walking with it through your science class. It was simple biology, you slept through most of it with Casey and answered any questions sent your way. It left soon after second period and left you alone during third.

Then it was time for your language class…you spoke flawlessly, holding a full conversation with the teacher in Spanish before halfway switching to Japanese to see if the teacher could too. He couldn’t. Casey suddenly spoke up next to you and you turned, the two of you happily chattering in Japanese, sometimes clicking at each other before you realized that was weird, so you continued in Japanese. Yes, both you and Casey are fluent in the “ turtle language “ but shhh that doesn’t matter. Language class moved quickly and then off to fourth. You met Nyssa again, they said hello as you sat down next to Casey in biology. It was announced that you’ll be dissecting something. When you questioned what the teacher smiled “ oh! we’ll be dissecting something super exciting tomorrow, a red eared slider! “ you felt queasy. Quickly shooting up your hand to ask for the restroom, you sped off and found yourself emptying your stomach in the school hallway, a trash can in your hold, your ninpō going crazy and altering not only all of your brothers of your panicking but also a feeling…someone who was spewing mystic energy somewhere in this school, and no, it wasn’t Draxum. His mystic powers felt a certain…way. It wasn’t long before Casey found you and rubbed your back. The feeling of Raphs sturdy ninpō wrapping around your panicking one helped calm you down. You breathed and wiped your mouth with a sanitary wipe Donnie was demanding you keep with you. Slowly you and Casey went back to class, you still looked clammy and jumpy as you sat down and looked anywhere but the board that was a display of snapping turtles insides, Casey was holding it together, but barely. Like an overstuffed suitcase. The bell soon rang after that.

You made your way to lunch where you spoke to Draxum a bit and then was swept away by Nyssa. Brought to a table with the same few interesting people you’ve seen that day. When you really got closer to them, most of the jewelry was spewing mystic energy…cloaking devices. The brown haired senior was named Bellezza, there was a tan girl with short curly hair and a seal coat named Öskra, a blonde senior with blue eyes named River, she had a opal gemstone in a choker on her neck. A brown haired girl named Ésme who shared a ruby ring with the white haired boy (whom you learned was named Mason) and was the only one who didn’t buzz with mystic energy. And the last person, a black haired boy with burgundy eyes named Alexander, he had a garnet bracelet on. They all seemed to be able to pick up on your free flowing ninpō, and how it was prickling from previous panic. You were stuck close to Casey as you rested through lunch, your ninpō reaching and searching for two in particular. One that kind of felt like Mc Donald’s sprite and the electrical warmth. They both responded immediately, their ninpōs like two cats curling around a scared kitten. Your ninpō is the metaphorical kitten.

You didn’t eat lunch that day, moving into fifth period, ELA. The teacher gave you a free period and you simply slept. Your lashes attached to your cheek before you woke up with a startled noise, your eyes wide before looking up. There was your purple clad brother, staring at you as you looked at the ceiling tiles. You glared at him, before looking around and getting yourself into the roof quickly “ what are you doing here?! “ you hissed “ I’m just seeing how my dear sister is doing! and if this school is really better than my teachings! '' you sighed “ it’s super easy right now- “ Donnie laughed “ of course it is! He said confidently “ you smiled at your brother and sighed “ How’s everyone holding up at home? '' Donnie hummed “ Nardo has been fighting Raph to not just portal in this school and hunt you down. I didn’t let him come! “ you stared at him dead panned “ and you can? '' Donnie stared and then slowly backed away into the shadows of the dusty air vent. You dropped down quietly after that and slipped back into your seat, knocking dust off yourself. The bell rang again…god you were tired of that damn bell. Time for sixth period.

Next was a world history class. The teacher had turtles as a class pet, you were immediately drawn to them. Casey watched as you quietly chirped and rumbled at them. The turtles craning their heads closer to you as you made noises at them, their quiet voices responding. You quickly scampered to your seat, far away from Casey. Squished between two boys that made your ninpō scream and demand you return to Casey’s side, anxieties pulling your brain into mush. The teacher put on a video about ancient Egyptian mythology. Stuff you already knew. Your eyes grew heavy as you fell asleep, halfway through your rest the sound of a large bang startled you awake.

You whipped back with a noise and fell out of your chair. Backing up a bit, you didn’t see a classroom. You saw the tunnels, kraang infested as they chased you and your brothers. Raph missing. That was your whole mission, to retrieve your oldest brother. Leo and Casey Jr got separated. Mikey and Donnie hid in the tank. Leaving you, to get stolen away. You fumbled and looked around for something, anything to fight the kraang. Someone grabbed your arm and you started hitting it, the arm didn’t relent, it was softly pulling you away from the tunnel. The whole…incident… was traumatic for you. any really, everyone. You, Casey, Raph, and Leo got the nastiest of the flashbacks. The yokai therapist that the family got said they were classified as panic attacks. Even as the soft arms pushed you to the floor you continued hitting and thrashing, pausing when the feeling of something wrapping around your ninpō entered your brain. Your body is basically shocked to real life. Casey was holding you by your arms, you had hot tears running down your face and hurt vocal cords. You stared at him and blinked before letting out a quiet sob and leaning forward, him just holding you throughout the entirety of sixth period.

You guys didn’t go to seventh period. You just sat in the corner of a hallway and breathed, at some point the same blonde senior, River, came and sat down with you two. And after that? Mason, the albino boy, and Bellezza the senior with auburn hair joined her. They were all siblings, Casey theorized that they were wolf yokai based on how they flocked like a pack. Seventh period ended quickly, when April came to get you guys she immediately noticed the tense mood from you two, walking back to the sewers…she could only wonder how the brothers would react. When the three of you walked in, Raph was the first to notice you being back, he looked at your and Casey’s sour faces and lowered his snout so it rested on your head and hugged you, chuffing hard enough your entire body vibrated. You made small similar noises, but they were weak and halfhearted. Raph was so worried about what happened to you at school. Leo and Donnie soon returned to the main area and joined the upwards cuddle session, Casey and April being pulled into it as they all wrapped around Raph to feel his churrs, Mikey soon attaching to Raphs shells and starting to chur as well, you forgot how amazing it felt to be held like this. You took off your cloaking device and the scars that were hidden from the public eye became known. Oh how much they wanted to ask about school, why your ninpō wailed in pain, why your chirps that normally sounded so nice were half hearted and deflated

[samwpmarleau]

fic: the good samaritan

whumptober day 19: “is there anyone alive out there?” masterlist: tumblr, ao3 It is Skye, not Ghost Rider, who saves the Reyes brothers that night.

Do you want a second chance, Robbie Reyes? Do you yearn to punish those who hurt your brother? Avenge your own death?

The answer, such an easy one, is on his tongue — or in his head? Somehow, he knows the voice could deliver on its promise. Yes, he prepares to say. More than anything, yes.

He doesn’t get the chance, as he’s brought harshly back into consciousness at the press of someone’s fingers beneath his jaw. The person gives a short gasp, and once more he hears a voice. A real one.

“Oh my god, you’re alive.”

His entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Robbie, right?” the woman asks. “Your brother told me.”

At the mention of Gabe, Robbie’s eyes fly open. Excruciating pain be damned, he manages to croak, “Gabe. Is he …?”

“He’s better off than you.”

“Good,” Robbie says with a breath that rattles in his shattered chest. “Okay, good.”

“I called 911. Response time here’s slow, but a kid being involved should shave off a few minutes.”

Her face is slightly fuzzy from what he assumes is a concussion on his part, and spots of black dance in his vision. The ends of her long, dark hair graze his cheek. He squints in an effort to note anything else defining about her, to little avail. She’s dressed plainly, her jewelry equally simple. Though he can’t see her car from where he is, that’s probably nondescript, too.

Just some Good Samaritan in the right place at the right time.

“Who are you?” he asks.

She hesitates, then replies, “Skye. My name is Skye.” She turns abruptly at the loud, echoing sound of sirens approaching. “I gotta go. Me and cops don’t exactly mix.”

“Wait …” Robbie dissolves into a wet coughing fit that spills blood from his mouth.

“Sorry. Hang in there.”

In an instant she’s gone, fleeing into the night. He hears the rumble of an engine flare to life, then screeching tires, then a penlight is being shined in his eyes as someone new hovers over him. On the man’s uniform, Robbie can make out a Fire Department patch emblazoned with PARAMEDIC.

