#i need to find somewhere to put these!!!!

[heartmix]

Spoiled - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gn!reader

Word Count: 800+

Warning: making fun of the british (slightly), expired food

A/N: the idea popped into my head after watching max's stream a few days ago. Also i'm pretty sure its Lando's birthday already somewhere in europe!

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

Some days you wondered how Lando was still alive. Never mind driving a rocket ship on wheels for living, no, it was because he decide to put anything in his body without a second thought. Despite spending millions on cars and watches and other material items he didn't give a second thought about something he needs to survive, food. You blamed it on him being british and the fact that they don't have anything good to eat. You knew about the sweet potato incident, even if it was before you knew him. Finding out he went and ate spoiled food again was enough to give you the ick and put your foot down.

The plan was simple. Buy new groceries, do some meal prep and clean out the fridge for Lando while he was playing Tarkov with his friends. He mentioned that he was going to play all day and that max was going to stream later on in the night. That gave you enough time to run to the store and cook some easy meals so you could surprise him with a full fridge.

After waking up early and sending a text to Lando that you were going to drop off something later tonight, you headed to the grocery store to pick up everything you needed. A bunch of fresh produce to meal prep and some snacks that can last on the shelf for a few months. With Lando's strict diet (or lack of there) you pulled out all the stops for a healthy and tasty meal. 

As night time crept up you packed everything in bags and made your way over to his apartment. You got a notification that max started his stream a few ago so it was the perfect time to sneak in and fill his kitchen while dropping off some dinner. Any noise you made wouldn't be too out of the blue seeing as he knew you were coming and that you already had a key. 

While entering the house you could already hear the screaming and weird random sounds coming out of your boyfriends gaming room. That should keep him distracted for awhile. First you started with cleaning and sterilizing his fridge. Doubt he didn't have much which is probably why he ate expired chicken, but one could never be too careful. Once that was over with you packed away all his food that should last for the week. Seeing the finished product brought a smile to your face. At least he was going to be eating good for the week. 

Once his current raid ended you quietly made your way into the room being aware that his mic was on and that possibly a couple thousand fans could hear what could be said, even with this shit mic. When his door opened he saw you and an immediate smile was plastered on his face. 

"Hey baby." He smiled taking off his headphones and motioning you to come by him.

"Hi. I just came to drop off dinner. Don't want to keep you long." You smiled placing the plastic bag on his desk before he pulled you onto his lap.

"It's okay, raid just ended and the mic is off. Stay for a few seconds."

"Alright. I made you my famous stir fry. There's another serving in the fridge for tomorrow." You said bringing out the food and fork setting it up for him.

"What would i do without you."

"Eat expired chicken." 

"Haha i get it." He gave a fake laugh making a real one erupt from your throat. 

"Yeah you seriously gave me the ick. This was going to be a surprise but i stocked up your fridge and did some meal prep. You just have to heat it up in the microwave, although i'm scared you'll even mess that up." You laughed at another joke your boyfriend seemed to be the butt of. 

"Move in with me." All of the joking mood went out of the room as he looked at you with a serious almost pleading expression. 

For you it came out of the blue. Sure you've been together for almost two years and you've spent a good portion out of the year traveling with him to races, but moving in together never crossed your mind. It seemed like the next logical thing in the relationship but neither of you brought the topic up till now. 

"What?"

"Sorry, i was either going to blurt out that or marry me. I figure it's best to go in order." The words came out like it wasn't the most bizarre thing he could say in the moment. 

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, for you. So what do you say?" How could you say no to that adorable smile.

"Well someone needs to keep you alive." a smile slowly crept upon your face liking the idea of seeing with him more and being closer to him. Also it would save you money, monaco wasn't cheap. 

"Perfect." He said leaning in for a kiss before you pulled away. 

"I'm not kissing you after you just ate expired chicken."  

"That was yesterday!" 

[twisted-broth]

A Human's Touch

Mr Gap x Reader

(Anything in bold is other world language)

It had been a while now since you had returned to the other world. It was hard to tell time here, but at least you knew that this was where you belonged. It was almost laughable to think that you once tried to leave this place.

You would never admit it, but you really owed a lot to the shit eating grin that always manages to pop up whenever you need him. Even now, with you life no longer in constant peril, he pops up somewhere nearby quite often. It could be from the crack of your closet, inside your bag, or a random hole in the wall that you swear wasn't there before. As annoying as Mr Gap was, he was probably the closest thing you had to a friend. He would even bring you things from the human world if you asked. For a price, of course.

You sigh as your "friend" holds one of your favorite books from the human world just out of reach. He was playing his favorite game again.

"Give leg." He demanded.

"Give foot." Was your counter offer. Most of your body parts would grow back, but it takes longer for bigger parts and more complex organs. Luckily there didn't seem to be a word in their language for liver or spinal column.

His expression twists for a moment, but the smile quickly returns. "Yes." He agrees.

The pain that radiates from your ankle would have made you pass out a few months ago, but now it only elicits a stifled grunt. You snatch the book from Mr. Gap's hand as he smiles at the newfound treasure that appears in his grasp. You sigh once more and put the book to the side before pressing an already bloodied towel to your ankle.

With the bleeding successfully stopped, there was nothing else for you to do but lie in bed while you waited for it to grow back. You spared a glance towards your new book, but couldn't muster the energy to read it. The isolation of this world had been wearing on you. You had been spending time with Mr Silvair and Mr Chopped lately, but there was another recent earthquake that blocked off your path to them. You had yet to find the time to search for a new one.

With an arm draped over your eyes, you fell back against your threadbare pillow. The covers rustled around you, giving away the presence of another with you.

"Why sad?" You opened one eye to look down at your covers. The face of Mr Gap blended in with the darkness above your legs. If he had a body, he would be nearly lying on top of you. The part of your brain that was still human couldn't help but think that some actual physical touch would be nice.

"I one. Sad. Friend not here." Elaborating on the concept of loneliness using a lexicon of 100 words wasn't really a task you wanted to undertake at the moment.

You had thought Mr Gap would either leave or laugh at you, but to your surprise he looked confused. "I here." He responded.

Now it was your turn to be confused. If you weren't mistaken, he seemed almost offended that you hadn't called him a friend.

"You friend?"

"Yes." If this language had some equivalent of 'duh', you imagined that would be what he would say instead.

All you can do in response is blink at him. You really never imagined that Mr Gap would hang around you because he considered you a friend. If anything, you thought he just saw you as a an endless stream of various body parts. "Thank you. I like friend."

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand to reach up and stroke his head. He looked mildly disgusted (which was often his expression anyway), but didn't react otherwise. His hair wasn't exactly pleasant to touch- it was greasy and weirdly damp in places- but at least it was something of what you had been missing. He continued to humor you, but you decided not to push your luck on how long he would allow you to continue touching him.

"Why touch?" He asked when you were done.

"Human like touch. Make sad go away." It wasn't exactly what you wanted to say, but you figured it would get the point across.

Hesitantly, one of his arms reaches out from beneath your covers. Your current working theory was that his arms just appeared whenever he needed them, but you haven't gotten around to asking him yet. Your positioning is a bit awkward, so he can't reach your head to return your pats. Instead, he pats you on the shoulder for a few seconds. His hands are cold and clammy, but those few seconds of touch are something you've been missing for a while.

You smile. Mr Gap could be annoying at best and cruel at worst, but it would seem that he does have a sweet side to him after all. You distantly wonder if some semblance of a normal relationship would be possible here. Unlikely, but it may not be as out of reach as you once thought.

"Thank you. You good friend." You said after a beat of silence. For a moment it appears like he isn't quite sure how to feel about your declaration. You don't imagine it's something people tell him often. After a second of thought, he returns your smile.

"Me good friend. You give heart?"

Well, you can work on that.

[deathlygristly]

This is really weird.

I met the spousal person when someone else I’d recently met introduced us when he rode by on his bike. I started hanging out with him and a couple of other guys. A month later I had picked up on enough signals to feel okay emailing him and asking him if he wanted to hang out without our other friends. He said he considered it for a while because he was worried about ruining the friendship, but he said yes. That was 25 years ago, and we still are very much friends. Friends who have been very happily married for 22 years.

If no one has ever told some of you in the notes this, I’m telling you now. You can do whatever you want forever.

TV shows and movies are fiction created by a small group of people. Some people just wrote a script that they personally imagined and then some people acted it out as directed by other people. They are just some people telling a fictional story. You do not have to copy them to be a human.

If the media you engage with is making you feel miserable and less than human because you are not exactly like the fictional characters in the media, then you are allowed to stop engaging with that media. No one who is safe to be around will get mad at you or think less of you if you stop engaging with things that make you feel alienated and miserable. If someone gets mad at you because you stopped watching a TV show or a movie they are not safe and you need to put up some boundaries with them.

Also it sounds like maybe some of you need to greatly expand your experiences and social networks and media diet. If you think there’s only one way to be a human and to have relationships that’s a sign that your view of reality and its possibilities is extremely limited, and I mean extremely.

Things you can do to expand your view of human experience and what it means to be a human:

Go to your local library and read books you’ve never heard of.

Go to the streaming sites where you are watching the extremely vanilla media and see if you can pick something you have never heard of, perhaps from another culture and in a different language.

Go outside. Go somewhere in your community and watch people for a while. See if you can find local communities to join or local events to go to.

There is a world outside of whatever prison you’re in that has made you think human experience is so extremely limited. Break the bars and leave. You’ll be much happier with a much fuller life if you can manage that.

Hey, today I learned that my catalogued lack of dating experience is cited in an academic paper

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.12

Word Count: 18.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, mentions of breeding, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia

AN: This is on A03! Good news guys!! Next chapter you guys get to find out the gender of the baby!! EEE even I'm excited and I'm the one whose writing it LOL. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even if it is a tad bit sad. As always, tysm for your comments, asks, likes, and reblogs. I try and answer as many as I can! I get so happy when I see a new one. Never in a million years did I think so many people would love my writing to this degree! Mwah <3

As he got back up, Sylus’s lips brushed against yours in a way that felt surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as though he were savoring every second. But slowly, his kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. His hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw as he whispered between each kiss, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11

Sitting in the library, you flipped through the pages of a book with little interest, the bland diagrams of bird anatomy staring back at you. The book wasn't exactly captivating, but it beat staring at the wall, lost in thought. Beside you, Mephisto shifted restlessly on the armchair, feathers catching the dim light.

"Coo..." he murmured, his beady red eyes fixated on the page showing the dissection of a crow.

You chuckled softly, reaching out to pet his cold, metallic head. "Don’t worry, you’re safe. No one’s dissecting you," you assured him, laughing as he flapped his wings in what seemed to be robotic indignation. "Well…I guess you could be taken apart. Screws and metal are a bit easier to put back together than bones and sinew."

"Caw! Caw!" Mephisto protested, his wings clanking softly as they folded back to his sides. His chirps and clatters were almost comforting—a small, dependable presence in this world where your reality was controlled by someone else.

"I was kidding," you said, still laughing. "I doubt Sylus would take you apart…unless you needed repairs, of course." The name slipped out without thinking, and as it echoed in the quiet of the library, the memories hit you again. Sylus. A flash of his hand, the belt, the hot sting against your skin, the way he’d pressed you over his knee, his voice commanding you to count each one.

You grimaced, looking away from Mephisto’s gaze. That night had left marks deeper than the ones that had lingered on your skin. Afterward, he'd taken you back to bed, surprisingly gentle, almost reverent as he rubbed the soreness from your body. He’d whispered reassurances, tender words meant to soothe you, but in that moment, they had felt like salt on an open wound. You’d tried to forget, tried to dismiss it, but the ache of humiliation hadn’t faded. Instead, it had curdled into something else entirely: anger.

It wasn't a searing, uncontrollable rage, but a quiet, simmering fury that gnawed at you, coiled in your chest like a snake ready to strike. Yet, you held it in, biting your tongue, masking your resentment beneath a shield of silence. After that night, you'd slipped back into a quiet demeanor, speaking only when necessary, keeping your distance even though every step you took was still watched.

But you weren’t just simmering in silence. You were observing, studying. Because in the past few days, you’d noticed something—a small, almost imperceptible change in Sylus. Guilt. He’d been eyeing you with a tension that hadn’t been there before, a discomfort that prickled through his otherwise calm demeanor. He seemed unsettled by your silence, watching you from across the room as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

A faint smirk played at the corner of your lips as you remembered his hesitations, his barely concealed awkwardness. So he did feel guilt, didn’t he? Maybe he regretted it. Or maybe he was simply rattled by the fact that he couldn’t read you as easily now. Either way, you liked it. Liked the way he squirmed, the way he seemed to second-guess himself around you. In some twisted sense, it felt like a tiny shift in power, a thread you could pull in this tangled web he’d woven around you.

He had tried to punish you into submission, to make you feel weak, dependent. But here he was, trying to overcompensate with tender touches, soft gestures, careful words. It was almost…pathetic. And despite the bitterness that lingered, a part of you found satisfaction in watching him struggle to understand you, to keep you close while sensing that you were slipping further away.

As you sat there, flipping absentmindedly through the book, the quiet satisfaction of Sylus’s earlier disappointment still lingered in your mind. He’d been hovering around you constantly these last few days, like a shadow, reminding you of his love in every way he could. It was almost ridiculous.

He’d even asked if he could help brush your hair earlier that day, his voice soft, almost pleading. The memory of his face when you’d declined—when you’d turned back on him, shutting him out completely—filled you with a strange sense of victory. That small flash of disappointment in his eyes had been the sweetest thing you’d seen in days.

You smirked to yourself, turning another page, pretending to absorb the information, though the words meant little. It was just a diversion, something to focus on other than the reality you were stuck in. But just as you were settling into that small, rare bubble of contentment, a sharp ache twisted in your belly, breaking through your thoughts.

You winced, letting the book fall closed as your hand instinctively went to your stomach. The nausea had mostly faded over the past few days, but it left this lingering, annoying ache that wouldn’t quite let you forget the changes happening inside you. Occasionally it would rise back up, making you feel ill again.

Your body was shifting in subtle ways—your breasts felt heavier, more sensitive, and a dull tenderness lingered in your abdomen like a constant reminder. You knew it was early, far too early for anything major, but it was impossible to ignore.

Your thoughts were disrupted by the soft creak of the library door opening, and immediately, your body tensed, that momentary peace slipping away. Sylus stepped in, his presence filling the quiet room as he walked toward you, carrying a tray. You eyed him warily, your senses heightened, your guard instinctively rising as he approached. He placed the tray gently on the table in front of you, the delicate clinking of porcelain breaking the silence.

“It’s a new blend of tea,” he said, gesturing to the steaming cup. “Should help with the nausea. And I brought some cheese crackers—thought they might settle your stomach a bit.”

You glanced at the tea, the steam rising with a faint herbal scent that was slightly different from the others he’d tried. Another attempt at catering to your needs, trying to make you more comfortable, to win you over with small gestures. It irritated you, the way he kept trying, as if he could somehow ease you into this life with little acts of kindness.

Something inside you snapped, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out with a sharp edge.

“The others didn’t work, so I don’t know why you’re even bothering anymore.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the sting of your words. For a brief moment, you saw the flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe a hint of hurt—as if he hadn’t expected you to respond so coldly. But then he sighed, letting out a slow breath, and a small, soft smile formed on his lips, his gaze settling back on you with that unyielding patience that had become all too familiar.

“I had this custom blended,” he replied, his voice calm, almost gentle. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying. I want you to be comfortable, sweetie.”

The way he said it, the soft undertone of care, twisted something uncomfortable in your chest. His eyes held that sad, pained look you’d seen lately, the one that almost made you feel…guilty. You hated that feeling, hated the way it gnawed at you, pulling at your resolve to remain distant, to shut him out completely. He looked so earnest, so willing to do whatever it took to make things easier for you, and for a split second, you questioned if you were being too harsh. Maybe…maybe you were being unfair.

But no. You quickly shoved that thought away. He was the one who had put you in this position, the one who had made it so you couldn’t leave, couldn’t live your own life. He deserved every bit of bitterness you threw his way. Still, the guilt lingered, a small, unwelcome presence in the back of your mind, and you had to fight to keep it from softening your expression.

“Fine,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze, focusing on the steam rising from the tea. “Thank you.” The words felt forced, hollow, but you forced yourself to say them, if only to keep up the fragile peace.

He studied you for a moment longer, as if weighing something unsaid, and then nodded, stepping back slightly to give you space. The sadness was still there in his eyes, that soft, wounded look that made your stomach twist, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he simply watched you, a quiet patience in his gaze, as if waiting for something.

You took a hesitant sip of the tea, letting the warmth settle in your throat, trying to ignore the complicated mess of emotions churning inside you.

Sylus stood there, watching you, his gaze as unyielding as always, yet softer somehow, as though he were observing something precious and fragile. It unnerved you, the way he seemed to look straight through your façade, sensing the cracks in your resistance even if you tried to hide them. It felt like a silent challenge, one you were determined not to lose.

He shifted slightly, his presence filling the quiet room, making the air feel heavier. You kept your gaze fixed on the tea, willing yourself not to acknowledge him, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his nearness had on you. Yet, the guilt gnawed at you, undermining your resolve. Were you being too harsh? He had even gone as far as custom blending tea for you to feel better. He was a kidnapper...yes. But you could definitely be in worse hands right now.

Your fingers tightened around the cup as you tried to push those thoughts aside. You had a role to play, and you couldn’t let his gestures break through the wall you’d painstakingly built. But the effort was exhausting, the line between the real and the forced blurring in ways you hadn’t anticipated. A flash of that painful memory of the punishment surfaced, and you felt a surge of resentment flare up, fueling your determination to keep him at arm’s length.

The silence thickened between you, heavy and uncomfortable, as Sylus lingered in the room, his gaze unwavering. It was clear he was weighing his words, searching for something to break the tension. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful, almost regretful.

“I know it’s hard to understand, but I had to do what I did,” he said, his voice almost too even, as if he were convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You swallowed your frustration, choosing not to respond with the words that were boiling inside you. Instead, you offered a simple, lifeless, “Okay.” Your voice was so low, it was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to convey your disappointment.

You reached for another book, hoping to immerse yourself in its pages, if only to create some distance between you and him. But Sylus wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He took a step closer, lowering himself to his knees in front of the armchair you were sitting in. He rested his hand on your knee, stroking it gently with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic motion, as if the act alone could soothe away the resentment you felt. You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the edge of the book cover, willing yourself not to let his touch affect you. But his fingers were tender, tracing small circles, almost too soft to ignore, and you could feel his gaze boring into you.

“Look at me, please,” he murmured, his hand moving to gently cup your chin. His fingers were firm, insistent, as he guided your face toward his. Your eyes met, and you felt a flush creep over your cheeks despite your best efforts to stay composed. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, the raw emotion there almost tangible. It was as if he genuinely believed that he could erase your anger with nothing more than words and a pleading look.

“I know you’re upset,” he began, his voice softer now, coaxing. “I do. But please…don’t force my hand like that again.”

The calmness in his words, the way he spoke as though the blame was somehow on you for “forcing” him, stoked a flicker of anger deep within. But instead of snapping back, you kept your expression neutral, letting the frustration settle into a sad, disappointed mask. You let out a shaky sigh, channeling your hurt, and then you forced a tremble into your voice, perfecting the mask.

“Whatever,” you murmured, your voice breaking just a little as you mustered the saddest expression you could. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy hurting me.”

The words hung in the air, cutting through his rationalizations, leaving him momentarily speechless. You saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or shame—cross his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. You took that opportunity to let your eyes glisten, to let your breath hitch as though you were struggling to hold back tears.

Yes. Play the part.

And then, with a soft, broken voice, you whispered, “You shouldn’t even be hitting me...what kind of man hits his pregnant fiancée?”

The question lingered, pressing into him with a weight that seemed to ripple through his composure. His face contorted briefly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt and sadness that he couldn’t mask. He opened his mouth, as if to explain himself, but closed it again, clearly shaken by the accusation, by the reminder of your condition. His thumb traced your cheek gently, his touch almost desperate to communicate something he couldn’t find words for.

You had to fight the urge to smile, to laugh in his face. This was all too easy. The leader of Onychinus was on his knees in front of you, looking like he was about to cry himself.

“Sweetie…I’m—” he faltered, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right thing to say, for something that could undo the hurt he’d caused. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his expression softening, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable now.

“What can I do to make this right?” he asked, his voice laced with a pleading sincerity, as though he believed he could truly make up for the pain he’d inflicted. “Just tell me. I want to make it up to you. Anything.”

You forced a tremulous breath, allowing the tears to flow freely, each one feeding into his remorse. Inside, a small satisfaction bloomed, knowing you had managed to twist the moment, to pull him into your web of hurt and guilt. And though you knew this game was a dangerous one, you couldn’t deny the satisfaction it brought—the power it gave you, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Anything...what a lie. He wouldn't grant you freedom no matter how many tears you shed.

You say nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between you, the hint of vulnerability in your expression carefully calculated. “There…there are two things you could do to make it up to me,” you say softly, glancing up at him. His gaze remains fixed on you, searching, waiting, and you can tell he’s hoping you won't ask for freedom again.

“The first is simple,” you continue. “You already know what I used for my skincare routine before all this, don’t you?” You try to keep your voice calm, steady. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a few familiar things to feel like myself. It might even help me stay calm…for the baby’s sake.” You know your words will resonate with him, his protectiveness piqued by anything that touches on your well-being, especially now that you’re carrying his child.

He nods, a slight, almost relieved smile forming. You suspect he’s ready to agree—skincare seems harmless enough, and it lets him be the provider he so desperately wants to be.

“And…there’s one other thing.” Your voice softens, and you avert your gaze, letting a hint of hesitation show. “It’s about my friend, Tara.” You pause, allowing him to see the faint trace of sadness in your eyes. “She’s probably worried sick, not knowing where I am or if I’m okay. You know I wouldn’t ask to contact…anyone else. But Tara—she’s like a sister to me. She deserves a little peace of mind.”