“Please stay as still as possible, sir,” says the man, haloed by flashing red and white lights. “Do you know where you are?”

The black spots in Robbie’s vision that he’d been holding at bay close in completely, and the man’s voice fades into nothingness.

———

It’s disorienting to pass out one minute and wake up the next to discover you’ve been in a medically induced coma for three days to prevent your brain and body from self-destructing. It’s marginally tempered by the fact that Gabe is in the bed next to him, bruised and bandaged but otherwise looking as healthy as ever, if a little more subdued. Robbie supposes that’s to be expected, considering.

The doctor quietly assures later, “He’s healing up wonderfully well. His concussion is improving by the hour and the bullets missed every major organ.”

“Other than the one that hit his spine, you mean,” Robbie says. He glances over at his sleeping brother, whose legs have yet to move of their own accord. “Is he ever gonna walk again?”

“I can’t say for certain. There’s a lot of inflammation and more tests that need to be run.”

The doctor’s tone sounds pretty certain. And not in a good way.

Robbie knows Gabe being alive is the only thing that really matters, but it’s still difficult to comprehend. He’d seen Gabe score two goals in a soccer game less than a week ago. The bike he rode to school every morning is probably still leaning up against the house where he’d left it. And it’s Robbie’s fault, all of it. If he hadn’t convinced Gabe to come with him to the race, his brother would be sitting in homeroom right now already studying for finals. Robbie’d be the only one here in the hospital, deservedly paying for his recklessness. Hell, because his stupidity wasn’t wide-ranging enough already, he’d dragged Eli into the whole mess, turning the car his uncle prized into nothing more than a crumpled ruin of steel.

“What about me, doc?” Robbie asks. His body feels nearly as unpleasant as his guilt does. “Gabe said I was pretty messed up.”

The doctor fully snorts in disbelief. “That would be an understatement. Your heart stopped on the table twice, we had to cut out a piece of your skull to allow for brain swelling, your new X-rays light up like a Christmas tree with all the pins and rods —”

“Okay, I get it.” He’ll read the bill later.

“You’re extremely lucky,” the doctor continues. “By rights, crews should be scraping you off the pavement, yet you’re on track to be in better shape than me. If you don’t believe in guardian angels, Mr. Reyes, now’s the time to start.”

The woman’s face flashes in his mind. Skye, she’d said. She’d saved them both, then disappeared. A guardian angel’s as good a descriptor as any.

“Yeah,” Robbie says absently, “maybe so.”

Gabe doesn’t have much more to offer about her than Robbie himself. “She didn’t stay long enough to tell me her life story, and I thought you were dead. I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.”

I was dead, Robbie thinks. He doesn’t say it, though. He doesn’t want to add to Gabe’s trauma from that night.

“Why are you so interested anyway?” Gabe asks. “You said it yourself, she doesn’t want to be found.”

“’Cause it feels wrong not to thank her.” It’s most of the truth, but the whole truth. She’s in his brain, stuck, the mystery of her.

“Yeah, I saw she was pretty, too.”

Robbie scowls. “You think I’m that shallow, boy? Come on.”

Gabe gives him a shit-eating grin, which is plenty to make Robbie’s offense melt away. Since the accident, those have been in short supply. If Robbie has to endure some ribbing in order to see that grin again, he’ll do so gladly.

———

His search for Skye, on the other hand, is short-lived. Not a week later, Gabe in the middle of purposefully unhelpful commentary, a woman in a tailored suit holding a briefcase enters the room with an inscrutable expression. Robbie exchanges a look with Gabe, who seems to share the same feeling — whoever this person is, she’s not here for good news.

“Can we help you?” Robbie asks.

“I’m Traci Blackburn with the Public Defender’s Office,” the woman says. “I’ll be representing your uncle, Elias Morrow.”

“Public defender?” Gabe asks, alarmed. “What for?”

Blackburn’s expression turns mildly softer. “There’s no way to sugarcoat this, so I’ll just come out with it. Mr. Morrow has been arrested for attempted murder.”

“Murder?” Robbie and Gabe exclaim in unison.

“Yes. His boss is currently lying in a Level I trauma center across town in a coma he may not wake from,” Blackburn says. “Mr. Morrow is, of course, innocent until proven guilty, and I will do everything I can, but I’ll be honest with you. The odds that he will walk free are slim. The evidence is damning, and Mr. Morrow has so far been neither apologetic nor forthcoming on details.”

Robbie lets that wash over him, dumbfounded. He doesn’t know a lot about his uncle’s work, mainly grumblings at the dinner table about his colleagues on the project. He knows even less about Eli’s boss, only that he’d recently gone power-mad, whatever that means. But complaining about a shitty boss is a far cry from trying to murder a shitty boss. Sure, Eli’s railed against the system and those who uphold it, but Robbie wouldn’t have thought he had it in him to kill anyone.

“Okay,” Robbie says, as though this makes any sense, “so what are the next steps?”

“I’d like to bring you downtown to speak with your uncle. There are circumstances other than the charges that must be considered.”

“What kind of circumstances?”

Blackburn appraises Gabe briefly, then addresses Robbie with an unsettlingly gentle tone. “Should we get an unfavorable ruling in court, there is the question of Gabriel’s guardianship.”

Robbie swallows. He hadn’t thought of that. Eli’s been such a stalwart support for the last decade; Robbie’s never had reason to think about the possibility that one day he wouldn’t.

“You would be the natural choice,” Blackburn says. “You are not required to do so, but since Gabriel is too young to file for emancipation, if you choose not to be his guardian …”

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence for Robbie to know what it would be. Foster care. That’s where Gabe would be put. Sent to live with a family of strangers who, for all Robbie knows, could want him for nothing more than a meal ticket. The thought is unbearable.

Without hesitation, Robbie declares, “Gabe is not going anywhere.”

“Robbie,” says Gabe quietly, “you don’t have to. I mean, you don’t have to decide now.”

“There’s nothing to decide. If Eli can’t be your guardian, I will. End of discussion.”

“Well, first things first,” Blackburn says, “Eli is anxious to meet with you. Here’s my card, you can call when you’re ready to set up a time.”

“Oh, hell no. You can’t come in here, tell me my uncle’s been arrested for attempted murder, then leave. I need to talk with Eli now.”

Blackburn puts the proffered card back in her briefcase. “As you wish. You boys take a moment, I’ll wait outside.”

Robbie scoffs to himself as the lawyer strides out of the room. A moment. He’s going to need a little longer than a moment to wrap his head around a single word of this conversation.

What have you gotten us into, Eli?

———

“I told you about my boss,” is how Eli begins.

“Define ‘told me.’ Because I sure as hell don’t remember the part where you planned to beat his brains out.”

Eli gestures to the interrogation room around them. “Does this look like planning? Of course I didn’t plan it. I just … snapped.”

“Why? What happened?” It’s surreal, seeing his uncle like this. Orange jumpsuit, flimsy white shoes, wrists chained to a table. Robbie’s entire life, he’s only ever known Eli to be on the straight and narrow.

“Joseph, he was changing experiments and specs without consulting anyone, he was putting everyone in danger.” Eli’s jaw clenches as a flash of fury slides across his face. “Not that he wasn’t a pompous, elitist ass before all that.”

“So it was self-defense, then.”

“That’s what the lawyer’s going to push.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Robbie narrows his eyes, trying to read what Eli’s not saying. There’s something he’s keeping close to the vest. What it could be or why, Robbie has no idea.

Eli lets out a sigh. “I should have done things differently. But Joe’s paranoia and threats kept growing, then you boys were almost killed in that accident, and I couldn’t act like everything was normal when it wasn’t. I had to do something.”

“What was this project?” Robbie asks. “You were thrilled about it when you signed on. How’d it end with you facing jail time?”

“It doesn’t matter what the project was.”

“How does it not matter?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about things you can’t change or understand. If I can’t shake these charges, you’re going to have bigger problems to deal with.”

The words are like a bucket of ice water. Eli’s right, how the situation happened is ultimately meaningless where Robbie’s concerned.

Eli leans forward and grasps Robbie’s hands, chains clinking against the table. “I need you to trust me on this, Robbie. Please. Joe deserved what he got.”

“I do trust you, Tío. Of course I do.”