Sylus’s expression darkens just slightly, his eyes narrowing. But you press on, seizing the opportunity to paint this as a small, reasonable request. “One text. Just one, letting her know I’m safe,” you say softly, giving him your most genuine, pleading look. “I won’t say anything about…where I am. It’ll only be enough to put her mind at ease. That’s all.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. You can feel the tension between the lines of his face, the conflict—his instinct to protect and control clashing with the guilt and love he professes for you. You know the second request is a risk, but you hope the weight of your sincerity, your quiet, calculated sadness, might tip the scales in your favor.

“Please, Sylus,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers brushing over his hand in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “I…I just need this small bit of reassurance. It’s for me as much as it is for her.” You offer him a faint smile, one you hope conveys your gratitude before he’s even answered.

Sylus's chuckle, low and indulgent, makes your stomach churn. The nonchalance in his eyes as he agrees to retrieve your skincare products—the smallest concession—only serves to remind you of the careful control he wields over your life now.

"The skincare can be arranged," he says with a faint smile. "I do know precisely what you used.” His gaze flickers over you, and the possessiveness in his eyes is unmistakable. “I'll get it to you by tomorrow afternoon,” he adds smoothly. "Although, I expected you to ask for something much more expensive, kitten."

His words slice through the room, making you feel small, confined. Every hint of freedom feels more and more like an illusion—fragile, granted at his whim. He’s measuring your autonomy out in teaspoons, and it’s infuriating. You don’t even trust yourself to reply, opting instead for a nod, masking the fire burning beneath your skin.

Then Sylus leans closer, his presence unnervingly steady. "As for the message," he says, a note of warning hidden under the softness, "I’ll be the one to send it. We can’t risk any misunderstandings. So, what exactly would you like it to say?"

The way he speaks, with such casual control, prickles your nerves. You resist the urge to pull away, but inside, your mind races. Could you hide something in the message to Tara? A word or phrase that might signal her to read between the lines, something only she would catch? But the calculating look in Sylus’s eyes warns you against it; he’d dissect every word, weigh every syllable. He’d see it for what it was.

No, it’s too risky. You’re left with the crushing reality of speaking plainly, voicing words that hold no hidden message, no veiled meaning. You push down the urge to cry as you choose the only thing that’s true. “Just say, ‘I love you, and I hope to see you again someday. Be safe.’”

Sylus studies you, his gaze lingering in a way that feels almost searching, and it makes your skin prickle. He’s watching you as if he can read every corner of your mind, and you feel exposed under that gaze, as though every guarded thought you’ve carefully hidden from him is laid bare.

Finally, he nods, his lips curling slightly, though there’s a hint of something unfamiliar in his expression. Regret? Sympathy? Whatever it is, it softens his features, giving him an uncharacteristic look of understanding. "Consider it done," he says quietly, his voice gentler than before. The sudden kindness feels like a trap, and you force yourself not to flinch. You need his cooperation, not his pity.

Your mind fixates on those words you gave him for Tara. They were true but so deeply lacking—lacking the message you really wanted to send, the cry for help, the reassurance that you hadn’t forgotten her, that you hadn’t stopped fighting. If you closed your eyes, you could picture her, the bright laugh, the fierce loyalty that once made you feel like you could conquer anything. Now, she has no idea you’re here. No idea you’re alive, or that your feelings are anything but willing compliance with this nightmare.

Sylus’s eyes remain on you, watching with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. He must know the weight of that message, the way you lingered on the words, and yet he says nothing more. His expression shifts back into that small smile, one that’s equally disconcerting in its familiarity.

"You’ve made your requests, sweetie. And I always keep my promises."

You nod, carefully curving your lips into a soft, appreciative smile, one you hope is convincing enough. You’ve come to understand how much he wants this—forgiveness, approval, a glimmer of genuine affection from you, even if it's earned through carefully controlled gestures and scripted apologies.

You decide to play into it, leaning in slightly, letting your fingers reach out to brush his shoulder. His gaze sharpens, and you don’t miss the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes. "I really appreciate it, Sylus," you say, keeping your voice gentle, measured. "I appreciate your apology, and…I'm sorry, too. For…you know."

The words leave a bitter taste on your tongue, but you watch him as you say them, feeling the satisfaction of seeing him visibly relax under your touch. He’s buying it. You let your fingers rest on his shoulder a moment longer, steady and light, feeling the warmth of his skin even through his shirt, and you can tell he’s holding onto this moment, savoring it like he’s finally achieved something.

Sylus’s hand comes up, covering yours where it rests on his shoulder, his touch firm yet careful, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. There’s a softness in his gaze that he’s allowing you to see, something vulnerable, almost human, and it stirs a flicker of unease in you. He looks down at you with a warmth that, for anyone else, might’ve felt comforting. But here, in this twisted captivity, it only unsettles you further.

“I’m glad,” he says softly, his voice low, steady, layered with something like relief. "You have no idea how much that means, honey."

You nod, adding just a touch of warmth to your smile, though your mind races, pushing down every impulse to recoil. This is a game, and you are still in control, holding the pieces that he doesn’t realize you’re wielding. For every moment he thinks you’re softened, for every moment he believes in your forgiveness, you gain a small advantage—a little more leverage, a little more understanding of what he needs to hear. It’s your best tool, and it will be your best weapon.

“I really do appreciate it,” you repeat, your tone gentle but with just the faintest hint of reluctance, a subtle suggestion that, while you’re willing to forgive, it’s not that easy. And, as you expect, he nods, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can feel the tentative trust in your words.

“I promise," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. “And I’m going to prove to you that things can be different. I won’t let you down.”

You simply nod again, suppressing the triumph blooming inside you as he leans down to capture your lips with his own, keeping your expression soft, sincere. He’s slipping right into your hand. And as much as he might think he’s gaining ground, the truth is clear: the longer he craves your forgiveness, the more power you hold over him.

The next few days slipped by with a tentative quietness, a calm that felt almost unnatural given everything that had come before. Sylus, perhaps out of some desire to prove his newfound leniency, had been giving you more freedom around the house. He hadn’t loosened his control entirely—Mephisto, continued to tail you wherever you went, always watching with that artificial gleam in his eye—but you felt a hint of ease in this small expansion of your world.

Sylus would come and go for his business ventures but would always be back before you went to bed. Luke or Kieran would come shackle you before you laid down. You had gotten used to the sound of Sylus coming home late, and therefore wouldn't jump when he entered the room anymore.

For the most part, you spent your days drifting through different rooms, occasionally finding a moment of peace by the pool. Sitting on its edge, you let your feet dangle in the cool water, relishing the gentle lapping at your toes. The water was refreshing, a reminder of the world outside these walls, yet every time you looked across the shimmering surface, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being in a gilded cage. The pool, the luxurious house, even Mephisto—they were beautiful distractions, seemingly crafted just so you’d feel a little more at ease.

One morning, as you sat by the pool, lost in thought, you felt the earth tilt under you. You’d leaned forward too far, distracted, and in a heartbeat, you teetered toward the water, hands flailing instinctively. But before you could feel the shock of cold water on your skin, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back from the edge.

“Careful there,” Sylus murmured, his voice close to your ear, almost too close. His grip was firm, secure, and for a brief moment, you found yourself enveloped in his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. His touch, though stabilizing, sent a chill up your spine—a reminder of his constant presence. The effect of his nearness was disorienting, an odd blend of repulsion and reluctant comfort.

You steadied yourself, offering a polite, if somewhat forced, smile. “Thanks,” you muttered, pulling back just slightly to regain a sense of distance.

He held your gaze a moment longer, his red eyes lingering on you before he finally released his hold, still keeping close. “You’re welcome,” he said, the ghost of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Be a little more aware, honey. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or the little one,” he added, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder, as if to underscore the sentiment.

A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of the baby, and you gave a quick nod, hoping he wouldn’t notice your discomfort.

Later that day, after you’d drifted from room to room, you found yourself drawn to the back of the property where the horse track lay. Sylus stayed close, of course, ever watchful, and despite the open space, you were aware of the subtle tension in his stance. Even with this seemingly mundane activity, you felt the weight of his concern, his subtle but constant reminder of the boundaries you couldn’t cross. Still, being around the horses provided a certain comfort. You took solace in their calm, the way they seemed indifferent to the trappings of wealth and control, caring only for the simple pleasures of grazing or being gently stroked along their necks.

Occasionally, the small colony of stray cats that Sylus fed would wander by, brushing up against your legs as if sensing you needed the comfort. You couldn’t help but smile at their easy affection, nuzzling each one and reveling in the softness of their fur. Often, you’d find yourself sitting among them, surrounded by their quiet purrs, letting their gentle presence lull you into moments of peace. Some afternoons, you even dared to nap, letting the steady rise and fall of their breaths ground you as they curled up beside you.

One day, as you reached out to pet one of the cats, something caught your eye—a small, wriggling bundle in the mouth of the one-eyed cat you’d grown fond of. It was a kitten, tiny and helpless, being carefully brought over and placed at your feet. Your heart leaped with joy, your earlier wariness momentarily forgotten.

“Sylus…I think she had a baby!” you exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement that bubbled up within you.

Sylus moved closer, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of the little creature squirming at your feet. He crouched down, reaching out a finger to gently stroke the kitten, his usually hardened features softened by an unexpected fondness.

“Honestly, I thought she was just putting on a few pounds,” he chuckled, his tone light, affectionate. He then looked up at you, his eyes holding a warmth that was both foreign and oddly comforting.

“Y’know, we’ll have our own little kitten eventually,” he murmured, glancing toward your stomach with an almost reverent look.

The comment brought you crashing back to reality, your thoughts swirling with the complexity of emotions his words had stirred up. While a part of you wanted to bask in the innocence of the moment, another part—the part that knew what was truly happening—resisted. The casual way he mentioned the life growing inside you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, left you feeling both vulnerable and trapped.

Forcing a smile, you managed to nod, hoping the mask you wore was convincing. “Yeah…I guess we will,” you replied softly, willing yourself to stay composed.

He reached out, as if to touch your belly, but his hand hovered just inches away before he drew it back, his eyes lingering on you with a quiet intensity that left your heart pounding.

The subtle tension pulled you under like a rising tide, your thoughts swirling in relief as Sylus’s hand withdrew before it could actually reach you. You felt a blend of anticipation and unease, tangled together and bubbling just beneath the surface. It was unmistakable, this tension that had grown between you—something unspoken but palpable, simmering in each shared glance and lingering moment.

The idea of sex with him was out of the question, a boundary you were clear on. Yet, weeks spent in close quarters had made his small gestures impossible to overlook: the way his gaze lingered a second too long, his hand brushed yours just a bit too tenderly, his voice softened at the edges when he spoke to you. Each moment of near contact, every stolen look, hinted at a desire to have you that he seemed barely able to keep in check.

You tried to pretend it didn’t matter, to ignore what was slowly becoming an invisible tether. But with each passing day, that denial grew harder to maintain, becoming an itch you couldn’t quite soothe, a discomfort that gnawed at you. You needed to dispel the strange energy in the room, to shift away before he could notice the flicker of discomfort creeping onto your face.

Clearing your throat, you latched onto the first topic you could think of, hoping to ground the moment in something neutral. “You know,” you began casually, gesturing toward the kittens sprawled nearby, “you might want to think about getting them fixed. Before long, you’ll be overrun.” You forced a laugh, trying to punctuate your words with a lightness that might draw the attention away from anything unspoken lingering between you.

Sylus’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes holding a hint of amusement as he glanced at the cluster of tabbies lounging without a care in the world. He looked at you knowingly, almost as if he could sense the undercurrent in your attempt to deflect.

“I’m already on it,” he replied, nodding toward the lounging felines. “Those over there have already been fixed,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But don’t let them fool you—catching them is no easy task. Cats…they’re smarter than people give them credit for.”

You studied his face as he spoke, noticing how, in that moment, he seemed to let down some unseen guard. The lines of tension softened in his expression, and for a fleeting second, he was just a man preoccupied with the everyday quirks of stray cats and unexpected litters. It still struck you as ironic that while he allowed these cats the freedom to roam, choosing to come and go as they pleased, you were bound, kept within limits he had drawn for you.

You offered a smile, hiding the deeper thoughts swirling behind it, and nodded with feigned interest. “I can imagine. They don’t look like the type to enjoy being scooped up.”

He laughed again, the sound soft and warm, and his eyes flickered from the cats back to you. His gaze held a gentleness you weren’t accustomed to, the previous intensity mellowing into something almost… affectionate. For a moment, the energy between you softened, and you felt the tension ease, just a little.

Still, even as you tried to sink into the calm, the awareness of his control pressed back in. While these cats moved freely, you remained tethered, your own freedom confined to the borders he had drawn.

The irony stung. Here you were, expected to play the part, to act as though these were the quiet comforts of home when, in truth, you were as far from freedom as you could possibly be.

He watched you, his gaze unwavering, and when you looked up, you caught that same intense look in his eyes—the one that seemed to see straight through you. The moment stretched, a silent exchange that felt both intimate and suffocating, until finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You know, I can’t help but imagine you like this,” he said, his tone softer. “With the baby. I can’t wait to see you holding them for the first time.”

The words sent a shock through you. He’d said things like this before, of course, always circling back to the future he envisioned, to his idea of a life together. But this time, his words felt heavier, as though he was trying to pull you into his world with just his voice.

You go quiet, letting the weight of his words linger in the space between you, the silence feeling heavy, almost suffocating. But you catch yourself quickly, swallowing down the discomfort and giving him the smile he wants to see—small, perhaps a touch hesitant, but accepting. It’s a practiced look, one that says you’re trying to come to terms with the future he envisions, the family he’s insistent on building. Sylus’s gaze softens as he watches you, a flicker of satisfaction passing over his face, as if he’s found what he’s been searching for in your expression.

Then, with a surprising gentleness, he reaches up and ruffles your hair, his hand lingering in your hair longer than expected. The casual touch catches you off guard, stirring a mix of emotions you quickly push down. He’s clearly pleased, his fingers curling ever so slightly as if savoring the moment. It’s both unnerving and strangely comforting—he seems almost normal, like a man simply doting on someone he loves. But before you can react, the sharp buzz of his phone shatters the illusion.

Sylus glances at the screen, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifts it to his ear, his voice cool and businesslike. “Mhm. Understood. Rest up,” he says briskly, then lowers the phone, his eyes flicking back to you with a sigh.

“Looks like the chef called in sick,” he says, his serious expression melting into a wry grin. “Seems we’re on our own for dinner tonight, kitten.”

You arch an eyebrow, folding your arms as you try to stifle a laugh as you follow him from the back and into the kitchen. Its nothing short of your expectations. Luxurious, large and stocked with every appliance one could think of using when making meals.

Glossy white marble countertops, streaked with subtle veins of gray, stretch across expansive islands and counters, catching the light from oversized pendant lamps hanging from above. Each light fixture is a custom piece, gleaming softly like jewelry against the sleek cabinetry.

Cabinets, painted a deep, sophisticated charcoal, line the walls from floor to ceiling, their polished brass handles catching glints of light. A double-door refrigerator with a matte stainless-steel finish stands beside a wine cooler and a large, commercial-grade range with six burners and a griddle. Above the range, an ornate, custom range hood extends up to the ceiling, adorned with decorative trim that gives it the look of an art installation.

In the center, a large marble island offers a second sink and ample prep space, surrounded by plush, high-backed bar stools upholstered in soft, gray velvet. The island’s edges are illuminated by under-cabinet lighting, creating a warm glow that makes the polished marble shine even more.

A walk-in pantry with frosted glass doors is tucked away near the far side, while a small but luxurious coffee bar complete with an espresso machine and built-in grinder shine on its surface.

You'd never seen a kitchen as luxurious as this and you're almost at a loss for words.

“Oh, so does that mean you’ll be cooking?” you tease, pretending to eye him with skepticism.

He raises an eyebrow in response, clearly entertained by your challenge. “Don’t look so doubtful. I’m more than capable of whipping up a meal.” His smirk broadens, a glint of mischief in his gaze.

You can’t help but play along, an idea forming in the back of your mind. “Well, I suppose we’ll see. Do we have ingredients for chicken soup?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Chicken soup?” he repeats, looking amused. “So simple. Are you having cravings already?” He chuckles softly, as if the thought brings him a kind of joy, and for a moment, the tension between you both seems to ease.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of unexpected warmth in your chest, despite yourself. “It’s not that,” you say, forcing a light tone. “It’s just…my mom used to make it for me whenever I was sick. You know, one of those little comforts from home.”

Sylus makes a sound of acknowledgment, clearly pleased, and moves to the fridge, pulling out ingredients with a kind of confidence that surprises you. He sets a small pile of vegetables, herbs, and chicken on the counter, glancing over his shoulder with a playful challenge.

He nods thoughtfully, studying you with an intensity that makes you look away, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I think we have everything,” he says finally, going back over to the fridge and pulling out a few large containers of chicken broth, setting them on the counter with practiced care.

As he starts prepping, a thought crosses your mind. You know he craves this—normalcy, a sense of domesticity with you—and an idea takes hold. “Do you need help?” you ask, your voice soft, as though you’re hesitant, like this is something you’re warming up to. You can almost feel the excitement radiating off him as he glances up, his gaze softening further. He hands you a cutting board and some carrots, guiding you with a gentle but steady hand.

“Of course,” he says warmly. “I’d like that”, his voice genuine, as if this simple act of cooking together is all he’s been waiting for.

You focus on slicing the carrots, keeping your expression neutral, hiding the mix of emotions stirring within you. There’s a strange satisfaction in this, playing along with his fantasy, leaning into the role he so desperately wants you to fill. It’s a small game of control, one that lets you feel as if you’re guiding his emotions, that you have the upper hand in some way.

As you work side by side, you notice the quietness that falls between you both. He’s absorbed in his task, his movements focused and practiced. It’s strange, seeing him in this light, like a regular person preparing dinner. You catch him glancing at you now and then, a softness in his gaze, as if this scene holds something precious for him.

You feel a strange mix of relief and trepidation as you move beside him, trying to focus on the simple, rhythmic actions of chopping vegetables, feeling his presence close but silent, as if he, too, is trying to take in this unexpected moment. You settle into the process, carefully slicing carrots as you think back to the countless times you’ve made this soup before, that comforting aroma filling the kitchen, the memory of your mother’s gentle hands guiding yours through the motions.

But just as you fall into the rhythm, a sharp sting jerks you out of your thoughts. You glance down, seeing the thin line of red blossoming on your finger where the knife slipped.

“Ah,” you hiss quietly, pulling your hand back instinctively.

The sound catches Sylus’s attention immediately, and he’s springing to action in an instant, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can react. His grip is firm, almost protective, as he pulls your hand closer, inspecting the small wound. “Let me see,” he murmurs, his voice low, and there’s an edge of concern in his tone that makes your heart skip.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say quickly, trying to brush it off, but he doesn’t release his hold. He keeps his gaze fixed on the cut, his jaw tight. Then, to your surprise, he lifts your hand, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before he leans forward, bringing your bloodied finger to his mouth.

Your breath catches, and a sharp heat floods through you as his lips press around the tip of your finger, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. The sensation is foreign, overwhelming—something that tugs at a deep, visceral part of you that you didn’t know was there. His tongue brushes over the cut, gentle but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine as he holds your gaze, his eyes dark and focused.

You can feel your pulse racing, your face growing warm, and your thoughts scatter, leaving you with only the sensation of his mouth on your skin, his hand steady around yours. “W-What are you…” you manage, but your voice comes out barely a whisper.

He pulls back, his expression a mix of smug amusement and something unreadable. “Relax,” he says softly, as if sensing your reaction. “Just making sure it’s clean. Can’t have you getting an infection.”

You’re left momentarily speechless, caught between anger and something dangerously close to longing. You pull your hand back, clutching it to your chest as if to protect yourself from the lingering warmth of his touch. It’s just a shallow cut, you remind yourself, trying to ground yourself in the present, to shake off the spell he cast with that simple, unsettlingly intimate act.

But he’s still watching you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he reaches for a first aid kit from a nearby drawer. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teases, and though his words are light, there’s a glint of satisfaction in his gaze, as if he’s pleased with himself for getting under your skin.

You feel a surge of irritation, mixed with something you can’t quite identify, as you sit down on a stool, your face still warm. “Just…just don’t do that again,” you mutter, unable to meet his eyes as you try to regain your composure. You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy, almost probing, but you refuse to look up, focusing on the sting of the bandage he wraps around your finger instead.

“All right, kitten,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, and you can sense a hint of genuine concern beneath his teasing tone. He finishes wrapping the bandage, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, giving you space.

The room feels strangely charged, each movement laden with a tension that wasn’t there before. You glance down at your bandaged finger, the pulse of heat still lingering, and as you return to your place beside him, you find it harder than ever to pretend that his presence doesn’t affect you.

Focusing back on the vegetables, the silence stretches between you and Sylus once more, thick with the lingering tension from his unexpected tenderness over your cut. You reach for the celery, forcing yourself to focus, to forget the strange heat that his touch left on your skin. Sylus picks up a wooden spoon, stirring the pot of simmering broth in measured, careful movements. The kitchen fills with the warm aroma of vegetables and chicken stock, a comforting scent that feels like a foreign softness in the middle of everything.

You turn to chop more carrots, sneaking glances at him out of the corner of your eye. Sylus works with a quiet focus, his hands moving deftly as he adds in herbs—thyme, rosemary, a bay leaf—all carefully chosen to infuse the soup with warmth and flavor. You’re mildly impressed, watching him as he handles the ingredients with ease, as if cooking a simple chicken soup were second nature to him.

“So, what next?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, as though you hadn’t just felt your heart racing minutes ago.

“Let’s get the chicken in,” he replies, his voice smooth as he gestures to the bowl of shredded chicken. “Then, we’ll let everything simmer together. Low and slow—no shortcuts.”

You pick up a spoon, gently stirring in the chicken, careful to incorporate it with the vegetables and broth. You watch the pieces swirl in the liquid, the broth turning a deeper golden as it absorbs the flavor. The quiet of the moment lets you drift, lulled by the comforting warmth rising from the stove.