“Good. So just keep your nose clean and you’ll be fine. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

It becomes harder and harder to stick to the promise. Blackburn brokers a deal to downgrade attempted murder to attempted manslaughter, but listening to the judge administer Eli eleven years in state prison feels like being sprayed with bullets all over again, only this time, there’s no Good Samaritan anywhere to be found. Between the sentence, signing a mountain of paperwork that officially makes Gabe his dependent, trying to figure out how on earth he’s supposed to afford anything, and going back and forth with the insurance company to reduce his and Gabe’s hospital bills to a payment plan that’s remotely manageable, eating and sleeping become luxuries. Any free time is spent working overtime at the shop for extra cash.

Seeing Gabe determined to make up the months of school he’d lost is about as light as Robbie’s world becomes. It’s all he can do to not submit to the injustice that refuses to leave the pit of his stomach, finances and life scooting over to let in thoughts about how Fifth Street is still out there maiming and murdering. The blood they’ve spilled, his and Gabe’s and countless others’, continues to go unredressed. But doing something about those thoughts would surely land him in a cell down the block from Eli’s, leaving Gabe completely alone. How would he even settle that score anyway? His fighting experience is limited to a dumb brawl sophomore year, and the most imposing weapon he owns is a baseball bat.

No, vengeance is beyond reach. He can’t do a damn thing except tread water and hope he doesn’t drown.

———

It happens as it began: an accident.

The van itself is unremarkable. Old and brown and well-used. The front end is busted, clearly having rammed into another vehicle, and there are a myriad of bullet holes along the side. For this neighborhood, it doesn’t merit so much as an eyebrow raise. It’d cost more to fix than the thing’s actually worth, but if the owner wants to pay, then who’s he to dissuade them?

Once he writes up the damage, he heads into the waiting area and calls out, “Jacqueline Rippon?”

It takes him a while to realize why she seems familiar as she walks towards him. He tries to multitask, wracking his brain while listing off what repairs need to be done, and what others are recommended. “Damn, this is all you’re charging?” Jacqueline asks.

He bends to throw away a wrapper someone had dropped. “Yeah, well, we —”

When he looks up at her, his words trail off as the connection finally clicks. He’s looked into that face before. Her hair is shorter, eyes rimmed in black liner, and her cheek is scraped from the collision — not to mention Jacqueline is not the name she’d given him so long ago — but he’d stake his life on her identity.

He slowly rises to his feet. This is too real to be a dream. He would know; he’s had plenty of her over the years. “Skye.”

“I was wondering if you’d remember.” It’d be a stretch to call her expression a smile. It’s far too exhausted for that.

He tears his gaze from her to double-check the name on the printout. “Or is it Jacqueline?”

“No, Skye. Sort of. Used to be.”

Since asking who she is is, apparently, not a straightforward question, he tries something else. “Are you okay?”

“Okay? Sure, let’s go with that.” He doesn’t think she’s talking about the crash.

“You coming here isn’t a coincidence, is it?” he asks, setting the clipboard aside.

“No.” He wonders when last she’d slept, not that he has any room to judge. Glass houses and all. “I kinda need a place to lie low. Without my van, I’m grounded, and I’m sure they’re monitoring public transit by now.”

“Who is ‘they’? What do you mean you have to lie low?” This is not what he expected when wondering what it’d be like to see her again. Though, the reason she hadn’t stuck around back then was a need to avoid law enforcement, so maybe her being a criminal does make sense.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Watchdogs,” she answers. “Neither of them would peg you as a place I’d go. You’re too good a person for that.”

“So what exactly are you asking me to do?”

“I saved your life once. I’m asking you to do the same for me,” she says. “Just until I can come up with a game plan.”

“A game plan,” he repeats in disbelief. “To be clear, you’re asking me to help you evade a government spy organization and a terrorist group.”

“I know it’s insane.” She drops onto the couch that’s seen better days and digs the heels of her hands into her forehead. “You’re all I’ve got.”

As Robbie’s processing her request, Ignacio ambles into the waiting area to grab himself a cup of coffee. He frowns in concern as he observes Skye’s distress, and Robbie answers, “Expensive repair.”

It’s not a lie. Her van has a lot wrong with it. Ignacio accepts the explanation and, styrofoam cup of middling coffee acquired, returns to the shop. Robbie leans against the wall and thunks his head back against it. “I’m sorry, I can’t expose Gabe to whatever shit you’ve got going on. He’s just a kid, and he’s got a full ride to Stanford lined up. I’m grateful you were there for us that night, but …”

Skye gets wearily to her feet and nods. “I understand. You have to keep the person you love safe.” She says it with a gravity that doesn’t fit the situation. Something had happened to her beyond simply being on the wrong side of the law. “Listen, there’s a couple grand in cash in the glovebox, that should cover the repairs. Just leave the van around the corner when it’s fixed and I’ll pick it up. My alias is solid, no one should be able to find you from that or anything.”

With a grunt of pain, she picks up her jacket and backpack from the couch — which doesn’t fit either; the backpack can’t be that heavy, had she broken something in the accident? — then strides across the lobby and through the front doors.

He stares out after her until the turns a corner. When he got up this morning, he would never have thought this is how his day would go. Not only that he’d see her again, but that she’d ask something so, well, insane. (Her word, not his.) It’s not like he’d be able to hide her from Gabe, and what plausible explanation could Robbie invent? He sure as hell wouldn’t burden Gabe with the truth. Harboring a fugitive is probably not the sort of extracurricular activity Stanford values. Skye’s strange injuries would serve to add even more suspicion.

Except, there’s also the fatigue she hadn’t hidden from him, and how even though she’d only asked for sanctuary as a last resort, she had asked. He can’t imagine there were no other places or people on the planet she could go to. It’d been him she tracked down. And, brass tacks, she’s the reason he’s still breathing, the reason he still has his brother. Can limits really be put on returning that kind of favor?

If he can’t settle his own grievances with the world, he may as well help settle someone else’s.

Praying this won’t come back to haunt him, Robbie jogs out of the shop, around the corner, and comes to a stop in front of her. She regards him with utter bewilderment. She clearly hadn’t thought Robbie would follow her any more than he had.

“Tell me everything,” he says. “Starting with your name.”

This time, it’s not a stretch at all to say she smiles. “Daisy. My name is Daisy.”

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter thirteen: the ghost of years coming and years past

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5357

Her entire body shook as if she were trapped in an overboard barrel in the middle of a sea storm. She had already survived a dinner with the Queen once before. What was another meal? What harm could it do? What harm could she do? This meal was far different than any before. She would be alone. Alone with her Grace. Under sole scrutiny of the powerful woman after the princess had been mouthy with her in the Godswood. Maetilda felt if she were to stick one toe out of line, that evening’s dinner would most certainly be her last. She had fretted over her choice of gown the entire afternoon, and had Adelyn redo the two braids in her hair more than once — before ultimately telling her to take them all out. It was like a monster had crawled inside and taken over. An ugly green monster. She could already anticipate each of Queen Alicent’s judgmental comments. How her neckline was too low or her hair was not quite right. It was exhausting. But then there was the other part of her that wanted to give the Queen gray hairs. She wanted the Queen to be just as upset with the affair as her father, just as he wanted. She wanted to make her father happy. Perhaps then, he would spare her. If she was lucky, he would even be proud. Although if she were to ever hear the words ‘well done’ come out of his mouth, she would most certainly need to seek maester’s assistance. While providing her with healing services, the maester could also take an official record of the historic incident. Two birds with one stone.

She was stalling, staring into the looking glass at her reflection. Her knight hadn’t knocked yet. No one had come to collect her either. And she refused to put her jewelry on until the last minute. Instead she looked at her gown, her lowest cut one. Warm red taffeta with a tighter waist, trumpet sleeves, and an A-line skirt. Picked specifically to upset the Queen. Never in her life had she deliberately set out to anger someone. Especially a royal someone. She wondered if she would truly be doing the right thing or if she would be thrown in the Black Cells for conspiring with her father. Yet she saw no other way forward. If the Hightowers did not kill her, then her father would. Her choices were not abundant. Her eyes darted to the balcony doors, suddenly thinking of a third choice. But she quickly shook the thoughts from her head as fear immediately began to set in again. She had to remember that she was not herself. Not completely of sound mind within enemy territory. Regardless, she needed to be at her best, her sharpest, if she were to disgrace herself without disgracing herself. Although she still was not entirely sure just how she was going to do that. Her father had given her no guidance. She stared down at the bronze selenite and pearl jewelry she had laid out on the vanity. The same set she had worn to family dinner the evening before. The light whites of the stones sparkled against the red of her gown. As the day had passed by, the pink of her darker cheek had slowly started to subside. Very slowly. She scoured her brain for what she could remember of the Queen, what the woman hated. Impropriety, disorder, and chaos. How far out of line would the princess be allowed to go? How many missteps before she would be an unspoken-for-woman once more?

A quick knock at the door announced Ser Gunthor’s arrival before he stepped inside. The princess cast her eyes over her shoulder to find his jaw clenched, but he tried to hide it, “Prince Aemond is here to take you to dinner, mi’lady.”

“Thank you. Send him in.”

Keeping her back to the door, she turned back to her vanity and avoided glancing up at the looking glass. Yet she felt his presence nonetheless. Her hands shook as she threaded her earrings through the holes in her earlobes, looped her belt around her waist, slipped the rings on her fingers, and fingered with the clasp of her necklace. She tried and tried, but she could not get it to unlatch.

“Are you ready, ñuha dōna?” The prince’s voice inquired softly.

“No,” She admitted, back still turned, “I cannot seem to put my necklace on.”

“Your handmaids did not put it on for you?” He did not hide the surprise in his voice.

“I wanted to do it myself.”

There was a pause before the sound of a few soft footsteps forward echoed through the room, remaining a respectable distance away, “May I help you?”

The princess remained rigid, only handing the necklace back to him by an extended arm backwards. His footsteps crept closer, until they were right behind her. He held the proffered hand in his own for a brief moment before he took the jewelry teasingly slow. She dropped her hand back to her side. Her entire body was still as she waited to see what he would do next. In only a few moments, the cold bronze of the necklace shocked the skin at the front of her neck. Aemond clasped the necklace over the top of her long silver honey hair before he tenderly pulled it all free. Taking the time to play with a few strands and run his fingers through the tresses. After trying several braided styles, Maetilda had instructed her handmaids to leave her hair down, completely undone. Allowing it to trail down to its full length. The Queen certainly would not appreciate the lack of decorum. Paired with the jewelry, the princess nearly resembled the women of the night who often warmed her father and other lord’s beds. 

“You are so beautiful.” Aemond whispered.

“Will you be joining dinner?” The princess ignored his remark.

“Yes. My mother invited me after our meeting with the Small Council.”

“Just the three of us then?”

“Yes, Aegon and Helaena will be at future dinners, but not this one.”

“Future dinners,” The princess quipped as the words brought a chill down her spine, “If your mother doesn’t hate me; that is, if she doesn’t already.”

“Is that what you think?” He chuckled.

“You think I am mad?”

“Not mad.” He smiled, “Certainly not.”

“Hm,” She mimicked him.

“My mother only wants to assure your comfort and happiness once we are man and wife.”

“My comfort… in which castle?”

He opened his mouth before closing it, noticeably hesitant with his answer, “We shall spend our time between both Runestone and the Red Keep.”

“Did she decide that?”

“It does not matter.”

“I think it does.”

“My apologies. I am not at liberty to tell you.”

“I see. Quite the husband you shall be.” She scoffed, attempting to see how far she could push him.

“Are you questioning me?” He dared her to take her prior statement back.

Refusing to step down, she turned around to meet his gaze. He smirked at the expression on her face. It was enough to rattle her composure, but she fought internally to keep him from seeing it. She would not be thrown off her footing that easy. He reached forward and brushed more pieces of her hair with his fingers. Something he would do to Helaena when they were children. He would play with her curly hair as the two girls spoke. Always more fascinated by her hair than his own.

“You are,” He answered his own question smugly. “The dragon rears her horns.”

“You seem amused.”

“I am.”

“A young boy laughing can crawl under your skin, yet I cannot?”

That piqued his fascination. He leaned forward, “And why do you wish to get under my skin, ñuha dōna?”

He caught her. She had walked right into it, given away the plot, and the princess had not even made it to dinner. Her body tensed as she thought of an excuse, “I am only trying to understand you.”

“We have our whole lives to understand each other.”

“And if our lives should be short?”

“Now you seem hopeful.” He joked.

“I like to plan for the worst.”

His spine straightened as he got a bit more serious, “What did your father say to you earlier?”

“It does not matter.” She cocked her eyebrow at him, daring him to repeat the same words they had just said, silently asking him if he liked how it felt to be on the receiving end.

“Let us go. My mother is waiting.”

Arm-in-arm, Aemond lead Maetilda wordlessly up several flights of stairs and down numerous corridors. Ser Gunthor followed behind them. He was tense and she could feel it from behind her. His armor made its characteristic jingle with each step. The Red Keep was expansive, but her gown was far much easier to move in than her others. However, she could feel her gown slide lower on her chest with each new set of stairs. Aemond’s eyes burned her skin as he watched her readjust. After exactly four stops to fix her gown along the way, the two finally came upon a set of doors in one of the tallest towers. Two Kingsguard stood at the ready. One of them was a Cargyll twin. The future married pair had come to the Queen’s personal solar. Aemond turned to her and assisted his future bride in her pruning before giving the signal to open the doors. Her heart skipped a beat at the burst of deep emerald green. Everywhere. The bedding, the curtains, the rugs, the tapestries, the chairs. The most green she had ever seen in her life. In the center of the room, a large dining table had been brought in and dressed. A green brocade tablecloth with citrine colored candles, and golden platters of finger foods. Three ivory place settings with golden plates and cutlery. Two sat on one side while the third sat across from them. The Queen occupied the lone setting, standing to greet the couple who made their entrance. Her gown was a very dark green. It had gorgeous ivory and gold trim that nearly matched the table. The neckline crawled up her neck and stopped at her chin. Her golden seven pointed star necklace gleamed in the candlelight. She was the image of modesty and humble regalia. The princess kept her head held high as she let go of her betrothed’s arm to take her seat. Her footing only faltered when the chair moved back without her touching it. Maetilda glanced behind her to see Aemond patiently waiting to push her in. She carefully took her seat and lifted her feet just high enough for the chair to glide forward with no issue. Aemond then quietly took the seat next to her. As soon as they were situated, actual food was brought out to the table. Spiced ham, fresh greens and vegetables, pastries, pies, and more. A cupbearer filled her goblet to the brim with honeywine. The princess rushed to take the first bite, determined to get even a crumb in her mouth before the Queen. But the cupbearer blocked her access and Alicent was already chewing before Maetilda had anything on her plate.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, both of you.” The Queen broke the silence.

“Thank you for having us, mother.”

“Yes, thank you.” The princess echoed less enthusiastically.

A silence settled around the three. Only the sounds of cutlery on plates and chewing could be heard. It made her spine tingle, like a deer sensing a nearby hunter. She was being hunted. By owls in the rafters.

“Have you enjoyed your accommodations, princess?” The Queen poked.

“They have been suitable. Although I find everything so much different than I remember in my youth. The green from outside seems to be everywhere but. Oh, and the spirits! Gods be good, I hope I am not cursed. Spirits are everywhere. There seems to be one that lives in my chambers.”

“Spirits?” The mother and son gasped in unison.

“Yes! A tall ghost with a black cloak, no face, and a raised arm. It stands in my room at night.”

“This is the first I have ever heard of…” The Queen trailed off.

“Princess, are you certain it is a spirit you are seeing?”

“I would not lie about such things.”

“I will have the High Septon come to bless your chambers.”  Alicent nodded resolutely.

“The High Septon?” Maetilda asked.

“Who else should I send?” The Queen challenged.

The princess shrugged before drinking more wine to avoid responding. Her Grace’s question had been a trap. Yet the princess would be smarter than to walk into it. More silence settled around the three. The sounds of eating were slower and quieter. The three were suddenly more careful of the noise they made. But of course, such silence would sear the skin after a while. Too much of it burnt. The Queen opened her mouth again.

“I have been thinking about the many feasts that will be happening in your honor.” Alicent started, “And I decided that it would be best for you to see a dance teacher.”

“Is this because of my performance last night?” The princess laughed before taking a deep gulp of her goblet.

“Of course not. You are a wonderful dancer.”