“Keep stirring,” he murmurs beside you, his voice low, yet calm. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, steadying you as you stand beside him, and his presence radiates a calmness that feels almost strange. The heat of the kitchen, the weight of his hand, it all leaves you feeling slightly off-balance.

As you continue to stir, you can’t help but let out a small sigh, the scent of the soup bringing memories flooding back—nights when your mom would make soup, humming softly to herself as she worked, the warmth filling the kitchen as you watched her move around. You close your eyes briefly, trying to savor the familiarity of it, the sense of home it brings, even if just for a moment.

You miss her. Before everything happened all those years ago.

When you open your eyes, Sylus is looking at you, his expression softened. “Thinking about something?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost curious.

You nod, hesitating. “Just…a memory,” you say softly, not wanting to share too much, but feeling a strange pull to let him see this small piece of you. What would explaining do anyway? Knowing him he probably knew all about your family.

“Of course,” he says, his tone understanding, and his hand falls away from your shoulder. “Let’s finish this up, then. You’ll get to taste it soon.”

He leans over, reaching for a sprig of parsley, and his shoulder brushes against yours. The touch sends a spark through you, one you try to ignore as he drops the herb into the soup. You watch the parsley swirl, each piece turning a vibrant green against the rich broth, and Sylus gives the pot one last, slow stir.

After a few more minutes of simmering, he dips a spoon into the soup, tasting it thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tilts his head, considering the flavor, before nodding in approval.

“Try it,” he says, offering you the spoon. His eyes are intent on you, watching for your reaction, as if he’s waiting to see if this small gesture will please you.

You take the spoon, tasting the soup. The broth is rich and comforting, each flavor melding together in a way that surprises you. The herbs, the chicken, the vegetables—they all work together to create something warm, soothing. You feel a rush of unexpected gratitude, a softness you hadn’t prepared for.

Not quite like your moms, but overwhelmingly delicious.

“It’s…good,” you say, unable to hide the small, genuine smile that crosses your face.

Sylus smiles back, his expression softening as he watches you. “I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly, his voice laced with an almost tender pride. For a moment, everything feels surreal, as if this is all part of a different reality—one where you aren’t trapped, one where this is just a simple, shared meal between two people finding comfort in each other’s company.

“Let’s serve it,” he says finally, breaking the silence. He ladles the soup into bowls, each one filled to the brim with steaming broth, the colors vibrant and inviting.

You carry your bowl to the living room table, settling down beside him on the couch. For the first time in a while, you feel a genuine sense of warmth as you both start to eat, the flavors filling the silence between you in a way that words can’t. It’s strange, this fleeting moment of peace, of almost normalcy. You savor it, even as you remind yourself not to get too comfortable.

You take another slow bite of the soup, savoring the comforting warmth and letting it settle over you. It’s surprisingly good, and for a moment, you’re tempted to get lost in the simple pleasure of a warm meal. You glance over at Sylus, who’s watching you with a soft expression, looking far more at ease than he usually does. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, an almost tender quality that contrasts sharply with the hardened exterior you’ve grown used to at times.

Taking the opportunity to lighten the mood further, you decide to test the waters. “So,” you say, a teasing note in your voice, “am I going to be cooking dinner every night with a baby on my hip? Is that what you’re planning?”

Sylus’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he sets his bowl down and leans back slightly, looking at you with genuine warmth. He chuckles, clearly entertained by the thought. “No, kitten,” he murmurs, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. "Not even close.”

A little surprised, you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”

“Why would I ever want you to take on any of that?” he says with a soft laugh, his expression affectionate as he looks at you. “Why should you waste your energy cooking and cleaning, especially with everything else going on? We have people here to help with those things.”

You blink, a bit taken aback by his answer. He says it with such sincerity, as if the notion of you doing any kind of work around the house is ridiculous. It’s almost hard to believe, this view he seems to have of you—not just as someone to take care of, but as someone he wants to shield from any kind of hardship or responsibility. He’s looking at you with something deeper than affection. It's almost as if he’s envisioning a life where your only focus is happiness and peace.

“So…” you say, letting the thought linger, “if I’m not cooking or cleaning, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

He leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and brushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I just want you to be happy. Be the mother to our child, be here with me,” he says softly, his voice thick with warmth. “And everything else? Let me worry about that. All I need is for you to never leave and stay with me. You’ve already given me so much.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that catches you off guard, a rawness in the way he looks at you that goes beyond mere attraction. You’d half expected him to laugh off your question, but his answer is so direct, so heartfelt, that it leaves you momentarily speechless. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet reverence in his eyes, as if he’s seeing every part of you and cherishing it.

"So have your baby and...be happy?"

He nods, picking up the glass of wine he's been sipping on to accompany his dinner. "And be as cute as you already are. So far, you're doing a flawless job, honey".

You manage a soft smile, trying to mask the complexity of emotions swirling inside you. His words are both reassuring and overwhelming in their intensity, a reminder of how deeply he’s bound you into this vision of a life together. There’s relief in knowing that he doesn’t see you as just a homemaker but rather as someone he truly values. And yet, that value comes with expectations, responsibilities that feel no less heavy despite the tender way he presents them.

“Wow,” you murmur, keeping your voice light to mask the turmoil within. “Sounds like a dream job.”

Sylus smiles at you, a look of profound satisfaction in his eyes as he reaches over, lightly squeezing your hand. “It’s not a job, sweetheart. It’s a life, a future. One we’re building together.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, you feel the full weight of his sincerity, a devotion that’s almost overwhelming.

The warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his gaze—it’s as if he’s pouring every bit of his affection into this moment, giving you a glimpse of the life he’s crafted in his mind. You glance down, your fingers tightening around the spoon as you take another sip of soup, using it as a shield to give yourself a moment to breathe, to process everything he’s just said. You know you’re still treading a thin line, but in this moment, you can almost believe that you’re safe, that he won’t ask for more than you can give.

For now, you’ll let him hold onto this vision, this gentle world he’s trying to build around you, while you keep the part of yourself that’s planning for a different future carefully tucked away.

You glance over at Sylus’s glass, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it look particularly inviting. The warmth of the room, the gentle clinking of cutlery, and the surprisingly cozy vibe of the evening—it all feels surreal. Before you know it, the words slip out, half-joking but with a tinge of genuine longing.

“That wine…I bet that would taste amazing right about now,” you murmur, giving him a sly look. You know he’d never let you drink while you’re pregnant, but there’s a boldness bubbling up inside you, a playfulness that feels oddly freeing. You figure you might as well test the waters while you’re both in a relaxed mood.

Sylus pauses, the glass halfway to his lips, and raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. A chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he shakes his head. “Nice try, sweetie,” he says, his tone filled with affection. “But you know better than that.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back in your seat with a mock pout. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

His laughter deepens, a rich, genuine sound that resonates through the room. He takes another sip, savoring it slowly, almost as if to tease you with it. “Tell you what,” he says, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, his eyes meeting yours. “Once the little one arrives, I’ll have a whole case of the finest wine waiting for you. Consider it a gift for giving me my first child. Something truly extravagant.”

You can’t help but let a small smile tug at your lips. “You mean it?” There’s a flicker of surprise in your voice, mixed with a touch of excitement at the thought of a small indulgence waiting for you on the other side of this. Not that it would matter. You didn't plan to wait around long enough for this gift.

“Absolutely,” he says, his expression softening. “Only the best for you.”

The way he says it makes you feel as though he’s not just talking about the wine, and for a moment, the intensity in his gaze is enough to make you forget where you are, who he is, and why you’re here. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this unexpected tenderness.

You look away, letting your fingers toy idly with your spoon. “I look forward to it then,” you reply softly, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you.

The warmth of the room and the low hum of the TV slowly lulled you into a comfortable haze, the day’s events blending into the soft murmur of the late-night talk show on the screen. Before you realized it, your eyelids grew heavy, and the world around you blurred and faded into sleep.

When you stir awake, it’s just for a moment—a brief awareness of being lifted, cradled against Sylus’s chest. His arms are steady as he carries you, his steps measured and gentle, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace you’ve drifted into. You’re too tired to care, and the gesture isn’t exactly new, so you let your head rest against him, slipping back into that comfortable in-between state of semi-consciousness.

As he reaches the room and places you on the bed, you feel the familiar cool metal of the shackle as he carefully clasps it around your ankle. There’s a strange mix of acceptance and resignation that settles over you; it’s routine by now, and you’ve learned that resistance will get you nowhere. You don’t stir, barely opening your eyes as you feel the slight weight and coldness against your skin.

Sylus’s hand lingers just a moment longer than it should, his fingers brushing your ankle lightly as if apologizing without words. Then he straightens, watching you as though ensuring you’re comfortable, or perhaps just reluctant to leave. The silence stretches for a beat before he adjusts the blanket over you, tucking it in gently.

Drifting back to sleep, you feel the faintest, fleeting touch of his hand on your hair, his voice a low, barely audible murmur. “Goodnight, sweetie.” And then he’s gone, leaving you in the silence, shackled and resting, your heart and mind caught in that strange place between comfort and captivity.

A chill snakes up your spine, a subtle pull dragging you from sleep’s warm grasp. Something’s wrong. You stir, confused, only half-awake when a voice—a low, familiar, male voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey…it’s kinda cold. Could you let go of the blanket a little?”

Sylus? No...not Sylus.

The familiarity of it pulls you fully awake, and you snap your eyes open, blinking at the darkness. But then, as your vision sharpens, you see him. Reese. He’s lying beside you, facing you on the bed, his face turned just enough for you to catch the black, oozing gunshot wound in his head, gaping open and slick with blood. A trickle of it slides down his cheek, soaking the sheets under him, dark and thick.

Your body freezes, a scream clawing at your throat, but no sound comes out. Your breath is trapped, the air around you thick and cold, chilling you from the inside out. How is this possible? He’s dead—he’s dead, but here he is, lying next to you, close enough to reach out and touch.

“What’s with the face?” His voice is casual, irritated. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s cold.”

You shake your head weakly, trying to focus, to convince yourself this isn’t real. But his face—the wound, the blood—is horribly vivid, every detail clear. You close your eyes, muttering to yourself, “Y-you’re not real…you’re not real…” as if repeating it will somehow pull you out of this nightmare.

Reese laughs, a low, mocking sound that makes your blood run colder. “Not real?” His tone is twisted, bitter. “First, you can’t take responsibility for your actions, and now I’m just…what? A figment of your imagination?”

You can barely hold his gaze, the look in his eyes dark and hollow, yet piercing, accusatory. You’re rooted to the bed, every muscle locked, your body paralyzed as his words sink in, hitting deeper than you’d like to admit. You want to move, to pull away, but you’re pinned, helpless under the weight of his presence.

“Do I matter so little to you?” he asks, voice rising in anger, his tone laced with a venom that sends a new wave of terror coursing through you. He leans closer, blood oozing from his wound, seeping down to your skin. Warm, sticky drops spatter across your cheek, and you can feel them trailing down, clinging to your skin like a brand.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice filled with rage. “Did I deserve that end? Was I so bad?”

You try to shake your head, to deny it, but the words stick in your throat, the fear, the shock smothering you. All you manage is a strangled gasp, your eyes wide and desperate as he stares you down, inching closer, his face twisted with fury, with a pain that cuts straight through you.

“I wasn’t a bad guy,” he whispers, his tone shifting, softer, but somehow worse—a wounded, broken sound that cuts deeper than the anger. “I just had…problems. But now...I'm dead. And its all your fault.”

The blood continues to flow, more of it now, as if the wound has deepened, spilling down his face, soaking into the sheets, covering the bed, drenching everything. You can feel it spreading, thick and suffocating, seeping into your skin, binding you in place. It’s pulling you down, drowning you in the darkness, and all you can do is lie there, trapped, helpless, as Reese’s voice echoes around you.

You want to scream, to claw your way out, to breathe—but there’s only the blood, the suffocating weight, the feeling of it pulling you deeper, filling your lungs. You’re sinking, slipping into darkness, your vision blurring as his words fade, replaced by silence.

You jolt awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you lie there, paralyzed in the dark. The weight of the nightmare still clings to you, thick and suffocating, every inch of your skin damp with sweat. Reese’s voice, his blood-smeared face, feels too close, too real. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the image to fade, to dissolve back into the shadows where it belongs. Just a dream, you remind yourself, swallowing hard. It was just a dream.

Beside you, Sylus stirs. He must have fallen asleep only recently; he’s been on edge these past days, slipping into quick naps whenever he can. His arm rests lightly over you, and you feel it tighten as you shift slightly, trying to push away the fear that lingers like a shadow.

“You’re a little damp,” his voice murmurs softly, his hand moving to your shoulder, steadying you. His eyes open, just a glimmer in the darkness, and they narrow slightly as he takes in your expression, the remnants of fear etched into your features. “Too hot?” he asks, his voice low and concerned.

You barely manage a nod, still shaken. His eyes soften, and his thumb begins tracing slow, soothing circles on your shoulder. His presence, the gentle rhythm of his touch, begins to pull you back from the brink of the nightmare, grounding you.

“Bad dream again?” he whispers, a touch of worry slipping through.

You swallow, nodding as your voice comes out in a whisper, raw and unsteady. “It’s…I’m okay. Just…him again.”

For a moment, the words hang heavy between you. You hadn’t planned on confiding in him, on letting him see even a fraction of the fear that holds you captive. But in the quiet of the dark room, he’s the only thing grounding you, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder, his gaze steady.

Sylus doesn’t push you, doesn’t press for details. Instead, he offers a quiet reassurance, his voice almost a murmur. “You’re safe,” he says, the words warm and soothing. “Whatever you’re seeing… it’s in the past. I won't let that happen to you again.”

You feel the weight of his words settle over you, anchoring you as the last shreds of the nightmare begin to slip away. You don’t pull away, instead letting his calm presence ease the terror that had gripped you moments before. His hand stays on your shoulder, offering a comfort you hadn’t expected but don’t reject, not now.

Breathing slowly, you finally let your body relax, the familiar fear fading.

Sylus’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing, as he reminded you, “You know you can always talk to me if you need to. I’m here.” His eyes held that soft patience, as if he were waiting for you to finally accept his care. But he didn’t push further. You simply nodded, giving a small, hollow smile. “I think I’ll take a shower,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

He nodded, pulling back, watching you slip toward the bathroom as the chain around your ankle rattled softly against the floor. The instant you disappear into the bathroom, you exhaled, bracing yourself against the sink for a moment as the weight of everything washed over you. Stripping off your clothes, you stepped into the shower, letting the water wash over you as though it could erase the turmoil inside.

The warmth of the spray brought you a brief sense of calm, a moment of escape as you let the tension in your muscles release. You closed your eyes, letting the water course down your skin, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare and the reality you were stuck in. It was easy, at least for a few minutes, to let your mind drift, to imagine yourself somewhere else entirely.

As you dried off, wrapping yourself in a towel, a sharp, unexpected pain twisted low in your abdomen. You clutched your stomach, wincing as the ache pulsed for a moment before ebbing away. When you looked up, your reflection in the tall mirror across the room caught your eye. There, your gaze drifted to something you’d been avoiding for weeks—a slight but undeniable curve, a small but visible bump.

Your heart skipped a beat, panic clawing at you. No, no… this isn’t happening. You weren't showing yesterday...no way you grew overnight? Right?

Turning to the side, you ran your hand over the curve, hoping it would somehow disappear, that maybe this was some strange trick of the light, an illusion cast by the shadows in the dim bathroom. But it was real—solid and unyielding under your touch, a soft, foreign shape that hadn’t been there before. The life growing inside you, forced upon you in this gilded cage. There was no more pretending, no more denial. The truth stared back at you, a relentless reminder of everything you’d tried to escape.

Your mind raced, spiraling with thoughts, each one sharper than the last. What am I going to do? The question echoed in your mind, louder and louder. How could you bring a child into this world, trapped here, bound to a man who held you against your will? How could you even begin to reconcile the love that was expected of you with the resentment boiling beneath the surface?

And yet…

Somewhere, buried beneath the panic, there was a flicker of something else. A faint, fleeting thought that this was your child—a part of you, something innocent and pure, untainted by the cruelty of its father. But that thought vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, smothered by the reality of your situation.

No. Its a monster put here by a monster. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Suddenly, Sylus’s voice broke through the haze, calling to you from beyond the bathroom opening. You stiffened, panic flooding your veins anew. He can’t see this. Not yet.

A wave of panic surged, and you scrambled to snatch your shirt from the counter, clutching it desperately against your chest as his figure appeared, and he stepped inside. His gaze fell on you, his brow furrowing slightly with concern as he took you in, standing there, exposed, your knuckles tight against the shirt you were pressing tightly against yourself.

He took a step forward, concern etched in his face. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine—please, Sylus, just…leave,” you replied, willing your voice to stay steady, hoping he would listen.

But his gaze softened as he searched your face, clearly noticing the quickening in your breath, the apprehension in your eyes. Without a word, he reached for the shirt you held, and despite your best efforts, his grip was gentle but unyielding as he eased it from your hands.

"I've already seen you naked sweetie, many times. You don't need to be shy".

You felt frozen, helpless to stop him as he lifted the shirt away, exposing the small curve that had been hidden beneath.

Sylus’s breath seemed to catch, his eyes widening in awe as he took in the sight of your small but undeniable bump. For a moment, he was silent, his gaze tracing the curve of your stomach with a mixture of astonishment and tenderness. Then, as if unable to contain himself, a radiant smile broke across his face, one of unrestrained joy, his eyes brightening in a way you’d never seen before.

“This…this is what you were hiding?” His voice was a soft, reverent whisper, and he knelt down, his hand reaching out to gently, reverently, rest on the slight swell. He looked up at you, eyes shining with an emotion so raw, so overwhelming, it left you speechless.

“Sweetie…you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin, tracing the gentle curve as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

Before you could pull away, he leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your stomach. His breath was warm against your skin, and the intimacy of the moment struck you to your core. Your heart pounded in your chest, revulsion and disbelief twisting in your stomach as he closed his eyes, his touch so tender it was almost unbearable.

Sylus’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, filled with love, wonder, and a kind of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. For a moment, he seemed lost in the moment, lost in the reality that the life he’d longed for was now beginning to take shape. He brushed a gentle hand over your bump, his fingers tracing a slow, reverent path.

As he got back up, Sylus’s lips brushed against yours in a way that felt surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as though he were savoring every second. But slowly, his kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. His hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw as he whispered between each kiss, his voice filled with admiration.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."

His words fell like honey, each phrase laced with something warm and heavy. The praise mixed with the gentle intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you felt a strange, almost dizzying sensation, as if his tenderness was pulling you into a world where you could forget the truth—just for a second.

But the kiss was no longer soft. He leaned in, pressing you against the wall, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you close. There was a tension between you, a heat radiating from his touch as he let his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, each kiss leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. He was so close, his hand pressing gently but possessively against the small of your back, his closeness overwhelming. You could feel his breath against your neck, the rapid beating of his heart as he leaned closer still.

He pressed up further against you, and you could feel the hardening of his cock as his hands continued roaming your naked body. Panic surged within you, the walls closing in as you felt him drawing you deeper into his embrace. You weren’t ready. Not for this. The kisses, the closeness, the feeling of his hands anchoring you to him—it was all too much.

You took a shaky breath, willing your voice to remain steady. “Sylus… please,” you whispered, your hand pressing against his chest, urging a little distance. “I’m sorry…I’m just…I’m not ready.”

For a split second, the air stilled. You didn’t dare look up, bracing yourself, fearing a flash of anger or the sting of his disapproval. But slowly, his hands softened their grip, loosening from your waist. You could feel him shift, the intensity of his touch retreating as he pulled back slightly. Hesitantly, you looked up, expecting frustration or perhaps that coldness you’d seen before.

Instead, his gaze met yours, warm and filled with a softness that was entirely unexpected. He swallowed, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he took a steadying breath, as if calming himself. “I understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in it resonated deeply, cutting through the tension. “This is a lot for you to take in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

You blinked, your heart racing as his words settled over you. He wasn’t angry. There was no frustration in his expression—only a look of genuine concern and, to your astonishment, regret. He wasn't going to force you like he had before. He had let you go.

“Thank you,” you managed, the words quiet, almost lost in the air between you. For a moment, you struggled to process what had just happened. Sylus, who had always taken so much from you without question, had actually listened. He’d stopped. You’d steeled yourself for resistance, for anger, for some form of reminder of his control over you. Yet here he was, stepping back, respecting your boundaries with a tenderness that left you momentarily speechless.

As you looked at him, you felt an odd mix of emotions. Relief washed over you, but something else lingered too—something more unsettling, a tiny flicker of doubt that questioned everything. It was the way he looked at you, as if there were truly nothing he wouldn’t do for you, even if it meant pulling himself back.

Sylus’s gaze softened as he took a step back, releasing you from his embrace but keeping his hand on your shoulder for just a moment longer. His thumb brushed gently over your collarbone, lingering, as if reluctant to let go completely.

“Do you want any help getting dressed?” he asked, his tone tender, almost coaxing. His eyes held a gentleness you were still getting used to, as though he was allowing himself to be vulnerable for once, hoping you’d let him in, even if just for a moment longer.

You shook your head quickly, a polite smile crossing your face. “No, it’s okay. I can manage.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, and you could see the hint of disappointment that flickered in his gaze before he quickly masked it with a soft smile of his own.

You wondered why he craved so much for you to depend on him for every little thing. You couldn't understand.

“All right,” he murmured, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

With a graceful, deliberate movement, he knelt and reached for the chain at your ankle. Its weight shifted as he seemed to inspect it. You couldn’t help but notice the rust forming on its edges, the faint orange stain a quiet reminder of each time it had endured the showers with you, silently marking the limits of your freedom. He noticed it too, pausing for a second as he looked at the worn chain.

“Hmm,” he murmured, running his thumb along the rusted edge with a look of quiet contemplation. For a moment, you thought he might undo it, but instead, he straightened up, the faintest frown creasing his brow.

He looked back at you, his expression softening again. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, his voice a gentle promise.

As he turned and left, you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The weight of his presence lifted, leaving you alone with the faint memory of his touch still lingering on your skin.

The room seemed to expand in his absence, and you allowed yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The sight of the rusted chain resting limply at your foot reminded you that, despite his tenderness, despite these fleeting glimpses of something softer, you were still his captive. Yet a strange sense of relief washed over you. Today, he’d listened. Today, he’d let you keep that sliver of control. And for now, you’d hold on to that.

As you stood there, something inside you unraveled, a delicate thread finally snapping under the weight of it all. The reflection in the mirror blurred, and you didn’t even notice the tears until you felt the warmth trailing down your cheeks. They fell silently, each one a reminder of the future that was no longer an abstract concept. A mother...you were going to be a mom. This was real.

The thought settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You tried to steady your breathing, doing small calculations in your head, desperately seeking some reassurance. By now, you must be past twelve weeks, right? Past that critical point where things were supposed to feel safer, more certain. But the slight swell of your belly seemed too prominent, too soon, and the thought gnawed at you. Would this baby be huge? Were you somehow different? You didn’t know, and the not-knowing scared you.

With each breath, reality closed in, no longer letting you keep it at a comfortable distance. There would be no waking up from this, no shaking it off like a bad dream. This was happening, and the tiny life growing inside you was proof of that. You closed your eyes, pressing a hand to your stomach, the warmth of your palm grounding you, if only for a moment.

In his office, Sylus leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. The image of you lingered in his mind, your face still etched with surprise and maybe even a glimmer of acceptance. He’d seen it when you touched your belly, the soft, instinctual motion you likely didn’t even realize you’d made.

It struck him how profoundly this all had changed, not only for you but for himself. For the longest time, he’d moved through life with an efficient, calculated purpose, relationships and alliances mere tools in the larger picture. But with you, he found himself moving beyond that cold, strategic calculation. His gaze softened just remembering the way you’d looked at him, hesitant yet trying to keep up a facade, an echo of something fragile and new.

The hum of his phone jolted him from his thoughts, a message notification flashing across the screen. It was from Dr. Merrill, a routine check-in that he’d been insisting upon ever since he’d learned about your protocore syndrome. Sylus’s gaze darkened slightly as he thought back to his conversation with the doctor. There were, of course, risks. But he’d come this far—he would ensure both you and the child would be fine.

In the next coming weeks, you would both find out the gender. And he couldn't be more excited. He hadn't given the gender a whole lot of thought, as having either a son or a daughter would be fine. As long as they were healthy. He wondered if you were hoping for a specific gender? He would have to ask later once you were feeling more comfortable.

He quickly messaged the doctor back, instructing him to be prepared for another home visit in the coming weeks, as you were beginning to show.

Setting the phone aside, he let out a long breath, allowing himself to sink deeper into his thoughts. The joy he’d felt when he first saw the hint of your growing belly was overwhelming, almost surreal. It was rare, feeling anything so strong. He’d been raised to value control and precision, but with you, things were different. For once, he felt like he had a purpose beyond the plans and schemes that had once driven him.

You were wary, he knew. Never mind the fact that you were still pretending to cater to him and accept your situation. He had to admit, you were keeping this up far better than he expected. Even going as far to fake a few tears to get things out of him. How silly of you. You didn't need to cry to get him to buy you things. He was more than willing. He hoped overtime you would come to actually learn this and fall into your role by his side. But he didn’t expect this to be easy, he would be patient, careful not to push you too far. Especially after his hasty decision to punish you the way he did.

As he leaned back in his chair, Sylus’s gaze drifted out the window. His mind wandered to the future he saw unfolding: you, content by his side, his child safe and thriving, the three of you a family in every sense.

Sylus’s thoughts drifted, lingering on the changes he’d already started to notice in your body, subtle yet unmistakable. Your nipples had gotten slightly darker than their usual color. The gentle swell of your belly was the most obvious sign, but there were others—small, delicate shifts that only someone as attuned to you as he was could see. He thought of the way your figure had softened, the fullness in your curves that hadn’t been there before. He'd felt it during the past few weeks, during moments when he'd held you close, his hand resting against your back or your waist, anchoring you to him.

There was a warmth that spread through him as he thought about it, a kind of reverence for the life growing within you. He’d noticed your breasts, too—firmer, slightly fuller, and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the changes, drawn to them in a way he hadn’t anticipated. The way your body was adapting, preparing, made him feel a quiet awe. It wasn’t just attraction; it was admiration, a deep appreciation for the transformation he was witnessing. He hadn’t said anything, of course—he knew you were still adjusting, still wary of him, and any comment on your body would likely only push you further away.

But he noticed. Every time he held you, every time you crossed his path, he felt a heightened awareness, his gaze inevitably drawn to the small signs of change. He’d often catch himself before you noticed, careful to keep his admiration hidden.

But the feelings for your growing body also went a little...past just admiration. He felt an ache in his groin as he kept thinking about your newly grown belly, and how much bigger you would have to get if you were going to carry a baby. He shifted, the tightness in his pants feeling a little more uncomfortable than usual.

He let out a sigh, looking down in annoyance at the hardness in his pants. This wasn't the first time he had gotten riled up at the thought of you, but he was usually pretty good at ignoring it until the ache went away. After seeing your belly preparing itself however, that wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

So he lifts his hips up to pull down his pants and boxers. His erection sprang free, curving upwards towards his navel. The thick shaft was flushed a deep, angry red, the bulbous head throbbing and already dripping with clear beads of precum. Veins pulsed along the length, testament to his rampant arousal.

Sylus shuddered, wrapping his calloused hand around his throbbing cock and squeezing firmly. A guttural groan escaped his lips at the pleasurable pressure, his hips rocking upwards involuntarily. He stroked himself slowly at first, savoring the feeling of slick skin gliding over rigid flesh. But as his lust grew, so did the urgency of his movements.

He certainly wasn't a short man. He had expected that any child of his, especially a boy, wouldn't be small either. How large would you get? Would you need help turning or getting up?

It excited him more than he wanted to admit.

His breathing grew ragged, harsh pants filling the room as he pumped his fist faster and harder over his weeping cock. Lewd squelching noises joined the symphony of grunts and groans as his precum smeared along his throbbing length, easing the way for his increasingly vigorous stroking.

Fuck...you were gonna look so cute fully swollen with his baby. Especially squirming underneath him, breathless, wet and begging for his touch. Swollen, heavy breasts prepping for milk. He read somewhere that pregnant women tended to get higher libidos somewhere in the middle of the second trimester.

He hoped to god that that was true for you.

Sylus felt the telltale tingle building at the base of his spine. His impending climax rushing towards him at breakneck speed, sinful images of you arching into his touch as he fucked you into the mattress, pregnant belly and breasts swaying with each thrust filled his head. He leaned down into the dresser of his desk, grabbing a spare handkerchief and positioning under the head of his cock.

The best part of all of this, was when your pregnancy would inevitably come to an end. When your body healed and you were at your most fertile, he could do it all over again. He could impregnate you as many times as he wanted and have a huge, happy family. Money was never going to be an issue, and as long as you were fertile, he could give you babies.

Over and over and over.

With a strangled groan, he exploded, thick ropes of pearly cum erupting from the tip of his jerking cock and into the handkerchief. He stroked himself through it, wringing every last drop from his spasming member until he collapsed backwards into his chair, chest heaving and cock still twitching.

He stared down at the cum now soaked into the handkerchief and tossed it into the trashcan beneath his desk. It was a shame such a heartful load wasn't leaking out of you right now. Weeks of buildup wasted.

Oh well. Plenty of time for that later.

As Xavier drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind clung to fragmented images, blurred scenes of his anger and desperation manifesting in the same looping dream. He saw Sylus, beaten and bloodied, collapsing in defeat. And then there was you, reaching out for him, your face soft, relieved. He’d pull you into his arms, his heart racing with the promise of safety. The scene was a balm, the only comfort in his haze of pain and meds. But when he blinked awake, reality crashed down with the sterile scent of the hospital, the sting of every broken bone, and the pulsing ache in his leg, arm and ribs.

The nurse gently shook his shoulder, calling his name, breaking through the thick fog. He stirred, his eyes heavy, everything feeling sluggish under the weight of painkillers. "How are you feeling, Xavier? One being the best, and ten being the worst." she asked, her voice steady and professional. He blinked, focusing on her as she held up her chart, waiting. He grunted a "five," the number slipping from his mouth like a reflex, more out of exhaustion than precision. She noted it, a brief look of sympathy crossing her face.

“I’ll be back soon to draw your blood and change your catheter,” she said, her tone compassionate but detached. He nodded weakly, feeling the stiffness in his neck as he tried to turn slightly.

The tray of food was right there—a bland meal of mashed potatoes, corn, peas, and water—but the sight was grounding. He took a deep breath and struggled, lifting his good arm with a heavy tremor as he reached for the spoon, his movements slow, clumsy. Just lifting the spoon to his mouth was a feat in itself, each bite reminding him of his limitations, the constant reminder of Sylus’s brutality.

He remembered so little of the past weeks—disjointed pieces that barely made sense. The memory of voices, some unfamiliar, and the persistent drone of machines had woven into his dreams, always melting back into the same loop: Sylus defeated, his blood pooling around him, and you, safe in his arms, looking at him like he was all you had left. He couldn’t shake it, didn’t want to, and yet each time he awoke, he was thrown back into the raw reality of his broken body, the helplessness of it twisting his stomach with fury.

The nurse stepped out, leaving him to the quiet of the room. As he chewed, he fought to keep his thoughts coherent, to string together the fragments of memory and rage that flickered in his mind. There was only one certainty left in him, one relentless drive pushing through the fog: he would find a way to make that dream real, no matter the pain or time it took. And next time, Sylus wouldn’t be the one left standing.

Xavier's gaze drifted to the small TV on the wall, where a tv show flickered in soft colors. The volume was low, barely above a murmur, but it filled the silence of the hospital room with a familiar rhythm. He hadn’t bothered to change the channel since he’d been here, his limited mobility making even that a chore. Besides, it was easier to let the shows cycle through on their own, each one a hazy backdrop of strangers’ voices, laughter, and applause.

Tonight, it was a trivia show. The host’s voice was calm and steady, calling out questions and waiting as contestants hesitated, stumbling through answers. The distant hum of excitement and applause from the contestants was oddly comforting. It wasn’t that he cared who won or lost, but the soft chatter, the flow of random facts and questions, was enough to draw his mind away from the pain, the memories, and the endless hours of confinement.

He let his eyes close briefly, the steady drone of voices pulling him into a light doze. It was almost hypnotic, a lull that softened the ache in his ribs and the rawness of his anger, dulling everything until all he could focus on was the pleasant monotony of questions and answers. The show was mundane, predictable, a relief from the nightmares that chased him when he let his guard down.

Xavier's mind had been relentlessly circling back to you. He could still picture you, asleep on Sylus’s couch, a ghostly image lingering in his thoughts. You looked...well, worse than when he last saw you, thinner, but relatively unharmed. It was a small comfort, yet it didn’t ease the dark, gnawing worry he felt. And then, there was Sylus’s claim—that you were pregnant.

The words echoed endlessly in his mind, stirring a sharp discomfort that clenched in his chest every time he recalled them. It didn’t seem possible. You didn’t look pregnant, not visibly, and he forced himself to cling to the hope that it was some twisted ruse. A manipulation. One more way for Sylus to get in his head, and damn it if he wasn’t succeeding.

Dr. Merrill had only made matters worse. Every time he entered the room to visit, his demeanor was professional, but his eyes held that wary, knowing look that Xavier hated. It was a reminder, a silent reinforcement of Sylus’s control, and even if they’d silently agreed to play along with the “robbery” cover story, it felt like another punch to Xavier’s pride. “I got careless. A random attack…left my guard down,” he had told Captain Jenna and the other members from UNICORN who had visited.

They’d been speechless, disbelief written across their faces. The top hunter of the organization, decimated by some “robber”? He had done his best to sell it, saying he’d been caught off guard after some drinks, uncharacteristically sloppy. But he knew Captain Jenna didn’t quite believe him. She’d given him a long, searching look, but she hadn’t pressed further. For now, the lie held.

His thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s return, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times. She went through her routine—checking vitals, prepping for the blood draw, making small adjustments to his catheter. As she tended to him, his phone buzzed on the table. He looked at her, nodding, and she held it to his ear as usual.

“Hello?” he said, feeling the dull ache in his bones as he braced for more bad news.

The voice on the other end was familiar—his property manager. The words spilled from the receiver, the matter-of-fact tone cutting through him. “Xavier, I understand your situation, but I can’t keep the apartment on hold indefinitely without payment. I’m sorry, but I’ll need to start clearing it out this week to prepare it for the next tenant. I’m not sure why you insisted on paying for two apartments, but this arrangement…it has to end soon.”

His heart dropped, a sinking weight that left him momentarily speechless. He’d known this was coming, had felt it looming, but hearing it now, in such stark terms, twisted the knife. That apartment—your apartment—was the only piece of you he’d managed to preserve. Without it…he could lose the last thread of connection.

Clearing his throat, he forced his voice to steady. “I can give you the remainder of what I have,” he said, desperation lacing each word. “I… I can’t work right now, but I’ll take out a loan if I have to. Please, just give me a little more time. A few more weeks.”

There was silence on the other end, the brief pause stretching out painfully. Finally, the manager spoke, her tone softer but unyielding. “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”

"If you must clean it out, please leave her clothes, documents, pictures, and stuffed animals in boxes outside my place. I'll take them and have someone move them inside. Everything else can go."

"Understood. Rest well."

The line went dead, and the nurse set his phone back down. She continued her work in silence, but he could feel her occasional glances, her unspoken sympathy. He clenched his hand into a fist, the pain in his fingers barely registering beneath the fresh ache in his chest. The nurse left and it was just him again.

Xavier felt the tears pressing behind his eyes, but nothing came. He was spent, emptied out, unable to cry anymore. He’d cried himself raw over you, over everything he’d lost, and now, it was as if his emotions had burned themselves out. Still, a deep ache remained, gnawing at him with every breath.

Captain Jenna’s generous “bonuses” were the only thing keeping him afloat financially, covering the bulk of his rent, but it wasn’t enough to support two places. And since you were no longer classified as an active hunter, he’d found himself struggling to convince her to subsidize your rent as well. His attempts to hold onto your apartment, your last space, were slipping through his fingers like sand.

He let out a weary sigh, his hand resting heavily on the now-empty dinner tray. Just as he was about to settle back into the silence, a commotion stirred in the hall.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are over…hey!” a nurse’s voice protested, strained with urgency. There was a scuffle, the sound of hurried footsteps, and Xavier strained to lift his head. Moments later, a familiar face bounced into his room, brown hair and eyes bright with energy.

“Tara?” he muttered, bewildered.

“It’ll only be a minute! Hold on!” she called over her shoulder, flashing a mischievous grin at the nurse. She turned back to him, face beaming as she moved a chair to his bedside. Her excitement was palpable, filling the air around her, and Xavier blinked up at her, caught off guard by her vibrant energy.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her voice warm, but her eyes scanned his bandages, his cast, and the pallor in his face.

He gave a small, tired smile. “I could be better,” he admitted.

She nodded, her eyes sympathetic but still sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place. There was a giddiness about her, an intense excitement that he couldn't place. He squinted, confused. “Why are you so excited?” he asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

A giggle bubbled up from Tara, and she pulled her phone out, brandishing it in front of him. “Because,” she began, nearly bursting, “I heard from her! Can you believe it? She’s alive and thinking about me!” Tara’s eyes danced with joy as she held her phone up, revealing a familiar name at the top of a recent text thread. “Look! Look what she sent me!”

Xavier’s gaze fell on the screen, and his chest tightened. There, clear as day, was a message from you. The message read simply but warmly, wishing Tara well and saying you hoped to see her again someday. His stomach clenched, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. This had to be Sylus’s doing. He could practically see the smug expression Sylus would have, reveling in the illusion he was spinning.

But he couldn’t say that to Tara.

His face remained carefully neutral, struggling to maintain a calm facade. “I’m happy she messaged,” he said, voice steady but weighed down with emotion. “Relieved…she’s alive and well.”

Images of you asleep on Sylus’s couch flickered through his mind, the faint rise and fall of your chest, your figure strained and thinner than he had remembered you. He knew better than to hope, but seeing the message struck something deep within him. He looked up at Tara, forcing himself to smile through the turmoil swirling in his mind.

“Seriously, I’m glad you got to hear from her,” he added softly, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray the dread he felt.

"Me too! I told her you were hospitalized, hoping maybe it would make her wanna come visit but she hasn't responded sadly".

The door swung open, and the nurse entered, her expression stern, disapproval clear in her eyes. “Ma’am, if you can’t respect the rules, you’ll be barred from visiting,” she said, her voice sharp and unwavering. Tara let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes as she rose from the chair beside his bed, brushing her hands over her clothes in mild annoyance.

“Fine, fine,” she muttered, flashing Xavier a look that seemed both apologetic and a bit frustrated. “Sorry our visit was so short. This was the only time I could get away today,” she added, softening as she looked at him. “I’ll try come back in a few days. Get some rest in the meantime, Xavier!”

He managed a small nod, a wave of sudden exhaustion pulling him under as Tara shot him a last bright smile before the nurse gently ushered her toward the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she was gone, the sound of her cheerful goodbye lingering in the room.

The quiet returned, thick and heavy, and Xavier sighed, pressing his back into the hospital bed. His hand trembled as he reached for the plastic cup of water by his bedside. Lifting it with his good hand, he took a shaky sip, the coolness offering some brief relief against the dryness in his throat.

His mind replayed the visit over and over, the brief flash of Tara’s happiness, the message from you on her phone. How easy it had been for Sylus to manipulate your voice, to craft a message just believable enough to soothe the people who missed you. It felt almost mocking. As he placed the cup back down, his fingers slipped, and he caught it with a quiet curse, the weariness in his bones starting to settle deep.

The aching in his chest wasn’t just physical; the uncertainty gnawed at him, hollow and relentless. He lay back, eyes drifting shut, waiting for the pull of sleep to offer him some escape from the steady, simmering dread that had taken up permanent residence inside him.

Xavier wasn't sure how much time passed since then. Days. Weeks. None of it mattered anymore. Dr. Grey entered Xavier's room, clipboard in hand, his expression measured as he checked over Xavier’s latest chart. Standing beside the bed, he offered a polite nod, glancing at Xavier’s array of casts and bandages before beginning his assessment.

“Well, we’re seeing some positive signs of healing. Your bones are knitting well, though given the extent of your injuries, I expect that you’ll be able to start a semi-recovery phase in about four months,” he explained, adjusting his glasses and skimming through the notes. “But as you might guess, physical therapy will likely add at least another two months. And you’ll need to be diligent with it to avoid setbacks.”

Xavier’s face fell as he processed the news. He groaned, his frustration palpable. Six months. Half a year. It was an eternity, too long when he could barely keep himself from going stir-crazy in the bed after just a few weeks. He muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” his hand clenching around the bed rail as he fought the urge to sink back into the haze of exhaustion and disappointment that had plagued him since his injury.

He closed his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, hoping to drift away, if only for a few moments. But to his surprise, he felt Dr. Grey hesitate. The doctor wasn’t moving to leave; instead, there was a brief pause, then the scrape of a chair being pulled closer to his bed. Xavier’s eyes opened slightly, watching as Dr. Grey leaned in, his face shifting into an expression that hinted at something more than the usual professionalism.

Dr. Grey’s voice dropped to a lower, confidential tone. “Between you and me, Xavier…my team and I have been working on something… experimental,” he began, his gaze intense, as though gauging Xavier’s reaction. “Now, I know what you might be thinking—sounds shady, right? But hear me out. This could be revolutionary for medicine.”

Xavier’s brow furrowed, his wariness growing as he took in the doctor’s words. “Experimental?” he echoed, his voice rough with both curiosity and skepticism.

Dr. Grey nodded. “If this works the way we believe it could…you’ll be back on your feet far sooner than six months,” he explained, the gleam of ambition unmistakable in his eyes. “We’re talking no physical therapy. We’d skip right to complete bone regeneration and muscle repair, advanced healing far beyond the standard protocols.”

For a moment, Xavier was speechless, his thoughts racing. A quicker recovery would change everything—restore his autonomy, get him back to his work. It would mean less time relying on people like doctors and nurses, less time spent waiting for the smallest signs of progress.

And more importantly, get him back on his feet and to you.

He took a deep breath, his skepticism wavering slightly in the face of this new possibility.

“But…” Xavier said slowly, eyeing Dr. Grey carefully, “experimental could mean anything. Risks. Side effects.” He usually wasn’t one to jump into things blindly, not without knowing what he’d be up against.

Dr. Grey’s face grew serious, his tone steady and measured. “Yes, there’s risk. No treatment is without it, especially in uncharted territory like this. But the preliminary results we’re seeing are promising. If it works, you’ll be out of here much faster than anyone thought possible.”

Xavier mulled over the offer, the potential benefits battling against the whispers of doubt in his mind. The six-month stretch ahead of him felt like a prison sentence he couldn’t stomach, a length of time he couldn’t afford to lose. But the thought of unknown side effects nagged at him, adding a darker edge to the choice in front of him.

He glanced up at Dr. Grey, weighing the options carefully.

Xavier stared, a mix of disbelief and wary curiosity flickering across his face. “So…sooner than six months? With my injuries?” he murmured, the doubt sharp in his voice. He tightened his grip on the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth as he tried to wrap his head around what the doctor was saying. “It sounds…impossible.”

Dr. Grey offered a small, encouraging nod, his eyes lighting up as he rubbed his hands together, warming to the topic. “Look, Xavier,” he began, his voice laced with enthusiasm tempered by professionalism, “even if the recovery time doesn’t end up as drastically reduced as we hope, I can guarantee one thing: you’ll come out of this much stronger. Think of it this way—typically, after severe breaks like yours, even with the best therapy, the bones don’t ever quite return to their original strength. They’re vulnerable, fragile, prone to aches and limitations. But this…” he paused, as if savoring the impact of his words, “this could give you bones that are as strong—no, stronger—than they ever were. It’s essentially as if you’d been given brand new bones.”