“That I am! Come to think of it, I do not believe I have ever seen you dance, your Grace.”

“I save such frivolous activities for special occasions.”

“Oh, yes! Excuse me for being so daft. Would not want to anger those seven gods of yours.” Maetilda nodded casually.

The Queen chuckled dryly, “Something tells me they are preoccupied with others.”

Others. The less pious. Those less married to their Gods. Maetilda. Her father. Her family. Of course. The Queen thought her seven Gods would smite them all before they so much as looked in her royal direction. Silence consumed the three once more. No sounds of chewing or cutlery on plates. They all sat forward in thought. The princess herself stewed like a concoction over a fire. She had not done enough. Had not stepped far enough out of line. The Queen thought she was going to one of the seven hells and still did not fight to keep Aemond from marrying her. Could the princess not condemn Aemond too? Guilt by association? Was the Queen not worried that she would no longer see her son in the afterlife once the vows were said? The princess found herself questioning if it even mattered. If she could completely humiliate herself and still be subjected to the marriage, to her father’s promise of ruin before it happened. Frustration bubbled within her. She wondered what her father would say. If he would give her warning before he sent his men after her or if they would use the element of surprise to their advantage. 

“Three moon’s time is not very long.” Aemond stated awkwardly, suddenly drumming his fingers on the table.

“Not at all. Everyone will be working diligently.” Alicent agreed.

‘Josey Flowers,’ The princess thought. The name of the woman who had measured her and talked of necklines and trains just the other day. “I was measured for my gown yesterday.”

“How wonderful! Songs will be written about your beauty.” Aemond smiled.

“Like they were written for me,” Alicent huffed sarcastically before she sipped her own goblet. Her tone was bitter. There were no known songs to ever be written about the Hightower Queen, none that framed her in good standing.

“The bards save their songs for special ones.” Maetilda joked.

Aemond visibly tensed, “There have been songs written for you, mother.”

“You must have heard some that I have not.” The princess shrugged.

“Songs are not important. It is not the bards that I care about pleasing.” Alicent snipped.

“Of course! What is a song in your honor when you are eternally burning in seven hells?” Maetilda laughed, “Which one do you think my mother went to?”

Both the Queen and her second son choked on their drinks. Lady Rhea Royce’s was a name most often whispered. There were many rumors about what had happened to the late Lady of Runestone, but no one ever spoke of her to Princess Maetilda’s face. Except for Daemon himself, and it was a subject he hated. Yet the mention of the late woman did not seem to have the effect on the Hightowers that it did her father. Sorrow, awkwardness, and discomfort rather than rage. The Queen cleared her throat before she answered, “She went to the Father’s Golden Hall.”

“Do you think the rumors are true? Do you think she was murdered?” The princess pressed farther, hyper focused on having an awful dinner in order to make her father proud.

“I do not know what you speak of.” Alicent lied.

“Hmm,” Maetilda nodded.

“You are not being fair to my mother.” Aemond stated.

“Your mother was not fair to me or my family upon our very arrival! Or have you forgotten?”

The Queen let out a loud sigh, “You are right, Maetilda. That gesture was not fair. But as my husband preached last night, I only wish to make amends.”

Seven hells, the princess thought. The last scenario she had expected was one in which the Hightower Queen extended an olive branch. The princess crossed her arms, unsure of how to move forward. Unsure of how to make her father happy. She could feel the lilac eye study her closely again, as if she were an ant under a magnifying glass. As if he could dissect her — mind, body, and soul — just by watching her alone. She wondered what he thought, if he regretted ever being pleased with their arrangement. The princess scoured her brain for words as she attempted to form a response. There was nothing. Not a word.

“Maetilda, you will be my daughter soon. You will give me grandchildren—”

“I will supply your son with a castle,” The princess listed along without missing a beat. Suddenly springing into a fit of passion, “It seems I have a lot of things that other lords and princelings want.”

“Need I remind you this was the King’s decree? Not mine.” The Queen’s face began to turn red.

“Before the previous two days, when was the last time the King made a decree himself?”

“He has not been well.”

“And why have only the maesters been consulted? Their methods have only seemed to make him worse.”

“They have prolonged his life.”

“According to who? The same maesters poisoning him?”

“You are lucky that I have not yet called the guards in here to take your tongue.”

“Take my tongue! It does not change the truth.”

There was a pause as they all exchanged glances between each other. Smoke practically poured from the princess’s ears. She felt cornered and outnumbered, but it only made her feel bigger. Perhaps that was how her father felt during his outbursts. She was ready to leap from her chair and continue the shenanigans of the night before. She did not care how effortlessly her betrothed knocked her brother to the floor. She would not let them win so easily. 

“You are sounding like your father, Til.” Aemond spoke gently, but his words cut deep.

“Gaomas bona vēdros ao, valzȳrys?” (Does that displease you, husband?) The princess mocked him before turning to the Queen, “Will we be traveling to my castle as soon as the festivities are over?”

Alicent all but rolled her eyes, “Yes.”

The mother and son looked taken aback when Maetilda responded with laughter. Genuine laughter that sharply turned dry and sarcastic. Just as her father’s had earlier that day. She felt absolutely mad, but she found the lack of subtlety quite humorous. It seemed to be a sick joke. First the decorations in the castle, down to every damned tapestry. Then the stars and the prayers and piousness. Next was her castle. She should have guessed when she saw the books in the library. Someone had been reading about her family on purpose. Someone had been carving runes into stones on purpose. That someone had not been Aegon or her father. It was Aemond, and he was after her home. The rug was being pulled out from underneath her. She had not realized it until that very moment.

“The castle is mine, it belongs to my family. The Vale will never be Oldtowne. Try as you may.”

“I do not want your castle.” Aemond stated.

“Were you not the one studying its history and power in the library?” Maetilda fired back, “Nearly gutted the whole section of the damned library. Or was it your drunk brother?”

“I was curious.” He admitted, jaw locked and fists clenched.

“You’ve been plotting.” She called his half-bluff.

“It was the King’s decree!” The Queen repeated.

Maetilda crossed her arms in her chair. Another serving was brought out for them to eat. Not one of them touched it. Fresh fruits and deserts, all covered in powdered sugar. Not one hand reached forward. Not one person moved. It was a stand-off as they all sat around the table.

“I am looking forward to Rhaenyra’s presence around the Keep more. I would like to keep it that way.” The Queen sighed, “I do not fault you for the way that you feel. Or your outbursts. Runestone is where your mother died. I lost my mother when I was young too.”

The princess stood up in her chair, breathing hard like a dragon ready to explode. “Do not pretend to know how I feel. You do not know the last thing about me.”

Maetilda’s eyes narrowed at the woman. The princess’s breathing only grew more uneven. The sound of Aemond’s chair scooting back tickled her ear, but she did not flinch. The princess and her future sweger stared each other down intensely. Both refusing to be the first to look away.

“May I excuse myself, your Grace?” Maetilda calmly seethed.

Alicent nodded. Her head barely moved as it did so. The princess did not wait another moment before she catapulted out of the double doors. Her body trembled, anger, fear, anticipation of consequences. She didn’t know how to think or how to feel. She was like one of the ghosts that roamed the Keep, practically floating as she moved at an erratic pace. Ser Gunthor’s bronze armor jingled after her, the sound serving as a constant reminder as to where she was going. She wanted to get away. From everyone and everything. And she knew that her chambers were not safe, not from Aemond or her father. She knew they would look for her there. Where could she go if she did not want to be found? The place where no one went at night — the Godswood. So that is where she ran, straight to the safety of the weirwood tree. The lack of walls was a bit unsettling. She was not sure who or what could lay beyond her sight. But she felt safe knowing her knight stood guard. The roots of the tree cradled her as she curled up and leaned back. Bugs sang their nightly songs and soft bustles hummed in from Flea Bottom. The citizens of King’s Landing were enjoying their eve wing, unlike her. The soft breeze was slightly chilly, but it wasn’t so bad once the princess hugged herself. She got comfortable in her spot, and laid her head back. The bark of the tree was hard but smooth. Somehow it felt more restful than any feathered pillow she had ever laid her head on.

Ser Gunthor stood a few paces away. His head on a swivel as he scanned the Godswood for danger, “Are you alright? ‘Sure you wouldn’t rather lay in your bed?”

“I’m sure.” She stated.

“Y’look cold, mi’lady.”