Xavier felt his breath hitch. “Brand new bones?” The concept was almost beyond belief, a prospect that seemed too good to be true. It was like a second chance, a way to return not just to his old self, but maybe even better. And yet, his skepticism remained. “But…why me?” he asked, narrowing his gaze. “I mean, this can’t be something you offer everyone who comes in here.”

Dr. Grey nodded slowly, weighing his answer before he replied. “True, not everyone is a candidate. But in your case, your natural strength as an Evolver and your resilience make you uniquely suited to withstand the process. Evolvers have a different kind of stamina, a level of resilience the average person just doesn’t have. We believe this factor alone could make you less prone to some of the riskier side effects we might expect in others. Your body is already conditioned to endure more than most.”

Xavier took this in, a strange flicker of hope stirring in him, tangled with wariness. His eyes drifted down to the cast on his broken leg, envisioning what “brand new bones” might mean in terms of mobility, agility, strength.

Xavier narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grey, the skepticism carving deeper lines into his face. “And the catch?” His voice held a hardened edge, matching the unyielding look he gave the doctor. This all felt too good to be true. In his line of work, anything that sounded miraculous usually had a dark side. He’d likely end up a glorified guinea pig for some experimental nightmare and be worse off than he started.

But…there wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross for you, no risk too great. If the price was turning into some kind of super mutant or even losing parts of himself in ways he could hardly imagine, so be it. If it brought him closer to rescuing you, it was worth it.

Dr. Grey shifted, hesitating for a fraction of a second before continuing. “There is one primary side effect,” he admitted, his tone carefully measured. “We’ve observed a tendency for this treatment to…impact fertility. Both men and women, in preliminary trials, show significant drops in sperm and egg counts. In some cases, the subjects have lost reproductive abilities entirely.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s not something we’re proud of, but it’s been difficult to address so far. If that’s a potential deal-breaker…”

Xavier shut his eyes, the doctor’s words settling heavily in his mind. The idea of a life where having a family with you might be impossible sent a sharp, painful pang through his chest. He had imagined that life with you—seeing you safe, starting anew, building something together that could finally erase the pain and chaos. To lose the chance of creating that future would be…devastating.

But then his thoughts spun back to you, imagining the worst of what you might be facing at that very moment, and his resolve hardened. No matter how much it tore him up, he knew his choice. You were the reason he had to see this through, the reason he’d go to the end of any dark path if it meant even a chance of finding you.

Opening his eyes, he looked back at Dr. Grey, voice steadier than he felt. “What do I need to do?”

Dr. Grey pulled his chair closer, glancing around the empty room before leaning in with an almost conspiratorial air. “The process is unconventional,” he began, keeping his voice low. “What we’re proposing is an IV-based therapy infused with liquid stem cells—stem cells that are mutated, cultivated from a unique gene therapy we’re developing. You’d be receiving not just healing cells, but cells that could actively ‘re-code’ the bone and tissue growth at an accelerated rate.”

Xavier stared at him, skepticism flaring. “You’re saying this will just… rebuild everything that’s broken?”

“Not just rebuild,” Dr. Grey clarified, “but create brand-new, fortified structures. The treatment relies on highly controlled pluripotent stem cells—cells that can turn into any type of tissue your body needs to repair, replacing damaged bone and muscle. We’ve also engineered them with peptides to enhance integration, minimizing scar tissue and allowing for what could be an almost full recovery.” Dr. Grey’s voice took on an eager edge, as though the science itself thrilled him.

Xavier considered the implications, a wariness settling over him. “Why keep it quiet? If this is so revolutionary, why not use it openly?”

Dr. Grey’s face hardened slightly, and he shook his head. “This therapy hasn’t been through traditional approval channels yet. Too many hurdles and red tape. If word got out, the scrutiny could shut down the whole program before we’ve even seen the full potential. That’s why I’m asking you to keep this between us.” He glanced briefly at the closed door before looking back at Xavier, his eyes intent. “If anyone on the staff asks, tell them I’m trialing an enhanced recovery solution. They don’t need to know what’s in the IV.”

Xavier processed this, a wave of doubt mingling with a grim determination. Risk or not, this treatment might be his best shot at getting back on his feet in time to make a difference. Still, the potential for irreversible effects, the secrecy, and the implications hung over him like a dark cloud.

“When do we start?” Xavier finally said, his tone a mixture of resignation and resolve.

Dr. Grey nodded, a spark of approval in his eyes. “We’ll begin tomorrow morning. It’ll be administered daily through a controlled IV drip. You’ll likely feel strange—minor aches, even slight chills as the cells begin to integrate. But over time, you should notice the pain lessening, your bones strengthening faster than normal.”

He looked Xavier in the eye. “And remember, if anyone asks, you’re on an advanced, routine recovery regimen. Let’s not invite extra questions.”

Xavier nodded and the two shook hands. And with that, Dr. Grey checked Xavier's vitals before heading for the door.

As Dr. Grey exited, Xavier stared at the door, a blend of unease and determination churning within him.

For hours, Xavier lay still, staring up at the sterile ceiling tiles. The hum of machinery in the background droned on, an endless rhythm that allowed his mind to wander deeper into his thoughts. Was he about to make a colossal mistake? Was he really willing to let Dr. Grey treat him with an experimental concoction, to let his body become a petri dish for untested science? A gnawing feeling of unease grew in his gut, twisting alongside the lingering ache of his injuries. The thought circled back like a vulture, forcing him to question if this was desperation leading him down a dangerous path.

But then his thoughts drifted back to you—your face, the way you looked when he last saw you, thinner, sleeping in Sylus's house as if you belonged there. Anger churned, and it transformed his doubt into something sharper. He couldn’t let Sylus keep you trapped. The longer he lay here, the stronger Sylus’s grip over you became. If this treatment could bring him back stronger, faster, ready to take on any danger…it would be worth it.

He could feel his heartbeat thudding, the blood rushing with a renewed purpose. He pictured himself fully healed, the ache and limitations of his injuries gone. Imagined the possibility of facing Sylus not just as a recovering man but as someone better, someone who could outmatch and overpower him.

A sense of determination crystallized. He could become more than Sylus’s equal. His lips tightened, resolve hardening like steel in his gut. His vision sharpened with new clarity, his dreams of seeing Sylus bloodied and broken gaining new weight, becoming less fantasy and more like a promise to himself.

And if Dr. Grey’s treatment delivered, those dreams might just become reality.

[alchemistc]

He's been good. He's been - pretending to be good well enough that no one has been suspicious.

It's just -

That was it. That was The One.

And sure. He can get back out into the world. He can fall in love again. There is a beautiful man somewhere out in the world who will make him laugh, make him cry.

He's just not sure he wants to put the effort in anymore.

For a hot second he'd really thought -

Not that it matters, anymore.

He's pretty sure his leg is pinned. The cockpit is more smoke than air, at this point. He can feel his toes, but honestly that might be more a curse than a blessing.

He's been staring at the phone in his hand for the last five minutes. Ever since he realized he didn't have the leverage to try to move the bracket keeping him from slipping free of the broken, crunched in door frame.

It's selfish. It's the most selfish fucking thing he's considered since he decided to break his own heart instead of letting someone else.

But logistically he's got about seven minutes until there's too much smoke and not enough air in here, and that's only IF the fire doesn't catch somewhere else.

He's got enough bars. And there are two numbers he could call. Two ways this could go.

The phone rings through four times, and on the fifth, someone answers.

"This is a bad time, Tommy," Eddie says, and Tommy feels a little hysterical. The laughter comes in fits, only slows when he gets a nice good whiff of smoke straight up his nose.

"Sure is."

The tone shifts. "Are you okay?"

"It was a bad idea anyway."

He feels woozy. Glances down at his leg and realizes that stain he'd thought was shadow is... definitely blood.

"Listen. I'm - when Evan gets the call, don't let him go alone. It's my fault for not updating my ICE."

The silence on the other line is deafening. "Tommy, where are you? Don't - don't make any decisions you can't come back from." It's a panned line he'd heard at the VA the half dozen times he'd gone.

"Yeah I didn't really make this decision myself. I'm just - I'm losing a lot of blood, here, and there's not a lot of ways for the smoke to get out of this cabin, and -."

High alert has a very specific sound and feel to it.

Eddie's cursing, something is shuffling, he's snapping his fingers in the distance. God, they're probably at work. "Where are you?"

Tommy rattles off his last known coordinates. "I already told dispatch, Eddie. I'm just. They're not gonna make it in time, and I need you to promise me you won't let him be alone when -."

It'd been a trip he would have been riding shotgun for, if Tommy hadn't made sure he wasn't. He's grateful for that, at least.

He's really not expecting much, he thinks. Eddie doesn't have to go far out of his way to support Buck. It'll hurt him, true. But Tommy's gotten pretty used to being the cause of that. And. He'll be dead, anyway, so he won't have to carry that guilt for long.

And then Eddie betrays whatever vestige of friendship they had left, because it's not Eddie's voice that responds.

"Hey asshole. Do you have enough leverage to break the window?"

He's got a good voice. A little gruff, a little heavy.

Tommy doesn't want this.

"No."

"Actually no, or are you just accepting your fate again without even talking about alternatives."

It's not how he thought he'd go. Dramatic final hour phone call, the end of their relationship as a metaphor for the bleakness of his situation. "I'm sorry, Buck."

He's having trouble focusing his eyes. There's a beat behind his ears that keeps slowing down. He thinks he might be hearing sirens but -

"Evan," Tommy says for the first time in six months. "I'm so sorry, Evan."

He says - something. The tone of it is there, even if he can't quite make out the words.

Tommy blinks. Coughs.

There's a phone in his hands.

Why is there a phone in his hands, he's supposed to be flying a -

He'd crashed it, actually.

Well shit.

Damn.

Eddie's gonna be so pissed if he has to find out second hand that Buck's going to get a really fucking shitty call in a few hours.

He should call.

---

When he blinks open his eyes, he finds his fingers first, nearly has a panic attack when they don't move they way he wants them to, except - oh.

There are fingers interlocked with his.

Tommy follows the line of the arm, even though he knows.

"Sorry," Evan says, and there are tears unshed at the corners of his eyes but he looks mad as hell. "You only get one dramatic exit out of my life in a calendar year."

[pinkthrone445]

Do you have ao3? Also can you continue my wife? 🥺 I almost cried but i dont know in which part. If it's because of the story or because it's unfinished or i got left hanging. But Great work though 👏

Hiii! I don't have ao3, my girlfriend explained to me what it was because I had no idea honestly, I was even researching a little of it, but I prefer more tumblr because I feel it more personal.

Thank you for the comment, I really love this kind of interaction 🥺✨

-My wife- Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader-Agatha Harkness x Rio

Gender:soft, hurt

Warnings: insults and mention of death. Spoilers from the series.

Summary: after loosing your wife, you beg the witch to take you to the road to find her. But with no hope of finding her, you want to come back home.

You sighed looking at the notebook in your hands, since you had been sent to do a report on the hex when it started expanding and you got trapped inside, that was going to be your great opportunity to do your great report and go famous on the news side, but since Wanda retired from the city and released everyone from her control, you no longer had your main source or your main character and it was more difficult to make the story happen.

Frustrated by not knowing how to follow your report, you put your notebook in your bag and continued with your grocery shopping

-"Hello... Did you find everything you needed?" - a kind lady asked you from the cash register while you put your items on the band. You looked up and she smiled, she had a delicate but mischievous smile and her light eyes sparked with the stores lights. You squinted your eyes to read her name tag since you were not using your glasses. "Agnnes" a sweet name

-"Y-yes" - for some reason your voice trembled-"Thank you... Can you add some gum please?" - You didn't knew why but you made your voice sweeter than how you usually talked and she nodded.

When you finished paying, you went to where you were staying to eat the junk food and the chips you bought and try to keep writing your notes, but not matter how many times you checked your purse or the bags, you couldn't find your notebook with all your important notes.

Before the tears of desesperation could fill your eyes, you started to retake your previous steps hoping to find it somewhere, but when you got to the store, the doors were already closed.

Defeated, you came back home, praying to God that your notebook would be there tomorrow.

The next day you went back to the store before they could open the doors to the people, your heart racing with nerves, yesterday's frustration still lingering on your body. Wanda was gone and if you lost that book all your first handed Intel would be gone too.

Your leg bounced on the concrete looking at the doors and your reflection on it. Agnes, the cashier from the day before stood beside you looking at the close doors

-"What are we looking for?" - she asked leaning closer to you and you turned to look at her

-"Agnes..."-her name sounded so sweet on your lips-"I lost something yesterday and I think is here... I hope is here" - Your voice sounded like a plea to the gods

-"What did you loose?" - she asked with worry on her eyes

-"A black notebook with some silly drawings on the cover... It has my notes for work and I had some important Intel on it and I need it"-You really sounded desperate

-"Intel on what?" - she asked curious

-"On some local news... You know, the kidnapping of the whole town and all... You don't remember if yesterday someone brought you a lost notebook?" - You looked into her eyes and she held her bag tighter

-"I shouldn't let people from the outside come in before we open, but follow me, let's check the lost and found" - she took your hand and pulled you to the side of the store. Her fingers where holding you tight and that made you smile a little, her hands were soft and they had the perfect size to hold yours.

She opened the side door and pulled you inside with her, looking for the office without letting you go.

When you finally got there, she pulled a box from the closet and put it on top of a desk, letting you search for the notebook without any luck.

She stared at your face, looking how your eyes got watery when you searched the box for the second time hoping that it would appear

-"Hey..."-she took your hand again stopping your search-"Let's check the store together..."-she whispered and you nodded. Even at the risk of losing her job if someone looked at the cameras and saw that she had let someone from outside the company in before they even opened, she helped you look for the notebook all over the store.

-"I think I got it!!"-she yelled and you ran towards her, when you saw her holding your notebook proudly on her hands, you let out a loud yelling of happiness and hugged her tightly

-"Oh my god! You are a life saver Agnes!" - You couldn't stop holding her and she laughed

-"How do you know my name? I've never told you... And I don't know yours either now that I think about it..."-she whispered and you let her go laughing a little embarrassed when she handle you the notebook

-"I saw it yesterday on your name tag... I'm (Y/N) by the way... Thank you so much for this..."-you looked at the book in your hand and she smiled

-"Lovely name..." - she whispered looking at your smile and you blushed a little under her intense gaze

-"Do you want want to go for a coffee? It's on me..."-you boldly offered and she smiled sadly

-"I have to work..."-she answered and you felt a little disappointed without knowing why

-"Rigth, of course, I'm sorry" - You tried to quickly excuse yourself

-"But my shift finish at 6... Maybe we can go for dinner?" - she asked and your smile grew

-"I would love that" - You wrote your number on a piece of paper from your notebook and gave it to her-"See you soon, thank you again!" - You smiled and let her go on with her day.

That first dinner was surprisingly good, the conversation seemed to have no end and she picked an excellent spot that you haven't seen before in that small town. She was sarcastic and funny, she knew how to flirt and she was charming and gorgeous and you couldn't get enough of her.

So after that nigth, after a couple days, you came back to her store to buy something only to have an excuse to see her again and talk to her. And then you repeatedly did the same until you started dating.

After a year together you got married and moved to Agnes' house, and a year after that, you started the process to have a baby together.

At some point along the way, you didn't know exactly when, you realized that she was a witch. If you connected the dots that she lived almost next door to where the scarlet witch was but still didn't remember her, or that some of her books at home were in Latin and talked about spells, or that she herself did a "joke" spell before you got pregnant and it worked... It seemed very obvious what she was...But she seemed like a nice witch.

You as a reporter got interested in her and started to study all the books that she had and all the story behind her, you found out that she was Agatha Harkness a powerful old witch, but for you she was your sweet and perfect Aggy.

When she started to get lost in her own mind, you used all the things you had learned to break her spell, and when your Aggy was lost behind the powerful Agatha Harkness, you used the song of the road that she used to sing to your belly, to try to bring her back again.

But now you were stuck on the stupid road with no hopes of bringing her back and no idea how to get back home.

You took your notebook with spells out of your pocket and you saw how it was filled with memories, notes, phrases and information all involving Agatha... All the things you investigated for her and now she couldn't even remember you or cared about you being pregnant or about what you have done for her. Rage and sadness filled your body and you throw the book away, seeing how it fell outside of the road and the dirt consumed it. You signed and sat on the dirt, desperate tears filled your eyes and and you hug your legs

-"I want to get out..."-you whispered between sobs

-On the other side of the road-

-"Hughhh, stop it!" - Agatha yelled grabbing her head, she didn't knew how, but every time you thought about something or remembered anything, she could feel it on her head too and that was really anoying to her, her mind was usually so calm and yours was so loud.

-"Agatha... Let's go bact to her, I think we need her, we've been walking for hours and we have no test ahead, clearly the road wants her with us..."-Lilia said worried about you being alone

-"The road is bullshit..."-she murmured between her teeth-"Let's sleep a little, we can keep going in a few hours" - she said firmly and nobody dared to say anything else about it because they were scared of making her more angry.

While everyone slept, Agatha thouth about you, specially about the baby, she didn't knew if you were telling the truth but she was intrigued about it, if she started a family with you, you must be really important to her, important enough to move on after all this time.

A glimpse of something shiny on the middle of the road cough her eyes, she stood up and grabbed a dusty notebook, your notebook. She recognized it immediately because you had it all the time in your hands. When she open it, the first thing she saw was a lyrics of a song, her original song that she used to sing with Nicky. The only other person that knew that song was her and Rio, but apparently she sang that song to you at some point and you save it on your notes.

She also saw full paragraphs about her, a drawing of her pin, notes about enchantments, a list of songs and baby names... Baby names, she remembered picking baby names with you a few days ago when the pregnancy test came out positive, she remembered you on the bathroom of the house, crying and hugging her.

She kept reading the book, it was like a diary about your and her life together, every important thing was inside it, even a few pictures, including ones of the wedding you had. You seemed so happy with her, nobody has never smiled so much because of her, and in all the pictures she was smiling even bigger looking at you. Her heart started clenching more each time she read a new page, she could feel your love in your notes, until she reached one in particular

"Even if you don't recognize me anymore and you don't remember the love you had for me, the love I have will cover for the both of us..."

She remember when you told her that when she tried to kick you out of the house and that made a clic on her head, Agatha remembered, finally she remembered everything.

How you met, that spark, your first time together, when you got married, when you decided to have the baby and how you took care of her when she started to loose it...

She remember how you stayed by her side always. Even when she no longer recognized you, and unless you followed the silly illusion her head was living in, she wasn't able to see or hear you either, you stayed. Even though she no longer knew who you were, you made a vow with her and wanted to take care of her while she was "sick", so you found a way to help her eat or shower. You pretended to be a waitress and tell her she was on a restaurant so she would eat her food and pretend to be a masseur on a spa so she would shower. Agatha remember that, remembered your care and your worry even when she treated you badly, she remembered your love for her...she remembered all that and fell for you again, she finally remembered her love for you.

-"Fuck!" - she closed the book feeling like an asshole

-"They are coming!" - Lilia woke up scared, telling the others that the Salem seven where close. Agatha grabbed her coat

-"Let's go, we need to find her before they can hurt her" - she ordered and the others followed her.

-On your side of the road-

After a few minutes of crying you also fell asleep and when you woke up, you were no longer on the road, you were on your confy bed, hugged by the covers. You sighed in relief and snuggled more into the comfort of the mattress thinking that all that had hapend was just a bad dream

-"Are you planning on staying on that bed all day?" - a deep voice took you out of your peaceful place and you sat on the bed scared to see Rio sitting at the edge of it. If you were still on a dream, she was a completely nightmare following you everywhere

-"How did I got here? What are you doing here? What do you want? If you want Agatha go ahead, I don't care anymore"-saying those words made your heart hurt, but you were tired of trying to get love from the witch with no results at all

-"She hates me, she doesn't want to be with me or see me... Remember that conversation around the fire? she is my scar... I don't know if you know this but we had a son together many many years ago... But he was sick and it was my fault, I tried to give them more time together and she tried to keep him away from me, but eventually I had to do my job and he had to come with me... Agatha never forgave me for it and I didn't forgave myself either..."-she talked with her serious face as always and you couldn't avoid the feeling that you were in danger with her close

-"If you want me to feel sorry for you, telling me that you had to kill your son, it's not helping..."-you whispered

-"I took you out of the road..."-she confessed and surprised you-"You wanted to get out and the Salem seven where very close to you while you slept so I took you out... Because Agatha wouldn't forget me ever if I had to take another one of her children away... Or her wife..."-the word wife was painful to her, you were having the life that they could never had, but she would do anything to see Agatha happy

-"That's... Thank you..."-you didn't knew what to said, you figured that she was death itself when she told you that she was "THE" green witch, but she was bending the rules of life for Agatha

-"Don't... Just take care of her okay?... And close that fucking door to the "road", like now"-she order and you stood from the bed

-"How do you want me to do that? I have no powers..."-you asked confused

-"You created it, you can close it... Or he can, you just have to let his powers control you again" - she told you pointing to your almost invisible belly. The baby was made from Agatha's spell, it made sense that you had power while he was inside you. When you turned to look at her, she was gone already.

Still confused, you ran to the basement and grabbed a piece of chalk and a few candles, remembering the spells that you had studied, you started to repeat the Latin words over and over until you saw the door desapear. Tired and a little confused of what you were capable of, you sat at the floor trying to catch your breath, hoping that Agatha and the others would find a way out.

Meanwhile inside the road, Agatha and the others were running looking for you and screaming your name when she noticed how the sky of the road started to shrink and how the trees beside them began to desapear, little by little everything started to fade around them

-"Fuck! Off the road! Let's go to the mud people, let it swallow you" - Lilia yelled, she saw this happening before and she knew what they had to do even if she didn't knew why. Although they were not quite sure if Lilia was in her right mind on that moment, they decided to listen as it seemed to be the only possible option. They all waded into the mud and fell under the road right next to an exit, using it to escape safely just in time before the place collapsed behind them

-"Well... That happened..."-the protection witch said breathing heavily

-"Its this another test?" - The potion witch asked

-"I think we are truly out..."-Lilia said.

Apparently they had come out in some underground construction and Agatha didn't waste a second in running out looking for a way out to see if she could find you

-"What about the end of the road?!" - they asked running behind her

-"I don't care about that, I need to find my wife!" - The purple witch screamed and when she finally got outside and saw that they weren't so far away from her house, she breathe out in relief. Immediately she went to the house, and when she was about to open the backyard door, the color left her skin when the door opened alone and she saw death itself leaving the house, Agatha couldn't avoid imagining the worse, that she was there to claim your body because you couldn't get out of the road in time

-"Please no..."-The witch begged her ex lover, but the green witch just walked away without saying anything else. Agatha opened the door with shaky hands and the others followed her closely

-"Aggy! Lilia! You are all okay!" - Your voice pierced their ears as your body crushed against them hugging them all taking them by surprise

-"I thought I lost you" - Agatha's voice was broken, vulnerable as she hugged you alone, closer to her-"I thought I had lost you after being an asshole to you, I... I'm sorry... I remember you, all you did for me, I remember how much we love each other, how much I love you" - she whispered pressing her forehead against yours and letting one of her hands rest against your belly. You smiled feeling safe and happy again. But your happiness ended quickly when you saw how the sky turned gray

-"Oh no... They got out too" - Lilia said watching how the Salem seven where walking down the street

-"Look guys, this is my fight, you don't need to be here... " - Agatha said but got interrupted

-"This is not the time to be good Agatha after being a bitch all this time..."-Jennifer said

-"We will protect you... After all that's what convens are for" - Alice said looking at you and then at Agatha- "I will blast you... Just don't take it all..."-she said and the purple witch nodded...

-9 months later-

-"He is gorgeous..."-Lilia said holding your baby on her arms for the first time. The little baby held her fingers in his little hand watching all the women around hin

-"He is, but now it's time for Aunty Aliceee to hold himmm" - The protection witch said excited in a pitchy voice while you watched them from your hospital bed

-"No! I was the second one to hold David, come on!" - Jennifer started fighting with the other witches making you laugh. You named your baby in honor of your neighbor that you lost on the road.

-"Love come here..."-you whispered to Agatha who was looking outside from the window. She gave a last look and closed the blinds smiling at you-"Are you okay?" - You asked and she nodded, happy to see that death was nowhere to be seen meaning that you and the baby where healthy and safe

-"Never better, I got everything that I need rigth here" - she kissed your forehead and hugged you protectively whispering sweet things on your hear.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Got a request: Jinx x Piltover reader who comes to the undercity a lot to see some action and excitement with Jinx thinking they’re from there only to find out that they’re from topside.

[Arcane preference zaunites] with a s/o from Piltover (viktor, ekko, silco, vander, jinx, vi, sevika)

In less than a week, I’ve gained 500 followers and over 20 requests, so I’ll ask you right away to please be patient. English isn’t my first language, and I don’t think I’ll be able to post more than two or three headcanons a week (since I also draw). I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but I just ask for a little patience. In the meantime, if you’d like to support me, you can follow me HERE (bluesky) even though I haven’t started posting seriously yet, or you can leave a tip HERE. That said, enjoy!

Viktor:

- The most versatile on the subject. He’s the first one who is constantly around the people of Piltover, studying and having his room at the academy, which is even located in a wealthy area.

- Generally, he doesn’t pay much attention to someone’s origins, but as the relationship grows more serious, memories of his early academy years become more vivid.

- Viktor is a chill guy, until he’s no longer chill, (at least the original one).

- Most heated discussions are likely to revolve around politics or events in the city. But as long as you don’t call the people from the Undercity “beasts,” “creatures,” “monsters,” “beings,” or “animals,” his anger won’t be directed at you.

- At some point, he won’t remember anymore that you’re from “different neighborhoods,” and since he needs a hand carrying things to the academy, he’ll start asking you to accompany him to the Undercity when he needs to make purchases or pick up pre-ordered items.

- And although it might scare or intimidate you at first, it won’t take long for you to get used to it.

- Although sooner or later, you’ll learn to change your clothes before going down to Zaun.

Ekko:

- The first meeting with Ekko is straight out of a book: you get caught in a crossfire, and before you can even begin mentally writing your will, an arm grabs you around the torso and pulls you away at such a high speed that you feel like throwing up.

- He can’t take people directly to the hideout, but he can offer you assistance as soon as you’re somewhere safer.

- This is why, the second time he saves you, he can’t help but joke about how it almost seems like you put yourself in danger on purpose, and that you could ask him out in a less dramatic way.

- Of course, he’s just joking to break the tension, but when you actually propose it, even just as a way to repay him, it’s the beginning of the end.

- Between your outfit and the fact that, having run into you twice in a crossfire, you were in some pretty dangerous places, the last thing he expected was for you to ask him to meet up at the bridge and then show up dressed like a Piltie.

- Before his meeting with Cait and the one with Jayce, this would’ve been a breaking point; he wouldn’t have shown up and would’ve just gone back. But now, even if he’s not thrilled, he’ll at least come over to complain that you didn’t tell him you were from the upper city.

- He’s resigned to this fate, but he still remains a bit suspicious and on guard, not knowing your political stance, why you were down there, or how you see the people from his city.

- Even as you become closer, he’ll never stop teasing you about your background. You’re drinking, and you drop your cup? “What a strange way Pilties have of drinking.”

Vander:

- Going down to Zaun without stopping by the Last Drop is a waste, which is why you’re lucky enough to run into the Hound of the underground right away. Not only is he one of the most influential people, but also one with a lot of connections.

- At Vander’s suggestion, you stay at the counter, and he uses the opportunity to ask you a few questions, curious: for example, why is someone from Piltover down in Zaun alone at that hour? What do you study, if you study, or what do you do for work, if you work.

- Vander is extremely sociable, and since he handles negotiations, he doesn’t hold hostility toward upper-city residents, though it’s rare to see them in these parts.

- It’s not even about flirting; he just wants to keep chatting and make sure he won’t have you on his conscience. He asks you to wait until closing, checks in on the kids to make sure everything’s okay and says goodnight, then walks you to the bridge.

- The more regular your visits to Zaun become, the more the other regulars at the Last Drop start to recognize you and get used to you, making that place quite pleasant. And then there’s the deal with the bartender: if you offer him a good chat, he’ll treat you to a good pint of beer.

- The toughest part of getting close to Vander is learning that he’s a single father to four kids, and seeing the hostile and shocked reaction of the younger ones when they find out you’re not from their city.

- But hate is taught, and even if it takes some time, they slowly start to get used to you. Maybe they won’t jump into your arms, but if you decide to stay over, they’ll make room for you or bring you something to dry your face with, in strict silence.

Silco:

- This man, though he may not look like it, is the embodiment of patience.

- It’s his goons who bring you to his office, and the first time, all it takes is a quick glance for him to know you’re not a spy, a rival, a drug addict, or a threat.

- Silco kills, but generally not without reason. So, the first time you have a heart-pounding panic attack from being dragged there, you get off with a warning: if they catch you poking around his business again, it won’t go so well for you.

- But today, Janna’s on your side, and you’re safe.

- The issue is much simpler than it seems: if you live in the Undercity, you know which places to avoid and which gangs control which areas. But if you’re just a foolish Piltie who likes wandering outside your own city, the odds of ending up in one mess after another are high.

- That’s why, the second time they catch you near one of their shipments, his goons already have their weapons drawn.

- This time it’s not even Silco who spares you; instead, a firefight with the Firelights breaks out nearby, and you’re just lucky that bigger problems show up at the right moment.

- It happens repeatedly: either you run into his goons and instinctively wave like an idiot, or you end up in restricted areas, and one of them who’s taken a liking to you motions for you to leave, or you start frequenting the Last Drop and see them all more often.

- Gradually, this brings you more often—and with less dread—to the kingpin’s office, who, since even his daughter likes you, first makes sure to get you a map of the Lanes because “you’re obviously so clueless you must be from Piltover” to keep you from getting yourself killed.

- Then he realizes you’re pleasant enough to let you hang out in his office on weekends, when the noise downstairs is so loud that he couldn’t work anyway.

Jinx:

- You’re essentially the “dumb Piltie” stereotype that comes to mind when people in Zaun talk about those from the upper city.

- Deciding to venture into the alleys without any experience or knowledge of the area purely out of curiosity wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, it’s too late to turn back.

- That’s why, after hours spent looking for something interesting—colorful explosions that have been common recently near the docks, some chase scenes—you find nothing, give up, and throw yourself into a bar.

- If it were evening, you might hope for more than just a jukebox playing country music, four young guys playing pool in a corner, and a girl sitting at the bar who looks half-asleep while the bartender cleans glasses, but you still decide to sit down and order something local.

- Everyone’s eyes are on you, but the moment the girl with long blue braids lifts her head, the others snap back to what they were doing, and she looks at you, still drowsy and a bit confused.

- Meeting Jinx is the beginning of the end; she rambles on, is relaxed, and the moment she hears you wanted action, she jumps off her stool and drags you out before you can even sip your drink.

- She has no particular reason—it's just rare to find someone who wants to have fun, although you quickly realize that her idea of “fun” involves risking your neck.

- The first time ends like that; you don’t even exchange names. When it gets late, she vanishes, leaving you no choice but to return to the bar in the following weeks, where you meet her again and pick up on that fun “tour.”

- This “tour” brings you closer, even if you never talk about deeply personal things because there’s never time.

- It’s one night when you’re sitting together on a rooftop, watching the distant lights of Piltover, that she learns the hard truth: you’re from the other side of the river. This single piece of information seems to destroy everything you had built. Without a word, she runs off, and you don’t find her at the bar at the usual time anymore, but you don’t stop trying.

- The bartender probably tells her, or she sees you, who knows, because weeks later you meet again, and she almost looks sad to see you.

- She expected you to give up, not to keep coming back despite how difficult she’d made it, which is why when you pull her into a hug, she stiffens, taking a while to hug you back.

- The closer you get, the more she becomes like a ghost. You even find her at your place, but you never see her on the streets in Piltover. She rarely stays over, but you know it’s because of personal issues.

Vi:

- Vi isn’t for everyone: she’s for those with a “savior complex” or hotheads who can take a couple of punches to the face.

- The reason you’re in Zaun, dressed incognito, is because your colleagues told you there’s some interesting stuff in the underground city’s shops.

- What you didn’t expect was that the “interesting find” curled up behind an abandoned building would be a person.

- Nothing too serious, just a brawl gone wrong. She’d hidden to tend to her wounds in peace, probably in that vulnerable “cornered wolf showing its teeth” state.

- Cooperation isn’t her strong suit, and, not to rely on Undercity stereotypes, but you imagine it’s also rare for anyone to help strangers wounded on the street.

- She becomes more docile after you simply stand by, “covering her back”—basically just staying put and shielding her from view. 

- whenyou blurt out, “Forget gin; I need something stronger.” she starts to like you

- Once she recovers, she gestures for you to follow her, suddenly motivated by the urge to drink. Surprisingly, she takes you over the bridge to your own city, to a cozy pub that smells of wood.

- Drinking there becomes a habit; after a few drinks, you tell her you hate that the evening has to end, and she chuckles, flattered, before saying you can always do it again.

- And you do it again.

- You keep doing it until you end up kissing clumsily in the pub’s restroom, nearly knocking heads together, until she pins you to the wall and your brain signals a warning.

- You tell her you live nearby, suggesting you take things to your place, unknowingly revealing something you thought was obvious.

- She stares at you for a few confused seconds. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, but the truth is, Vi doesn’t hate upper-city people, so once the confusion passes, the alcohol and hormones work their magic, leaving that conversation as a problem for the next morning.

Sevika:

- Her only interactions with people from the upper city have been with Enforcers, but contrary to appearances, Sevika is a big, intimidating dog that’s actually quite tame.

- She doesn’t get her hands dirty unless necessary, so even though she has no fondness for Pilties, she’d never start a physical fight with one.

- You first see her in the Undercity, at the Last Drop, playing cards for a hefty sum of money against two shady types: one bald with a metal nose, and the other dressed like an out-of-place gentleman.

- It’s only when the game ends and she gets up to head to the bar that you clumsily manage to strike up a conversation, receiving nothing but a scrutinizing glance in return.

- She lets you buy her a drink despite the large sum she just pocketed, and when you compliment her on her play, she puffs up with pride and starts talking about how those two just cheated but still couldn’t win.

- For a moment—just a moment—she realizes she’s never seen you around here before, but then she goes back to talking and listening, fueled by the alcohol.

- Getting her out of your head becomes impossible, and if you catch her at the end of her shift, she’s even more relaxed. It doesn’t take many weeks before you find yourself with your knees over her shoulders in the Last Drop’s basement.

- Emotional or mental intimacy with Sevika comes at an incredibly slow pace, but she starts approaching you in the bar, and your “private encounters” become more and more frequent—until you try to make things more serious by inviting her up.

- Her reaction seems angry, but it’s more surprise; she hadn’t realized and didn’t expect it.

- She becomes a lot more guarded around you, until, in time, she learns to trust you again.

[nvrhere]

dude finding dropboxes of deleted sterek fics sent me into a whole different state of mind…

like the number count of this tag on ao3 is NOT real!! there are so many fics out there and so many of us that still fucking love this ship

IN 2024??

like the amount of wips I have.. and that other people do too. we just need somewhere to put our love for them.

anyways, i might just have to create a sterek library site.

[starfxkrinc]

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jj said you spooked him sometimes. not ever on purpose, but you were so quiet. moving around the house swiftly on the tips of your toes to the point he never heard you coming.

“keep spookin the shit outta me and im gettin you a bell.” he laughed when he said it, pinching your cheek with a goofy grin before we turned back to the table he was setting up. so you didn’t think twice about it, not when he jumped out of his skin when you brushed past him in the kitchen or when he let out a yelp when you appeared in his vision as he worked on your car.

but you could sense his growing frustrating—his laughs turned to scoffs and his smile was tight when you gave a half hearted apology. it wasn’t your fault, you’d always been quiet.

you guess the last straw was the other night. jj woke up at 2am to you not in bed, so he searched for you, you weren’t in the bathroom and you weren’t in the kitchen, chugging a jug of strawberry milk. his heart raced, you had to be there somewhere and it wasn’t like you to disappear like this. by the time he checked outside to still not get a glimpse of you he was panicking and breathing so hard his vision tunneled.

only for him to let out a loud “fuck!” when he got back to your room and there you were, buried under the pillow, asleep again. the next morning you told him you walked right behind him, standing in the doorway and you figured he just needed fresh air.

it took him an hour to settle his heartrate enough to sleep. and in that hour he made a decision.

jj had to get it right, so he snatched one of your necklaces off the counter, tucking it in his pocket as he made his way to the general pet store, nose crinkling at the familiar pet smell. it didn’t take him long, finding a collar with a little bell on it, small enough to sit in the base of your throat, the actual collar was just big enough to be comfortable.

when he took it to the cashier, she made a comment, “didn’t know you got a cat jj. i always took you for a dog guy.”

jj shrugged, “little bitch snuck up on me what can i say.” and with a pop of his gum the conversation was over. he ignored how uncomfortable she looked after that.

getting you in it was another story—he looked too smug, hovering over where you sat on the couch reading.

“got you something.”

you eyed him warily, “got me what…”

he produced the offending item from his pocket, and your stomach churned as hill smile got wider.

“so you stop creepin around the house like some…creep.”

“no…no i dont wanna wear it.” you shook your head fast, your body tensing up to bolt, “jj you’re a dick this ain’t funny.”

“who’s laughin?”

you make it about 3 strides before he catches you, knocking you to the ground and locking your hands to your sides with his knees as you both struggle.

“c’mon, stop fightin you know i’ma win, just relax and let me. put it. on!”

you were wild—biting and scratching in an attempt to push him away, but he’s gotten stronger and he’s gotten meaner so all it takes is a palm against your face, pressing you hard into the floor for him to get it on you.

“fuck! bit the fuck outta me damn, i’m just tryna make shit easy on both of us.” jj bends the plastic of the fastener, knowing the second he gives you an inch you’ll rush to take it off.

and you do, tears of anger and frustration sliding down your face as you beg him to let you go, “just take it off please, i wasn’t trying to worry you i promise but i can’t walk around like this.”

jj’s flushed red, his face damp and sweaty with welts rising on his cheek and arm from where you scratched him, “tough titty kid, it’s for your own good.”

in a split second you go from begging to anger, cursing and swinging on him again.

“you’re a fucking piece of shit. fucking scumbag i’m not a goddamn animal i should kick your fuckin ass.”

rolling his eyes he gets up and shrugs, “you can try. at least this time i’ll hear you.”

after that you become real ornery, dodging kisses and sticking pillows between you while you slept to keep him away. jj could hear you all the time now—a soft jingle punctuated by a growl of frustration or a series of manic curses. and he looked pleased. of course he did. because he found a way to get over on you. and the scissors couldn’t cut through the thick fabric of the collar and when he caught you with the knife to your neck trying to saw it off he basically attached his carabiner to your belt loops to keep you close.

you were officially collared and leashed.

and jj could only stand the fighting so long.

“i know you’re mad at me, but you can’t stay mad.” jj muttered in between kisses to your face, his calloused hand cradling the other one to keep you close—this was as close as you’ve let him get in days, and it was only because he caught you after a shower all soft and languid. he knew he was playing a dangerous game letting his thumb rub against your bottom lip.

“fuckin watch me—stop!” he bit you. hard. right on the soft apple of your cheek before soothing it with a gentle suck.

“nope, no ya can’t. you don’t get to.” the kisses get lower, trailing down your neck as he slips his thumb in your mouth, “you’re all mine pussycat, i can do what i want.” he punctuates that with another bite, right to your clavicle and he continues to litter you in bites and harsh sucking kisses until your covered in bruises.

that makes you bristle, "no i'm not."

"no?"

"fuck you, i'm not."

gripping your thighs he pulls you closer, and he smirks when he spreads you open. even in the low light he can see the dewy pout of your cunt.

"right."

you barely even fight when he pushes in, all rough and claiming like he has something to prove. maybe he does. because your squeezed tight around him in a way that makes him feel crazy, like you don't wanna let him go. because he's just as much yours as you are his. because you're just as desperate as he is. you missed him. kissing him with sharp teeth and clawing him closer until your pressed so tight you can't tell you you end and he begins.

the room quickly becomes a cacophony of sex-- filled with the wet squelch of your pussy and strangled moans from the back of jj's throat. even when he presses against your stomach to make you whine, even as he grunts into your neck with his teeth bared and his tongue laving over your throbbing pulse point.

nothing's louder than the little bell jingling at the hollow of your throat.

[heylittleriotact]

🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

[letsgofullpogue]

I don't usually share my thoughts on the season here, I try to keep it more of an archive than anything, but this shit was a mess and I need to unpack it somewhere. Thoughts on season 4 below the cut.

Groff being JJ's father doesn't make any sense.

Before part two even came out, this little kernel of story rang so false for me. How does Luke wind up with a kook baby who "died" at sea? And the obvious answer is he had an affair with a kook, they had a baby, and, sure, she dies and he has to take care of the baby, leaving him bitter and alone and resentful of JJ. This is a reasonable expectation based on what we know of Luke thus far. But that's not what they're selling. Luke is a good-natured groundskeeper for the Genrettes, forming a light friendship with Larissa and bringing her little baby flowers to light up their days. Chandler, the baby's actual father, lurks in the background, seemingly jealous and controlling and not a fan of Luke. This completely stomps all over what we know to be true about Luke from the beginning, and really wipes out all the beautiful, horrifying work that Rudy and Gary did to build their relationship up until now. What a tragedy.

Why would Chandler kill Larissa and hand off the baby, pretending that he died? Was he hoping that Wes would take him under his wing and he would become the Genrette heir? Why not just keep his own baby with him, who would presumably be the real Genrette heir, coming into the money and property by way of guardianship when he inevitably killed Wes anyway? What's the deal with Chandler and Larissa? Did he marry her for money since he was a Pogue (more on that later)? Is this Foghorn Leghorn accent put on? Did he marry her specifically for her Blackbeard connections? Was it on the order of the Lupine Corsairs? Did he start working with them before he hooked up with Larissa? Was this all part of the plan? Why did Larissa keep her last name? Why in god's name do I care?

Watching Chandler play JJ the whole time requires us to believe that JJ is stupid, and JJ is not stupid. Impulsive, sure. Acts before thinking, absolutely, but not stupid. He's not going to get played this way (especially by a Kook), letting Chandler lock him in a mausoleum, giving him the necklace, giving Chandler his phone. It's insane. And driving around town in the Twinkie while being wanted? Still using their house and surf shop as home base for planning? Stupid stupid stupid.

The retread of scenes we've already done

Pope and Sarah in the tunnel with the rain is Kie in the sewer with the water flushing her out.

JJ and Chandler in the Twinkie is Big John and John B in the Twinkie, and just as bad. I thought they understood that was too much time away from the group, but what I've come to is that they don't actually understand anything.

Wasting too much time with a band of villains, see also last season. At least Singh had an interesting story that somewhat wove into the quest. These guys are just hired grunts. They're not on this hunt for themselves, they were hired to find the crown. Hired by who? And why do we care? They have a code that they live by, but we don't care that one of their faceless guys got killed and that they're out for revenge while pursuing the treasure. They get way too much screen time for us only have ten episodes.

Pope running from the Marines is Pope running from his scholarship interview, with higher stakes consequences that'll never be addressed, I'm sure.

Pope, John B, Cleo, and Sarah in the garage is John B in the garage in season one.

JJ wounded and floating in the water, just like in season two.