“I said I am fine.”

“You said you were sure, not fine. But alright.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as Maetilda closed her eyes.

The rocky cliffs, rolling hills, and rain-cast shores soon returned. Instead of flying over them, she rode through them on horseback. Unlike any horse she had ever been gifted or owned, it was white with no spots, not a single blemish tarnishing its ivory, and donned dark brown leathers, adorned with runes. Its mane was cropped for function, assuring that none would whip into the rider’s eye while at a full gallop. The reins and stirrups were worn from extensive use. The seat of the saddle molded around its rider’s butt like an old pair of shoes on one’s feet. The two rode together down a clearly definite trail. In the valley between the small mountains and cliffs. The horse had been there before, its hooves traversed the land effortlessly. It knew their destination regardless of whether or not the princess knew. Like two lifelong companions on a morning commute. In a delicious rhythm, horse’s hooves met the Earth over and over again. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Echoed off the rocks around them. Clunk, clunk, clunk. It almost had a tenor pitch. Smaller yet sturdier than any horse she had ridden before; it had not been bred for a smooth ride or to pull a carriage. As if it knew what she had been thinking, a whinnie joined in the chorus of hooves. A familiar whinnie that had echoed in her ears before. Everything seemed to foreign yet familiar. Including the land. She had only seen the land once before. From above as she plummeted to the ground below. It was breathtaking from any vantage point, deserving of its very own tapestry. She wished she could weave what she saw from memory and replace the damn tower one in her chambers. She wished she could capture the mist and the clouds and the air. She wished she could commit it all to physical copy so she could show anyone who would look. It was a beauty that deserved to be admired, that graced and blessed all who looked upon it.

The princess glanced up toward the heavens, curious if she would catch sight of herself crashing through the clouds. Yet there was nothing. Not even a seagull. Perhaps it had been the rains. They had clearly passed through recently. The dirt was darker, and it clumped together like clay as the horse’s hooves kicked chunks backwards with each stride. Would they ride up upon her body after it had already fallen? Would she see what had become of her before she had jolted up in bed? Would the horse stop and allow her to stare? To see herself in all her grace and glory? Or would the horse keep running? Perhaps it would never stop. The white horse and the princess’s silver honey hair would blur together in one smudge as they ricocheted from one coast to the next. Perhaps they would stop, sooner or later. Much like a sailor once long at sea, the princess would sway as she stood at their final destination — where it would be. Although she hadn’t remembered meeting the mighty white mount, she trusted it. She felt nothing but safe atop its back. Between its shoulders and hips. Their pace never faltered, never slowed. The hills merely continued to roll on. The two ran until the horse came to a sudden halt. The princess felt as if she were in a daze as she struggled to keep balanced. All her work went to shambles in the blink of an eye. The white steed reared up in its hind legs, making itself big and intimidating, only to tip back too far. Time seemed to slow down as she fell, the horse’s wide and heavy back looming after her. It was almost funny how one moment she had been completely at peace only for the next moment to be nothing but fear, horror, and regret. Perhaps it was a good thing. Perhaps the horse was doing her a mercy by crushing her. No more marriage, no more threats, no more scheming. It would be bliss. She felt her body hit the ground as she sat up straight in her bed. Her chambers were dark and foggy, but it did nothing to obscure the cloaked figure in the corner. It floated tall with its arm stretched upward, holding a jagged rock. Her heart began to pound. She immediately knew what came next. She did not have to wait for the figure to come rushing forward before she desperately tried to scramble out of her bed. Everything happened so fast. The sheets grew tighter as they wrapped around her ankles and locked her there. Keeping her trapped in the confines of her bed. The figure ran forward in the blink of an eye. Quicker than humanly possible. Rock raised and at the ready. Her body tensed. She screamed as she clamped her eyes shut and braced for impact. She could feel the air move as the figure descended upon her.

A gentle hand met her forehead and her entire body flinched, trashing away from any harm. Her eyes shot open. Only to see Ser Gunthor crouched over her. His hazel and sage eyes were flooded with worry and concern as he brushed her hair from her face and spoke words she could not hear. Her ears rang like a bell. Her sworn knight wrapped her tighter into a blanket she had not had before. It was thick and warm, and she grabbed at it feverishly before pulling it farther into her. The knight ran his hands up and down the princess’s arms quickly, creating a small amount of heat to help warm her. He began counting his breaths aloud as he inhaled and exhaled. His eyes never once left her. Soon the sounds of the numbers came into focus, the ringing in her ears very slowly dulling. Ser Gunthor’s voice was even and steady. Like a mother’s heartbeat while her babe rests on her chest. He continued to count until her breathing evened.

“You were sleeping well there… until you weren’t.” He remarked.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Must’ve been a scary one.”

The princess nodded, “Similar to the one I had before I found the stones.”

She quickly glanced around the Godswood, making sure there was no cloaked figure. By the time she looked back at her knight, he was searching the area himself. He searched the brush, the surrounding trees, anywhere he could search through. But they both found nothing.

Ser Gunthor looked at the princess seriously as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, “Let’s go back to your chambers. I will do a look-through before you go back to sleep.” 

As soon as Maetilda nodded in agreement, he gathered up the blanket that had been laid on top of her and helped the princess to her feet. He then draped the blanket over her shoulders and offered out his arm for her to take. Tiredly, the princess took his arm and laid her head against his armored bicep. They walked together slowly and steadily all the way back to her room. Maetilda’s eyes and limbs felt heavy with sleep as she struggled to keep pace, but Ser Gunthor slowed every time he noticed her falter. She was exhausted, even with the fear of death coursing through her veins. Her eyes lulled shut as she allowed her knight to lead their way back. A journey they seemed to have made in record time. She must have fallen asleep while walking. The knight did just as he had promised, checking every last nook and cranny in her bedroom, before he assisted her into bed. It felt as though eyes watched her as she moved, but there was no cloaked figure to be seen. Her tired eyes scanned the room to be sure. The only one watching her had been her knight. He tucked her into the blankets and draped the new one over top. She smiled and thanked him through her yawns. Gently, he wished her goodnight before he closed her door behind him. Eyes still heavy as giants, the princess was fast asleep soon after.

A/N: so maetilda still has some growing before she reaches her final form. arguing with the queen is… a choice… but she’s also not exactly thinking clearly… that being said, i love me some Gunthor :) i promise this isn’t a cheesy love triangle, i just love him.

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace

xoxo messy

[daily-ish-syndicate-headcanons]

attempt two because i accidentally sent the first one too early!

piercing headcanons because i was thinking about my own and then the brain juices started rolling in:

Phil used to have piercings. he got his ears pierced while he and Techno were still in the early/mid stage of their friendship. the two have matching emerald earrings, Phil's was a stud and Techno's was the dangly kind, but he also had a stud, for when he needed to make sure his earring didn't tangle in his hair. after awhile of having his ears pierced though, Phil began to notice his ears would be sensitive whenever he took the earrings in and out, when he would swap them. eventually, they started getting less sensitive and more painful. so, he let his piercings close up, switching his emerald stud with Techno's dangly one. he took the dangly earring, and changed it to where it was no longer an earring, but instead little charm, that he could put on his hat, on a bag, any of those. he only ever got his ears pierced, and he let those close up as they got too painful to handle.

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Techno has had piercings longer than Phil. he did most of them himself, but he has let Phil help him in the process, making sure he didnt pass out afterwards [especially with the ear piercings, those things make you dizzy afterwards. i dont know about any other piercings, but ear piercings definitely make you dizzy] ect. he has studs, dangly earrings, all the earrings you can imagine. most of them are gold, though there are a few that are made of silver, and the matching emerald he has with Phil. he has a nose piercing, he used to wear those clunky, silly rings in the middle like how people often depict bulls having, but changed to a golden stud with a red jewel in the middle on the side. yes, he may have a pig snout, but he can still have nose piercings, okay?

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Ranboo.. okay, I know this might sound weird, but in my [personal] design of him, he has a small eye of ender hanging from their ear. yes yes, i can hear you now saying "but eye of enders are made from enderpearls, and those are dropped by endermen when you kill them" yes, i understand that its weird to have your species loot as an earring, but it looks nice, and honestly, how about we think of it as a tribute to dead endermen or something. anyways, other than that earring, he has black studs and sometimes, they wear funky little earrings. i like to imagine he and Niki share a jewelry box, and they both have a collection of cute little earrings, like cat paws, rainbows, flowers, ect. just cause theyre cute. Also they have sensitive ears. Can't wear certain earrings, like cheap ones or copper ones.