JJ and Kie talking about wishes while on watch is surf trip again. I was like, oh wow the chemistry is totally back here, and then I realized that it's fully leaning on the cadence of something that's already happened.

These are not parallels, this is bad writing. Or lazy writing. Or both.

High-stakes actions with no regard for consequences

Speaking of, they're constantly writing themselves into situations they can't get out of at this point. Last year, with JJ making deals with Barracuda Mike, big-time drug dealer, a thing that should have had huge consequences for reneging on the deal, but wound up with none. And in an even bigger 'this doesn't matter', he goes to Barracuda Mike's house this year and demands things of him? Wild and unbelievable.

This year, with JJ assaulting cops and destroying the town, for reasons that don't even really make sense. Wanted and on the run. How do you come back from that? (And a side note. JJ wasn't ever really a physically destructive presence, moreso destructive in the way that he has impulse control issues and acts before he thinks. But JJ has always been the type to take the beating, not start it. Happy to defend himself and his friends, but out of a feeling of usefulness and purpose in the group, not for funsies.)

Also this year with Pope, assaulting a cop, slipping his ankle monitor, and running away from the Marines. THE MARINES. Consequences should be looming, and who knows if we'll get there. But why set these kids on the run for the rest of their lives? The point is this place, the point is these kids. These beautiful idiots with bad luck and good hearts, just trying to get a win. What win is left? Evading jail? Revenge killing? What happened to our little boat show? This is a mess.

A family way

It's insane to me that they would chose to make Sarah pregnant in these circumstances that they've written them into, but then again, it's written by men who seem to have big-time mommy and daddy issues, so why am I surprised? I do feel like the best part of the season is that before John B even knew about the pregnancy, he was basically like I want to be done with this shit. He is not his father, he doesn't yearn for the adventure of it all. He wants to build a life, a normal life, and I wish we had had more time to sit with that and explore it for him.

The dialog

I don't know if it's that they're not improving as much anymore because of ~*reasons*~, but the dialog has gone completely down the tubes. In the last episode of the season, Kiara says "JJ hurry" over and over, at least 5 times in the span of like 15 minutes. When John B, Sarah, and Cleo are running from the Kooks, it's hurry, hurry, hurry. It's either that the writers simply aren't trying anymore or so much of the dialog was filled in with improv that now that everyone hates each other (she says casually and not addressing it at all), they're unwilling to play. Either way, that's their jobs. This show should be so fun to watch and it's becoming a drag.

The filters

I know everyone has complained about the colors of this show the whole time, but it's becoming unforgivable. The blue nighttime filter? I want to throw something at my tv every time they use it. Shoot at night??? Or on a stage? There are options that aren't the most awful fake-looking filters in the world, which, by the way, make watching on any smaller screen completely impossible. I miss those season one South Carolina sunsets. It feels like we've replaced most of those with a really harsh yellow filter that makes lighting people impossible.

Pogues vs. Kooks

That was the setup for this show, right? The haves and the have-nots? Two tribes, one island? Well, now almost every Kook is a Pogue and every Pogue is a Kook. They're muddling the message with bad results, because they still seem to want the tension and the storylines that result from it, but Chandler is a Pogue turned Kook, Ward was a Pogue turned Kook, so is Mike. JJ is a Kook turned Pogue, Rafe, RAFE of all people is working with the Pogues and engaged to one? With season five being the official last season, what will we be left with at the end of all this?

Interviews

So much of what they intended for this story, or what they want the audience to take from this story is told in interviews. I don't know if they're flat-out lying or they really think they nailed it in the telling. They say JJ is freaking out because he finds out he's a Kook, but that's not really what happened on screen, it seems more like he freaks out because their land is being taken from them and Luke's back and betraying them for a deal to keep him out of jail (yeah, not enough time spent on that). That JJ dying was the plan from the beginning which I don't believe was the case for one single second. "JJ is super jealous", where? Show me where because he barely glances at Kiara the entire second half of the season. They're two unsupervised children, dating, living in the same house, who barely ever touch, nevermind kiss. You're making this shit up to get the fans in a frenzy about it and not delivering in the telling.

The biggest fuck you

JJ dying. If talk is to be believed (and I do believe it) Rudy asked to leave and the Pates granted this request by killing him. I'm pissed as hell that the Rudy/Elaine/Madison/Mariah whatever it was ruined a truly great character and couple (the thing that brought me to this show in the first place) and I'm also pissed that it was written this way. Their right as writers and showrunners, I guess. BUT. There is a way to do this and have it make narrative sense and spur the story on and it is their job as writers to figure that out. What they did was strap him with an insane storyline about biological parents that makes no sense, act completely out of character for much of the season, have him pick up a drinking problem that he's never had before (becoming a liability for his friends), and have his new daddy kill him with a 1-inch blade in retribution for *checks notes* not letting him out of a well? Oh, and having his friends bury him in an unmarked grave in a land far from home, a home that they really can't even return to without some of them going to jail for a long time. And now they're out for revenge, as suggested by Rafe.

What is season five going to be? Losing JJ (and Jiara by extension) is a devastating loss for this show. Saddling John B and Sarah with a kid on the way while on the run and actively pursuing very bad people is irresponsible. How can we bring it on home in a way that honors these characters and makes sense of the mess they made of this story? How can we bring it on home at all? I'm not sure, but I guess we'll find out when the time comes. Lord knows, I'll be here until the bitter end.

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For A Demon, Night 4: The Girl & The Glass Slipper (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Lucanis,

I’ve nearly finished the preparations for Caterina’s funeral. Meet me at the Diamond when you can, I could use your help with a few things.

-Teia  

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on his cot, with the letter in his hands. A part of him thinks if he burns it, it won’t be real. Like Caterina’s death could be carried away with embers on the wind. The paper crumples at the edges under the pressure of his grip, and the throbbing in his head won’t stop.

A year in the Ossuary. A year of torture. Of starvation. Of shutting down to his most base instincts. Of Spite.

Then, a light in the darkness. A tiny prickle of hope settled in his chest that Caterina would be waiting for him at the Dellamorte Estate if Rook could break him out. He started to wonder what she would look like after a year. A few more wrinkles on her brow from constantly scowling at everyone (except Teia)? Was her light grey hair wispier and thinner? Would she lose some of her height to age but still stand taller than anyone else in the room?  

There was no time, then, to dwell on those thoughts. They had much to do before he could escape. What had Rook said back then? A prison break, a blood heist, and an assassination just to get her mage killer?

They quickly fought their way through the prison, destroyed his phylactery, and killed Calivan.

And so, a Tevinter mage, a dwarf, and a possessed assassin had walked out of an underwater prison and into a casino. It was like the start to a bad joke.

Unfortunately, he would never get the answers to those questions. Would never see how much or how little she’d changed during his imprisonment. Lucanis learned his grandmother was dead at the hands of the Venatori soon after arriving at the Cantori Diamond with Rook and the others. He missed seeing Caterina again by hours, maybe minutes. Throwing himself into this job with Rook was the only thing that would keep his thoughts on anything but the lingering guilt, and anger, and frustration. It keeps him preoccupied enough that he doesn’t to deal with the fallout of his own emotions.

Lucanis Dellamorte doesn’t need time, he needs a target.

But there’s no target between now and the funeral. There is only time. And he doesn’t know how to fill that time without Madeleina and her stories.

He doesn’t know when she will return from the Grand Necropolis. If she’ll even return in time for the funeral.

Lucanis leans forward on his forearms and faces an uncomfortable truth.

He doesn’t want to return to Treviso without her.

Not for Caterina’s funeral, at least. He knows himself well enough to realize that going alone would be a recipe for disaster. There won’t be a target to bury his sword in. Nowhere for him to escape his thoughts. Nothing to redirect all that pain and anger somewhere else.

Unless she’s beside him, creating wonders with her mind and magic. Sharing a cup of cioccolata, devouring his desserts. Just being there, with no expectation of anything other than good company and trading stories.

I want. To Talk. To Rook. Spite echoes. He’s practically clawing at the back of Lucanis’ eyes. Want. Rook.

The demon’s howling in his head grows louder. It takes every ounce of hard-won self-discipline, hewn from a childhood of starvation and torture, to put up a wall between the echoes of Spite and the rest of him.

“Enough, Spite” He growls, tossing the letter aside and gripping the sides of his head. He shuts his eyes tight, as if that will keep Lucanis in and Spite out.

Find. Rook. NOW.

He squeezes harder until tresses of raven hair are bunched between his fingers.

Find. Rook. Find. Rook. Find. ROOK.

WHERE. IS. ROOK.

“Mierda! Spite! STOP!”

A flash of pain, a gush of blood from his nose. He grunts and wipes the blood dripping down his nose with the back of his hand. Lucanis is used to Spite’s retaliations but that doesn’t make them any less pleasant to deal with.

His tantrum mirrors the one from their first night at the Lighthouse.

The first night that Madeleina insisted they could find a way to help him. Outright rejected, and even seemed a little angry, at the mere mention of killing him to cure his possession.

He now understood why she staunchly defended him and Spite against those in the group that were wearier of them. Lucanis would have never guessed, not in a million years, that the bubbly and joke-slinging Rook was almost possessed by a demon herself once. And not just any demon, despair. It was one of the strongest variants of demons because it feeds from one of the strongest emotions; the antithesis of hope, that small light in the distance that makes one willing to endure any torture, any hardship, for the promise of something better. Despair was a void, an abyss. So easy to sink into and never return.

She almost sank into that void.

Spite was an unpleasant demon to deal with, downright bratty and vindictive most of the time– but he couldn’t imagine pure despair.

It ate up her life until nothing was left.

As his thoughts turn to Madeleina’s story, Spite, miraculously seems to settle.

Only for a moment, because just now, he hears a soft knock at the door. Normally he would have heard the person before their footfalls even reached his doorstep – would have clocked exactly who it was, too, by the sounds of their footsteps.

Short, brisk steps for Harding. Light skips for Bellara. A soft clink and a confident step for Neve. And sure, even steps for Davrin.

Soft, unhurried, leisurely steps for Rook.

“Hey Lucanis, can I come in?” Comes Madeleina’s soft voice from the other side of the door.

Rook. He can feel Spite’s cheshire grin at the edges of his consciousness.

Although they are of one mind, he doesn’t know what the demon’s infatuation with Rook is. What it means for her. What it could mean for both of them. And that scares him. This tenuous reliance he’s building with her - Spite is an unknown variable in that equation. Until he’s solved it, he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. Even if that means denying what he may feel for her. That thing he still doesn’t have a name for.

“Come in” He answers, quickly wiping clean the last of the blood before it dries down and he has something to explain to Rook.

The door opens, and in she steps. She’s looking much better than a few days ago when he found her in the music room eating Solas’ ancient cheese.

Why was Solas storing cheese in the music room when he had a pantry?

He refocuses. She’s wearing her casual Shadow Dragon armor – a lilac purple ensemble with a red sash around the middle that does her ample curves every favour.

He stops that train of thought with a hello and a forced smile.

Smells like death stink and mothballs. Not. Right.

“Back from the Necropolis already?” He asks, desperate to ignore Spite, “Did you find Bellara’s Fade expert?”

Rook smiles and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet. She’s beaming so hard he worries she might fly through the roof.

“We did!” She gushes, “Professor Emmrich Volkarin. He’s quite the character- you can really tell he’s got a passion for what he does. I’ve never heard someone explain sub-astral manifestation so eloquently! And!”

She excitedly holds a finger up, “He has a skeleton assistant!”

Lucanis takes a pause.

“The Necromancer … brought a skeleton with him…”

Madeleina frowns. “Not just any skeleton. This one moves. Of his own accord! And he speaks – well hisses, but sometimes I think I can tell what he’s saying. His name is Manfred and he’s absolutely delightful. I was just having tea with the Professor and Manfred brought me a nice cup of jasmine – that he made himself!”

When he doesn’t share her excitement, she lifts a brow.

“What? You’re not a fan of necromancy?”

Lucanis sighs and folds his arms over his chest. “I’m a large believer that dead things should stay dead. It’s every assassin’s worst nightmare to plan a kill down to the minute, and the target starts walking again”

Madeleina considers his response and shrugs, “I guess that makes sense. I still think it’s incredible though.” Brows drawn together in thought, she puts a thumb under her chin and looks down “I’ll have to pick his brain later about the metaphysical implications of necromancy and how Fade resonance may impact reanimation…”

“Madeleina?”

She snaps her attention to him once more, “Oh… sorry”

Lucanis shakes his head and gives her a light smile. He doesn’t want to linger on how cute she looks when she’s deep in thought. The way her brows scrunch together. Dark, wispy lashes falling over light green eyes. The corners of her soft, full lips pulling down. Ringlets of brown curls falling over her face. No, he won’t linger on that.

“I … wanted to ask you something. If you have a minute”

Madeleina straightens and smiles. “Of course. What’s going on?”

“Teia wants to meet”

She grins, “That hardly sounds like a bad thing.”

Madeleina and Teia, although having met only briefly, had already become fast friends. There’s something in their easygoing nature that attracts everyone to them. They spin people around their light, catching them in their orbits, like planets circling the sun.

“She wants to plan Caterina’s funeral”

Madeleina’s face falls almost instantly, and she looks like she’s about to kick herself for her comment earlier. “Oh …. Right ….”

He hesitates, and silence falls between them. Madeleina still isn’t looking at him.

He sighs, and builds up the courage to ask her what he was going to seek her out for.

“If you don’t mind, I … could use some back up.” He points to his head, “In case Spite gets out of hand”

Her green eyes meet his own. Sometimes he feels like she’s drowning him with her gaze, pulling him in until there is nothing but her.

“Let’s not keep Teia waiting then”

~*~

They meet Teia and Illario on the top floor of the Cantori Diamond.

“Good! You’re here” Teia smiles warmly.

“Thank you for making the arrangements, Teia” He gives a respectful bow of his head. Lucanis knows what Caterina meant to Teia. The old bird always had a soft spot for her. Then again, he’s certain almost everyone did. Even one prickly, and all-too-peculiar Fifth Talon.

She waves him off, “For Caterina? How could I do otherwise?”

Her pretty features fall into an expression of mixed pity and sorrow.

“I’m so sorry Lucanis…” She starts, turning towards him, “This must be such a blow”

Teia then turns to Rook, and flashes her a dazzling smile.

“Rook, thank you for coming with him. I need one Dellamorte to help plan this” She jerks her head to his cousin, standing behind her like a shadow, “This one has been no help at all”

Illario frowns, not even contesting the point. “I’m sorry Teia. This is just … too much right now”

Illario always caves under pressure. Lucanis reigns in the sigh that desperately wants to escape his lips.

Madeleina gives Teia an earnest smile, and puts a hand on her chest, “If there’s anything I can do, just say the word”

Teia’s smile grows even wider at that. “You’re such a dear. I hope these two are paying attention”, she grins at both Lucanis and Illario.

He’s not sure why he says what he says next, but the second the words fly out he wants to pull them back with his hand and shove them into his mouth.

“Teia, don’t flirt with my … colleague”

Teia gives him a knowing smirk, “Jealous?”

He’s going to protest, but she continues before he has a chance. “Fine, to business then. There’s a lot to plan, but first, I need the ashes”

She casts an expectant glance at Illario, who looks caught off guard. Unusual.

“… Ashes…?” He repeats slowly.

Teia puts a hand on her hip and frowns, annoyed. “Maker help us, yes, the ashes! Caterina’s ashes. From the cremation?”

“Oh, yes, of course” Illario gestures and smiles, but there’s something insincere about it – even for him. “I’ll get them to you rightaway”

He can’t stop himself from asking, “Illario … what happened?”

Madeleina tenses next to him. Illario just looks confused.

“What do you mean?”

Mierda. What else could I mean, he thinks, wondering if his cousin is playing dumb on purpose just to piss him off. “Caterina” he answers, barely hiding the aggravation in his voice, “How did the Venatori get to her? When? Where? In the Estate? In the City”

He wants to stop, but he can’t. His mouth is forming words faster than his brain can think them.

“How did they get past our people? What did they use? Poison? Blades? I need to know”

Illario frowns and there’s something almost patronizing in his voice when he speaks next. It frays every nerve in Lucanis’ body. “Cousin. Stop. You can’t dwell on this- it will drive you mad”

“I’m not dwelling” He frowns. Lucanis can hardly believe he even needs to ask for these details. Illario should be offering them up unprompted. “Zara killed the First Talon. I have to know how if I’m going to stop her”

“I told you, I’m handling it” The hard, almost defiant edge in Illario’s voice strikes another nerve. Some deep, raw, primal anger he’s trying hard to pull back from, lest he give Spite more fodder.

There is something off about his cousin, and he can’t quite pinpoint what. Was he really acting unusual, or had he truly changed so drastically in the time he’s been away, that Illario may as well be stranger?

Teia interrupts his thoughts with an exasperated sigh, “Boys, enough of this. We have other things to discuss”

“My apologies, Andarateia. Continue without me. I’ll … get you the ashes” Illario says quickly, seemingly desperate for a reason to excuse himself. He all but takes off down the hallway.

Madeleina clears her throat. Lucanis might have forgotten she was standing next to during that odd exchange with Illario, but there’s a certain steadiness she provides him that makes it impossible to do so.

“How are you holding up, Lucanis?” She asks quietly. He can tell there’s more she wants to say but is keeping it to herself- perhaps to divulge later, or, to simply bury away in her own mind.

“I’ll be fine” He nods, “Better once we kill Zara Renata”

Lucanis jerks his head to the spot where Illario stood just moments before, “It’s him I’m worried about”

Teia folds her arms over her chest, and concedes, “Illario can be a handful sometimes”. She shakes her head and turns in the direction he sprinted off in, “But this … the only time I’ve seen him like this is when we thought Lucanis died”

Her expression morphs into something softer, more teasing. Teia grins, slyly, “You’re worrying, aren’t you. What will people say when they learn the ‘Demon of Vyrantium’ has a big, soft heart”

Madeleina looks like she’s holding back a giggle.

You’re more heart than you give yourself credit for.

Now was not the time for this. Lucanis decides to ignore her comment for his own sanity.

“He’s been careless at times, but never when his own life was on the line. Zara took down the First Talon. Anyone could be next. And my cousin doesn’t want to think about it?”

“You’re right, it’s not like Illario to ignore the knife coming at him …”

Lucanis decides to shift the subject. “What do you need from me for the funeral?”

Teia looks happy for the distraction. She smiles, and motions for the two of them to follow her, “Come” The Seventh Talon says, as she makes for the grand, winding staircase, “I’ll get us some drinks, and we can talk about the arrangements”

~*~

The funeral passes by in a blur.

Madeleina, excited to show off some new spells she’s learned in her short time with the Necromancer, helped set up the decorations for the funeral. She summoned wisps to close all the curtains in the casino – an Antivan tradition thought to keep wayward souls from wandering. The wisps also carted flowers – boughs of deep crimsons, blacks, and purples, to and fro, setting them down gently wherever she commanded.

There are words and prayers from a revered mother of Treviso’s Chantry, from Teia, and a few from him. But none from Illario. He doesn’t know what to make of that but decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. Lucanis is dead for a year, shows up, and now Caterina is gone. He supposed to it would be a lot for anyone to take in.

He and Madeleina have found a quiet hallway after the funeral. Most of the attendants have already filtered out of the casino, a sea of black flooding Treviso’s narrow streets.

Madeleina sits beside him, in that familiar, companionable silence they’ve come to enjoy with each other. She plays with a wisp she’s summoned, smiling as the faint green-blue creature of the Fade makes playful circles around her hand.

“Thank you … for being here today” He says quietly.

Madeleina turns to him and smiles, “No need to thank me. It’s what friends are for”

Friends?

This is the first time she’s ever called them… something. He supposed friend was an apt description. He ignores the how the word makes his heart tug lower into his stomach.

“Goodbye little friend, thank you for your assistance” She whispers to the Wisp, and snaps it out of existence. He feels – well, something, at being referred to in the same manner as this little ball of light from the Fade. He’s not sure it’s a good something.

He doesn’t know how to ask her this. If there’s even a normal way to ask what he wants her to do for him. Oh well.

“Madeleina … will you … will you show her to me?” He hopes he doesn’t have to elaborate.

He wants to see what Caterina looks like through Madeleina’s eyes. How much she had changed, how much she stayed the same since his time in the Ossuary.

His faith in her is not misplaced. Madeleina’s expression softens with understanding.

Smells like roses and incense, Spite remarks quietly.  

Madeleina wordlessly conjures an image, with an elegant flourish of her hand, of Caterina. There is much of her that is the same. That familiar stony expression, that fierce, indominatable look in her narrow eyes. But she has changed, too. There’s a faint glimmer of sorrow he can pick out, even in her illusion. Her frown lines are more prominent. Her hair is a bit shorter, thinner than he remembers. She has more age spots. But her cane, her long leather overcoat- those are still as he recalls them.

He can tell from the look on her face that she’s concentrating hard, likely trying to remember every last detail of Caterina.

For him.

Lucanis releases a soft, pained breath. Almost shuddering. Tears prick at the edges of his eyes, and he bites his tongue to keep them from escaping. He can’t look at her anymore.

When he turns away for a moment, Madeleina waves her hand, and the illusion of Caterina vanishes on the wind.

“Lucanis…?”

Her hand is hovering next to his arm. Not touching, but close enough to feel its warmth, the comfort it provides. “Are you alright?”

Lucanis gives her a sidelong glance and forces his mouth to stretch into a tight smile. “Yes – yes, I’m alright. Thank you”

She’s gotten quite good at picking out his lies. Impressive for someone who’s not a trained assassin. Or perhaps he’s merely let too much of himself be free and unrestrained in front of her, that she’s gleaned all of his tells.

Madeleina is quiet for a moment.

“How about a story?” she pulls her hand away from by his shoulder and rests it on her lap. “One with a happy ending today, maybe”

He chuckles bitterly. A small part of him was hoping she would offer that. He’s asked too much of her already to say it himself.

Alone in a dimly lit hallway, sitting on a bench underneath an alcove. He supposes it’s as good a spot as any. This is as quiet as he’s ever heard the casino. Teia must have closed up shop early after the funeral, because there is no raucous laughter from the gambling halls.