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Niki's got nose piercings and ear piercings. She's got a simple stud on her nose, which she'll sometimes change out with a little gold ring. She's got cartilage piercings, lobe piercings, all that jazz. She mostly wears those cute earrings both she and Ranboo own, the ones the two share. She sometimes wears small hoops on her ears. Most of her jewelry is silver, though she does have some metal and gold ones here and there.

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Connor is not to be trusted around needles. No piercings for him.

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ignore this

extra space

i seem

to be

unable to

delete it

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phil fs looks back on his piercing phase like people look back on their emo phase

proud to say that out of the three piercings ive gotten (first and second lobe and helix) i’ve never gotten dizzy 💪💪 also i love the idea of techno with lots of piercings (especially a septum piercing i think its so silly)

ranboo is so real for the sensitive ears thing (sensitive skin haver right here, i literally cant wear anything other than sterling silver or gold i hate it)

niki and ranboo fs match piercings i lobe them theyre so siblings

Do Not Give Connor Needles

i am pointedly NOT ignoring the extra space (L)

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Okay so I have zero idea how ask games work or if it’s currently active but….

I got like two I desperately need to know about!!

🪸 & ♈️

🪸: I’m curious if any of your selections for the creatures coincide with their district or rather something from their personality and could you give examples of possible?

♈️ : Is the zodiac magic person to person or a whole wide district type thing that only ever occurs in said district?

Do they have certain techniques depending on the district?

Are abilities separated between the rich and poor in the districts?

Hi!! So technically this ask game was for me to write a snippet of the WIP's you pick and I can definitely still do that if you want me to! But expanding on these AU's can definitely be fun as well! So while I write the other requests I've gotten so far I'll answer yours since I'm a very slow writer. Also, finals has fried my brain and I'm so happy I'm almost done but I just cannot think straight enough to write right now so explanation it is!!

🪸 So the creatures aren't District-specific, I give the tributes whatever I feel fits their character best, but the variants are. It's bloodline related, but environment has impact on the people of the Districts. So for example: District 4 has a lot of sirens and mermaids, because they're so involved with the ocean, and their humanoid form only has legs so they can walk on land. They spend most of their time in the ocean anyway. Treech is also a siren, but he only has forest lakes as underwater domain. Therefore his humanoid form is practically indistinguishable from humans. Sea sirens have a very echoey voice, fitting for an open space as large as the ocean, but sirens like Treech have a more ethereal, magical, otherworldly sounding voice, associating them with a magical forest. Sirens in 7 also have more greenish colors where Sea Sirens have fully blue scales. My sirens always have some kind of hydrokinesis, but where Sea Sirens have full water control Treech would have a weaker control over water in exchange for being able to use his voice out of the water more effectively. Unlike Sea Sirens he can actually use his voice magic while talking, though it's most effective when he sings.

Lucy Gray is a faun because she has the nature-loving vibes to me and also she sings, but with D12 so focused on coal mining there just aren't many sirens there. Her magic is in any music she makes, allowing her some control over nature. Coral is a (water) dragon, because she's very protective over those she cares about and I felt like it fit her general anger at her situation in both the book and the movie. Mizzen is a fairy, because mythologically fairies tend to be very mischievous. Lamina is a firebird, but with added thunderbird qualities. She's like the wind, seemingly weak until it flings you through the air like you're nothing. Also, she has a hidden fire in her that you'll only see when it's too late.

There's a few examples :)

♈ohoho I have a lot to say about this AU but idk who to talk to because idk anyone who might be interested this specific one so I'll ramble about the magic system I created for this for a bit and wonder if anyone would want me to talk about all the plotlines I've thought up for this AU.

Is it person-to-person or district wide? Surprise, it's both! Every district has a zodiac sign (D13 has Ophiuchus) and the powers are vaguely based on that, but everyone has a mostly unique set of powers or combination of magic types. The districts aren't actually numbered based on zodiac signs though, they're still numbered based on in what order they joined Panem. This is long so I'm gonna put a cut here lol.

Virgo: I don't have a big explanation for this, it just felt right with the magic I could come up with, so I'll say a maiden in stories is usually beautiful, like jewelry and gemstones and stuff. Facet gets enchantment, he can bewitch people to basically fog over their mind if he can talk long enough for his magic to work or if he can get close and do magical hands around someone's head. Velvereen gets potion: she can take plants and combine them into potions with a positive effect and a negative downside to go with it, depending on what potion she makes. The downside gets bigger the less related the plants the picks are to what she wants her potions to do.

Sagittarius, because... Honestly this and 12 were the last ones I decided on and it was either Sagi or Scorpio. Sagittarius is fire, which feels like it fits more with weaponry. Marcus is connected to the archer part of the constellation, being able to basically influence people's odds in battle, including his own. He has stupidly good aim because he tips the odds of hitting the target in his own favor. He can basically boost his allies and make his enemies a lot less lucky on the battlefield. Sabyn, on the other hand, is more connected to the spirituality of Sagittarius (the optimism) by being able to influence people's emotions so strongly she can basically cripple them by trapping them in a mental breakdown spiral. She can push them to give her answers she needs, distract them, or help them gain the confidence to do what they need to do. Possibly the way her power works (influencing the neurons in the brain, essentially, and the chemical structure) allows her to also have mild control over people's perceptions of the world by blocking information from reaching the brain and maybe even enables her to use mild healing powers.

Capricorn is ambitious and goal-oriented, and I think you need some level of ambition to be an inventor. Teslee can create anything by picturing it with her mind. She needs to know its components and requires some kind of object to transform, but she can make virtually anything. She needs to imagine the inner workings too, though, so if she doesn't know how something works she can only make something that looks like what she wants. It won't actually work, because she didn't make the inner mechanism that makes it function. Circ has a form of spacial magic which gives him the ability of telekinesis and teleportation.

Pisces: Fairly obvious, I think. Their whole deal is fishing, so their sign is pisces the fishes. I briefly considered giving them aquarius but ended up going with the more cliche option. Coral clearly feels deeply, though we mostly see her anger at the world and her care for Mizzen. Coral's powers are basically energy manipulation. She can sap energy from around her and turn it into something else, whether that be light or a soundwave or electricity or a whole laserbeam. This is because Pisces is seen as a sign that's very in-touch with spirituality and stuff. Mizzen can turn his skin into protective scales that he can reflect light off of to blind his opponents and make some weaker magical attacks slide off of him like water slides past fish scales.

Leo is related to the sun. The sun gives energy. Sol can draw energy from the sun and turn it into both strength and laser beams. Hy can shapeshift into any cat-like animal and expel brief bursts of boiling hot air from his body.

Gemini because Mercury is apparently ever-changing and that reminded me of transport. Gemini apparently blends really well into any group because they can adapt to the vibe, so Ginnee can read people insanely well and just knows how to act and what to say to make them trust her or get them to do what she wants. Also, she will always appear like she belongs where she is, so even when people are actively looking for her, specifically, they'll look past her because she doesn't look 'out of the ordinary'. Otto gets the duality side of the deal and can speed up or slow down time within a specific radius around him. It doesn't have to include the whole radius, so he can slow down time around one person or speed up just his own movements.

Aries: I think it fits Treech and Lamina. The ram is usually associated with courage, confidence, and a strong personality, but before a ram is a ram, it's a lamb. Lamina shows she's fully capable of being strong and courageous, despite first coming across as weak like a little lamb. She ends up being a very offence-heavy fighter. Treech, meanwhile, is more on the defensive side. @ylvisruinedmylife's Electric Rebels characterization of him fits best here, where he's very insecure and not the fighting type, but he can show his horns when he needs to (on an individual level, Lamina's more Leo/Cancer while Treech is more Pisces/Gemini, but I digress). As for their magic: Lamina gets pyrokinesis for the fiery personality type Aries stands for, as well as 'reflect' where she cuts the air with her hand, creating a flash of light that will deflect an attack or even redirect it back at her opponents, inspired by diamonds being the gemstone for Aries. Treech has 'wool', where he can generate wool with his hands that absorbs any impact or attack that hits it. He can also use it as an attack but its wool so it doesn't do much damage on its own. It can trap people or push/throw them into a wall. He also gets 'impact' inspired by the way rams attack. It requires a lot of energy to use but he can aim his hand at someone and blast them backwards, nothing's hitting them but it feels like they get bodyslammed by a ram. He can also accelerate the speed of an attack with it. Both Lamina and Treech have small horns with a slight curl to them when their powers are activated. Their hair also gets very soft and fluffy like the wool of a sheep, though it's more noticeable with Lamina because her hair's longer, her tips are basically a cloud.

Libra, because it's associated with venus and thus beauty. It's scales, which work with gravity, so Bobbin gets control over gravity within a specific radius. He can only affect small areas at a time but hey, smashing a whole squad of peacekeepers to the ground is still fun yk. Wovey has the power to balance out anything. If you're very mad, she can balance you out with ✨aura✨ until you're no longer flipping out. If something's so heavy it's about to break something she can balance it out so the thing that's breaking is strong enough to hold. You have a laser canon? Guess what! She can balance out that energy to neutralize your laser! You wanna fire a gun? She can balance out that gunpowder and make it useless!

Cancer, because the moon phases reminded me of harvest phases. This is one of the spares, I fear. With the moon being so tied to the tides, Panlo's magic is magnetism. He can turn anything into a magnet, both himself and others. What is pulled towards the magnet is something Panlo can decide himself. Sheaf has the reflective properties of the moon (reflecting the sunlight) and can reflect anything away from her. If someone attacks her, she can reflect their attack back at them. She can reflect light like a mirror. She's basically a mirror with defensive properties.

Taurus, because Taurus is a bull and... Livestock. That's it that's my explanation (oh and disrespect for authority because Brandy and her response to Arachne's "authority"). The element of Taurus is earth, so Tanner gets... earthbending. It's basically just earthbending with the added fun that dirt and sand counts as 'rock' to me and you can't stop me. Brandy gets control over any precious metal or ore, because of Taurus' wealth aspect. I'm very creative (please don't judge my energy tank is rapidly depleting).

Aquarius, the giver of life, felt appropriate for the district credited with being the country's main food source (rip 9 and 10). Reaper has hydrokinesis. He can control the temperature and form, but cannot technically make it. He can just pull it from any source he wants, which means he's capable of some brutal stuff since humans are like- 75% water. Dill has plant magic. She can grow roots from the ground and control the plants around her.

Scorpio, occasionally said to have sly personality traits? Their spirit color is black like coal. Jessup has shadow magic, he can manipulate shadows and melt into them. Pretty straightforward, but since shadows are just the absence of light he has some extras most people wouldn't expect because people keep forgetting that shadows are just the absence of light. He's basically displacing the light (and thus warmth) and while he can solidify shadows because magic, he can basically blast people with freezing cold. Lucy Gray can negate magical spells or curses. Just destroy them or negate them immediately. She can absorb them for a limited time and possibly place them on something else too.

Ophiuchus.

[duskhallowed]

uroborosymphony answered :

Ara glances over her shoulder as soon as the door opens. Her who hoped to not cross a single soul when taking the risk to come back in here. Here, the first floor of the garage, a place that used to be her home too, a place that seems to have been deserted little by little. A month now passed ever since the Taiyang and Ara decided to take different paths or well, ever since he took that decision for the both of them. The vengeress did not want to cross paths with him nor with the rest of the gang, truly. All dressed in black, a tight tech attire, bulletproof, far away from her usual latex, leather, fur and jewelry. 30 days have passed since she has not heard Yoona's annoying voice, and even though a part of her wanted to tell her to fuck off, to go away, the shut up, to leave her alone, the words the other spoke did touch her. "Have you?" Questions the ex leader, emptying the cabinets from what to seemed to be silencers for guns that she waited long enough to come and collect. If the Quinn has fallen deep in sadness and despair for days, slowly it has been replaced by something else, something that has been crippling under her mind, waiting to break through her skin. "Thought you would be happy to know the crazy bitch making your life a nightmare would be gone, Doll." A sardonic laughter escapes from her mouth. A laughter from a voice that seemed to have dropped a few octaves than usual, ever deeper, raunchier, on the edge and yet every single one of her gestures were controlled. Her features, if anybody would look from too closed, seemed disturbed as well. Not in a manic phase type of way, but as if this dormant pain has suddenly marked her features harsher and harsher. No red lipstick, no loop hearings. Turning around, the vengeress clocks the silencer on the gun in the fast mechanic move of an assassin ready to execute her target. Ara did not want to stay, actually on her way to a mission, her own missions now. Many would think she did drop the vigilante life not having the gang by her side : well, quite the opposite, The Quinn has become entirely something else, an entity amputed from her minions and wealth, radical, extremist, one who did not come to play nor negociate. The moon is reflecting on the disturbing lines of half of her face, the other hidden in the shadowss she now faces Yoona from afar. "Haven't you heard? I am absolutely Fine. The voices in my head are so loud, apparently everyone can fucking hear them now. Isn't that beautiful?" Ara explains pointing at her own forehead, her eyes widening with a grin as she taps against her skull a few times to indicate her brain. " So why would you be worried huh? I have never felt so free." Her words sound like relailed bike, a rusty chain, a mechanic doll on repeat. We are free, we are free to do as we please, the voices were right all along, we are going to set everyone else free, nobody is going to stop us, they are all so close minded, they were just slowing us down. "You. You okay?" The gun is shoved down the pocket by her thigh. The question is harsh, but meant. Yoona and Ara used to spend their days together, besides their complicated relationship, Yoona became someone to her, someone she has been deprived of when having to cut herself off the gang. @uroborosymphony

her hands, manicured with a white-and-pink glow, waved anxiously to protest Quinn's suggestion. " no! i'm not happy you're gone, Quinn-nim! " Yoona hears her own voice echo back at her (unintentionally loud in the garage) and thinks, now she understands why everyone called her annoying... the girlish, nervous, squeaking of a woman who was used to serving a temperamental queen. so she straightens her posture and stands in silence. hands tucked in front of her, brows furrowed... a loose bullet falls from the cabinet that Ara is raiding, and makes a shing noise when it hits the floor. far away from the public showroom, tucked away in the back of the garage where only 'employees' could access, was this room. the acoustics serve as a reminder that there was not another living soul here besides the two of them. Yoona thought she would be happy to see this day... Quinn had always been harsh on her . . . and even if she hadn't, Yoona had always envied her, and everything she had . . . but now she stands frowning, feeling heavy gloom in her stomach as she watches the Queen of Black Fang work on her own. her newfound independence was enviable, too, perhaps, but... Yoona can't help but think everything about this looks so wrong. What had happened to Black Fang?! Weren't they supposed to be a family?! Yoona doesn't understand. and why ( despite their time apart, no matter their disagreements ) did Taiyang and Quinn still have to work in some kind of treacherous tandem ? because even apart, they had both changed. gone were the sly, surefire smirks she was used to seeing on her bosses' faces. the careless and thoughtless barbs they threw her way were no longer; they were both too lost in a DARKNESS to waste time on such petty things. they walked like dead, greyscaled versions of their former selves, both of their eyes and voices blackened . . . and of course, nobody would tell her why ! nobody told a lowly girl like her why everything was falling apart... leaving Yoona behind to serve them in a constant haze of confusion. tears burned in her eyes as she watched Quinn; she was frozen in stunned paralysis as the woman rifled through the garage's armory.

until finally, she answers Quinn's question. " I'm not okay... " she answered with a strange sort of certainty, and shook her head fervently, her face contorted into a scrunchy pout. her lips quivered as she tried to hold it together. she wants to launch herself at Quinn and throw her arms around her, cling to her— not for comfort, no, and not even to comfort Quinn . . . but to keep her here, to force her not to go. it wasn't the same without her ! everything felt so empty . . . ( especially him. ) but she knows it is not her place to do so . . . and Yoona would never do something that Quinn forbade. she never even dared to speak up against Quinn, not once... but there's a subtle defiance in her answer. so subtle that one might have to squint to see it... but it's there. Yoona was saying 'I'm not okay and neither are you. neither is Taiyang. none of this is okay! COME HOME!' silently pleading for it to be so. but she cannot say that, so she says what she can:

" do you need help, Quinn-nim ? can I— do you want me to come with you ? "