“I’ll take that as a yes” Madeleina turns her body slightly, so she’s facing him. “I think I know just the one”

Lucanis lets himself relax for the first time all day. He lets the tension fall from his jaw, his shoulders, his legs, and simply watches and listens.

“This one comes from Starkhaven” she starts, leaning closer for a conspiratorial whisper “Some say it’s actually the story of King Artesian Vael and Queen Wilhemina Vael from all way back in the Exalted age” Madeleina leans back and shrugs, “More than likely she got tied up in it because he was the first King to marry outside of royalty. It’s called ‘The Girl and the Glass Slipper’”

Lucanis can’t tell whether he enjoys her little history lessons for what they are, or he just likes the sound of her voice. He watches intently as her hands glow blue, and with another flourish, conjures her first image.

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a happy family”

Three figures spring to life, rotating in the space between them. A tall, lanky man, with a kind countenance. A younger woman – beautiful with long, curly hair, and soft features. A little girl, with her mother’s hair, and her father’s gentle eyes.

“Her father was a travelling merchant, and so his work took him away for long stretches of time. But he always brought his girl back something special, just for her”

Madeleina smiles and the family disappears.

A figurine of a delicate porcelain ballet dancer spins in place. Then, it morphs into a hardcover tome – he can’t make out the title, but it looks far too large and complicated for a child’s bedtime storybook. The book becomes a gilded hair brush, before fading into nothing.

The family appears once again, but the mother is on her knees, with the other two standing behind her. The figure coughs several times and doubles over again.

“But her mother was not well. With time, she kept getting sicker and sicker” Madeleina continues, “As she was dying, she said to her daughter ‘Be good, be pious, be courageous – and above of all, be kind. Do this, and the Maker will take care of you where I cannot’”

The woman holds her daughter’s hand in hers, before she scatters into ashes on some invisible wind.

“And the girl was kind” Madeleina continued wistfully. She raised her hand, and the girl changed into a beautiful young woman. “Kind to others, kind to the animals in her care and those that weren’t” She is visited by all manner of wildlife – squirrels, birds, mice, chickens – even deer. The woman hands out food to each of them – big or small.

“In time” Madeleina waves the girl and the animals out of existence, replacing them with the figure of the father and three others. “Her father decides to remarry.”

The other woman has sharp, elegant features. Her thin lips are set in a permanent sneer. Her two daughters appear to share this feature.

“The Vicomtessa and her daughters quickly make themselves at home. At first… they’re cold, but polite”

The woman is seen trying to befriend the two stepdaughters, but they turn their noses up at her and walk away down some invisible corridor.

“One day, her father has to go away on another business trip. He asks the girls what they would like as presents. ‘Fine clothes!’ answers the first sister. ‘Fine jewels!’ exclaims the other.” The two sisters are practically falling over themselves at their imaginary jewels and clothes.

The scene shifts to the young woman and her father next.

“But his daughter thinks for a moment, before answering. ‘Bring me the first twig, father, that your traveller’s cap strikes on your way home. That is what I should like you to bring me.’”

She and her father embrace briefly, before he disappears into the air.

“But he would never return home. He’d fallen ill on the road back from Orlais. One of the servants who travelled with him brought the girl a hazel twig in a small box. ‘What of my jewels!’ cried the first sister, ‘What of my clothes!’ cried the second.”

Then, the stepmother appears behind them and slaps each on the shoulder. It looks so realistic he swears he can hear the sound of her gloved hand striking skin.

“’Quiet you fools – don’t you see we’re ruined’ The stepmother said. And she began consolidating the father’s remaining assets as her own. She releases all of the staff, that she may take the money meant for their upkeep to enrich herself”

The figure of the woman watches as a few faceless servants leave with rucksacks and little wagons of their belongings. The stepmother appears behind her.

“’But madam – ‘The girl starts, ‘How shall we maintain the estate without our people?’”

Lucanis already doesn’t like where this is going.

The stepmother’s figure boasts a wicked smile, sharp enough to cut glass.

“The girl was forced to take on the role of all the servants who left. They took her bedroom so the sisters may keep their dresses, always in the latest fashion from Orlais, stored away there.”

The young woman is now dressed in a tattered, old kirtle. Her long hair is pulled back into a bun, as she sweeps. Then washes the invisible floor. Then hangs the laundry. Then dutifully feeds the animals. But she never frowns. She always smiles and signs while she works.

“The stepmother and stepsisters treat her terribly. But the girl is always kind, as her mother told her to be”

Want to stab. Spite thinks gleefully. Stab. The sisters.

The sisters point and laugh as she does the chores. The stepmother watches with cruel indifference.

“Every night she lies down by hearth, for she has no bed, and wakes with the marks of cinder ash on her face” Madeleina has the figure of the girl curled up by a ghostly fire. “And so, they call her Cinderella – a cruel joke”

“One day, a proclamation from the palace comes. ‘All maidens of marriageable age are invited to attend a ball, in honour of his Royal Highness, Prince Theodore, that he may find a wife. The stepmother and stepsisters waste no time spending what little coin they have left of their dwindling fortunes on the most expensive dresses they could get their hands on”

The stepmother and stepsisters twirl about in puffy, fancy – gaudy, ballgowns, while the girl watches in her rags.

“’But I am also of age’ Cinderella proclaims. The stepsisters laugh,” The figure of the stepmother cuts them off with a hand, and the girls are silent. “’You may go to the ball if you finish your chores. Sweep the kitchen, the parlor, the bedrooms. Then wash the floors. Afterwards, wash, dry, and fold all of the laundry. Mend all the clothes. Feed the animals. Collect the eggs and milk. Clean the stables.’ On and on the stepmother went with an impossibly long list of chores. And it was meant to be impossible, for she would not allow Cinderella to go to the ball”

Madeleina frowns and waves the figures out of existence. She blinks and rubs her eyes.

“Madeleina – what’s wrong?” Lucanis asks quickly, daring to lean closer.

She pinches her cheek, leaving a red welt in place. “Mmm … yeah. I guess I used a lot of magic to help with Caterina’s funeral” Her eyes blink in and out of focus. She slaps her own cheeks a few times to perk up. “It’s easier to keep the illusions up in the Lighthouse since it’s in the Fade. I don’t need to expend as much mana”

“If you’re tired – “

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave. “No, no… I’m fine, I’ll be fine. I just need a moment. The story’s almost done anyway”

Madeleina sucks in a deep breath and exhales. With a clap of her hands, she’s launching back into her story.

“Where was I? Right”

She waves the figure of Cinderella back into existence, who is sweeping an invisible floor.

“Cinderella, although she tries her best, doesn’t finish all of her chores in time for the ball.”

A carriage, led by two decorated chargers, appears next. The stepmother and stepsisters push Cinderella aside as they climb into the carriage. He watches as it speeds away and vanishes into thin air.

The dejected form of Cinderella drops her broom and starts crying silent tears.

“She can’t help but cry. All she has ever been is kind to her stepmother and stepsisters. Why do they treat her so? What did she ever do to them?”

As the girl cries, he sees the hazel twig from earlier in the story reappear in front of her. The twig transforms into a ghostly figure of the girl’s mother. Cinderella looks up.

“But from far away in the Fade, her mother’s spirit hears her cry for help. ‘My child, you have done as I asked. You have been so courageous and so kind. The Maker bade me return to your side. Fear not Cinderella, for you will go to the ball tonight”

The figure of the mother waves her hands in the air and summons a gilded carriage, with two ghostly chargers – eyes glowing white like burning diamonds, to helm it. Her kirtle transforms into a beautiful gown, with rose appliques decorating the skirts. The figure of Cinderella peaks her foot from underneath the ballgown. Her feet are clad in wooden clogs, the inelegant footwear contrasting her incredible gown.

“’But mother, what of my shoes?’ She asks, and the spirit of her mother smiles. ‘I shall give you the finest shoes this Kingdom has ever seen or will ever see!’” And with a wave of her ghostly hand, the clogs transform into iridescent glass slippers. Lucanis leans in closer to inspect them. Madeleina has even managed to create the illusion of prisms of light reflecting off of them.

Will her wonders ever cease?

The mother shoos her daughter into the carriage quickly, “’Go on now! Time runs late – my magic will only hold until the bell tolls midnight! Fly Cinderella and find your happiness!’”

“’Thank you, mother!’ she cries”

He can’t help but smile as Cinderella is spirited away to the ball.

Madeleina conjures the image of a grand ballroom next. A string quartet in one corner. Nobility and commoners alike spinning about the dancefloor.

When the figure of Cinderella appears, the crowd parts immediately. If the figures could speak, he would be hearing shocked gasps and whispers.

“Cinderella arrives at the ball, and the Prince immediately takes notice”

A handsome young man dressed in an elegant doublet makes his way towards the figure of Cinderella, bows low at the waist, and holds out his arm for her. She takes his arm, and they begin spinning about the dance floor in a slow waltz.

“And when they dance together, it’s like there’s no one else in the world” Madeleina snaps her figure, and the rest of the crowd disappears. “The two quickly fall in love. And just as about the Prince is about to ask her name, the first toll of midnight arrives”

The figure of Cinderella parts from the Prince quickly and begins to run away. He chases after her, only stopping to pick up a glass slipper she left behind. “Cinderella runs to the carriage, and has it take her home. Although she only danced with the Prince for a short while, that little memory was beautiful enough to keep her warm for the rest of her life”

The figure of Cinderella is back at the manor, scrubbing the air below her clean, with a smile on her face.

“The stepmother and stepsisters return home, incensed that the Prince’s eye was caught by someone else. They don’t suspect for a moment the mystery princess was Cinderella. For she had nothing in her possession that beautiful – they had made sure of that”

The scene is now of the prince, staring at the glass slipper.

“Try as he might, Prince Theodore couldn’t forget about the mystery woman he danced with. He had to know who she was. He decided he would have every woman in the kingdom try on the glass slipper. He takes his Guard Captain, Ser Arryn, and rides out to find his true love”

The figure of the prince tries time and again, with girls of all shapes and sizes, to fit the slipper to one of them. All for nought.

“Eventually, he arrives at the home of the Vicomtessa, and her daughters eagerly try to make the glass slipper fit their feet. But the older sister’s feet are far too large, and she is too forceful. She breaks the slipper in half”

The older sister looks on in horror as the broken glass slipper lies in her hands. The Prince sinks to his knees, devastated that he’ll never find his true love now”

But the figure of Cinderella appears in the scene a moment later, smiling brightly.

“’Fear not your highness’ she says, ‘For I have its twin’” Madeleina waves her hand and has the figure of Cinderella pull out the other glass slipper. The Prince gently takes it in his hand, drops to one knee, and places it on her foot. A perfect fit.

The two share an embrace.

“Cinderella and the Prince are married. And they lived happily ever after”

Stab. The sisters? Spite asks.

When he doesn’t react to the ending of her story, Madeleina blinks and waves a hand in front of his face.

“Lucanis?”

He shakes his head and comes to. Lucanis grins sheepishly, “Spite wants to know if anyone stabs the stepsisters”

Madeleina makes a face and chuckles, “No Spite. There’s no stabbing in this story”

Not fair. Want to stab.

“What does happen to the stepmother and stepsisters?” He asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Ah, good question. There’s a few different variations but the most common one seems to be that they are relegated to working as servants when they lose their own fortune”

“I would’ve poisoned them” He adds, with a satisfied grin.

Madeleina laughs, “Well, when you tell the story, you can add that in”

They share a smile and settle back into silence for a few moments. He watches her blink in and out of consciousness. She’s rocking back and forth unsteadily. Lucanis reaches an arm behind her back – not quite touching her.

“Madeleina?”

“Mmm?” Her vision is bleary and unfocused. She’s facing him, but not looking at him.

“Mierda” He whispers. He knew he shouldn’t have let this go on.

She falls face forward against his right shoulder, unconscious. He would be concerned, if not for her gentle, steady breathing. Nothing dangerous, evidently. Just in dire need of some sleep.

A flush creeps on the back of his neck and his ears.

Her head is resting against his shoulder. The rest of her body is practically limp. Lucanis’ heart is pounding in his chest. So loud he can practically hear the frantic pace.

Quiet snores fill the air. He doesn’t know what to do. He keeps his hands laced together, almost afraid they’ll fly away from him if he doesn’t. To her hair, her cheeks, her lips.

To his surprise, relief, and horror, Andarateia Cantori comes sauntering down the hallway and spies the pair in that compromising position.

Mercifully, she doesn’t say anything but gives him a knowing look that he doesn’t like. He can’t find the strength to meet her warm, brown eyes.

Teia turns to Madeleina and gently nudges her awake.

“Come cariña, I’ll show you to your room for the night, hmm?” She whispers to the woman on his shoulder. Madeleina blinks a few times and rubs her eyes, parting from his shoulder. She’s so tired she doesn’t even realize what’s transpired or where she’s been sleeping. She takes Teia’s hand and lets the elf pull her to a standing position. She’s wobbly, but Teia steadies her with a hand on her back.

The two women start making their way down the hallway, leaving Lucanis alone with his thoughts.

That is, before he sees Viago trail after them.

The other Talon stops to give him a look.

“Shut up Viago” Lucanis mutters, pushing himself by his thighs to stand.

“I didn’t say anything” He replies cooly, but the slight quirk in his lips says more than enough.

“Mierda…”

[greekmythcomix]

The Palace of Odysseus

I think I had an epiphany about the layout of Odysseus’ palace in the Odyssey today. It might be really obvious to other people but I can’t resist a rabbithole!

NB I’m just working with translations here, not the original text, using the Rieu for quotations

Penelope’s quarters and the women’s quarters:

- these seem to be upstairs but with easy access to the megaron - “wise Penelope came down from her apartment, and they drew up a chair for her by the fire” (Book 19) and she’s always described as going up to her bedroom to cry herself to sleep. It is not unusual in Mycenaean palace complexes to have more than one storey. She has access to the megaron (the hall) from her private quarters, as she comes down with her maids to speak to the suitors in there. From the megaron we are told there is a door that leads to the women’s quarters, which would seem to be in the same place as both Penelope and the maids seem to be locked out of the megaron by closing the doors to the hall that can be locked: Book 19, Eurycleia “locked the doors leading from the fine hall” behind her when she goes back to the women’s quarters, and she does this again in Book 21 just before the Suitors get slaughtered, to stop the maids coming down to help and Penelope from getting involved.

So, a suite of rooms upstairs, the maids rooms (where, presumably, the looms are), next to Penelope’s (and Odysseus’) room, for ease of servitude.

Telemachus’ room:

He’s no longer a child, so wouldn’t be in the women’s spaces, and does not sleep up in the women’s and Penelope’s quarters: when Eurycleia has locked the doors from the hall to the women’s quarters, and he is done helping Odysseus hide the weapons, “he went off through the hall to find his way by torchlight to the bedroom where he always slept”. This sounds like it’s off the megaron somewhere, but not through the locked doors or upstairs.

So, a ground-floor room, somewhere off the megaron.

The Storeroom:

We get a little description of where the storeroom is in Books 21 and 22.

- Penelope goes to get the Great Bow at the start of Book 21: “She then made her way with her ladies to a store-room in a distant corner of the palace where her lord's treasure was kept - bronze, gold and 1o wrought iron. Here too was the supple bow and quiver full of deadly arrows which had been given to him by his friend the godlike Iphitus,”

- Melanthius tells the Suitors he will go to the store room: “ ‘The big door into the courtyard is alarmingly near, and the mouth of the passage is dangerously narrow: one strong man could keep us all back single-handed. But let me fetch you some armour to put on from the store-room’ … So Melanthius the goatherd went up by devious ways through the palace to Odysseus store-room, where he helped himself to a dozen shields and spears…”

In the first passage, the storeroom is tucked away and Penelope doesn’t seem to need to go through the megaron to access it (as when she comes into that hall to speak to the suitors, they seem surprised) and in the second Melanthius sounds like he has to follow a twisty route to get to the storeroom. So, it must be accessible from the megaron, but also isn’t next to it, and is accessible from other parts of the building too, which would make it difficult for it to be open and yet still inaccessible to the women from their quarters. I’m imagining it down a corridor that comes off the megaron, with a door to the room itself that Penelope opens with a key she normally keeps in her room, and then which she leaves open or, at least, isn’t described as closing, suggesting how Ody and Tele access it in Book 22. However, Odysseus and Telemachus seem to have had access to the storeroom in Book 19 when they’re putting away the weapons from the hall, without the need of a key. So, it warrants asking: are there two storerooms? One that Penelope keeps the gold and Odysseus’ bow in, that’s tucked away, and another one which is more regularly open and contains armour and weapons and is accessed via the megaron? It would be pretty sensible to have two different rooms for things you wanted guests to be able to access and others that you do not.

So, two storerooms: one accessible from the upper rooms and down a corridor somewhere, and the one with the armour in it, with a door that can be closed, but off the megaron, through an entrance that can’t be barred.

The great hall/megaron:

Given the similarity between this area of the palace complex in Mycenae, Pylos and Tiryns, would also reasonably expect the one in Ithaca to be the same.

(I’ve nicked an internet image here)

Nb there’s an opening in the roof above the hearth in most reconstructions, just like in the Minoan Knossos palace throne room reconstruction.

The king sits on the throne opposite the fire, unable to be seen from the porch. Guests would enter through the front porch and sit here by the columns, waiting to be called in by a herald. This is where Odysseus sits when a beggar in the palace, and where Irus the other beggar finds him in Book 18. It’s also where Odysseus and his friends stand, blocking the threshold for the suitors, in Book 22 when the slaughter begins. It could have had doors that are closed - in Book 18, Odysseus fights Irus “on the polished threshold in front of the high doors”, and in Book 22, Melanthius tells Agelaus that “the big door to the courtyard is alarmingly near”, but I don’t know if the original word is ‘door’ or ‘portal/opening’. And, Odysseus sends Philoetius to bind closed the gates of the courtyard so no one can get out of the palace compound - if they get out of the megaron they still can’t get out of the palace. So are these doors closed? Is there an actual door?

This porch ‘door’ does seem to be different to the ones leading from the megaron to the women’s’ quarters: when Odysseus is sending Eumaeus to speak to Eurycleia to get her to lock the women’s’ quarter doors in Book 21, Philoetius is binding shut the gates in the courtyard at the same time:

“Without a word Eurycleia went and locked the doors leading out of the great hall. At the same time Philoetius slipped quietly out and barred the door leading into the courtyard, which he made fast with a ship's hawser of reeds that was lying under the colonnade. This done, he went in and sat down on the stool he had left, with his eyes fixed on Odysseus.”

So, they must be different doors. It’s also not described that the porch doors are physically closed. That might be instantly suspicious, I would guess.

The side door:

There’s a moment in Book 22 where Odysseus tells Eumaeus to guard the ‘side door’ in the megaron:

“Now let into the solid masonry of the wall there was a side door, on the same level as the raised threshold of the hall, that gave access to a passage. It was usually kept firmly shut with close-fitting doors. Odysseus told the swineherd to stand on guard by this side door, to which there was only one approach.”

This is the same passage that Melanthius describes as “dangerously narrow”. Agelaus seems convinced a man could “climb to the side door and and tell the people and raise the alarm?” This sounds to me like this is a kind of Sally port/emergency exit, like the one we find at Mycenae:

This is an extremely small doorway, limiting access or egress to one person at a time, and passage that goes through the external walls themselves, at the back of the citadel where the ravines tower over the city and it’s very sheltered. The interesting description of the ‘side door’ in the megaron of Odysseus’ palace and the way Agelaus says you must “climb up” to it and would then be outside the city possibly means it’s not immediately accessible, a little way up the wall, which is why Odysseus only needs one person to guard it, but is a shortcut out of the palace. It’s also such a fussy detail and one that isn’t referred to again that it makes it seem very real, like the poet is referring to a real place he has seen or been in.

The Courtyard:

We know it has gates because Philoetius locks them, but also Eumaeus describes them in Book 17: “Athene are buildings beyond buildings; the courtyard wall with its coping is a fine piece of work and those folding doors are true defence. No one could storm it.”

We also know there’s a pile of dung “in profusion at the gate, awaiting removal by Odysseus’ servants for use as manure around the estate” (book 17), and poor Doggo Argus is lying in it.

We also know it has mills: in Book 20, a woman grinding corn in one of “the king’s hand-mills” in “a building nearby” can be heard speaking by Odysseus, originally lying in the porch is now standing outside it, so they must be in the courtyard.

It possibly has a well - Eurycleia orders the maids to go get water form “the well”, although given its proximity to the fountain where the people draw their water (book 17), that might be what is being referred to. But, again, any good stronghold is going to have its own water supply, and the maids came back from the well “soon”, so I reckon it would have its own in the courtyard.

The palace complex overall:

From all these details, combined with what we know of Ithaca being much smaller, almost ‘backwater’ kingdom compared to those of Mycenae and Tiryns, and those citadels being on high ground, here’s what I’ve managed to extrapolate:

What do you reckon?

[midnight-soulless-system]

Since it's bark, here are some things you need to be aware of. As someone who's abusive parent put on 4 different monitoring apps (it was HELL to get them all on because they'd constantly alert of each other nd it took weeks or tech support from best buy and all of the companies to install them "decent enough" for her) because she got mad I told my other mother that my cousin was cutting themself, here's the rundown of this app. I have decent experience fucking with the system in a way that doesn't raise much suspicion.

Browsing history, music (they can access all of your music accounts if they'd like and log in as you. They can do this on any website that they want to if they get your phone and hit a button letting them have full access to that account from the bark app on their phone), what you're viewing at any moment, texts (if it contains "concerning content" so basically anything worth deleting), photos, videos, email, and almost all social media apps. They do NOT have access to monitoring Bluesky however.

It can monitor these browsers: firefox, chrome/google, default browsing. Incognito will either not work or will still be able to be monitored. Don't even try it.

Notes, and voice memos can also be monitored on Apple phones. Discord, TikTok, Skype, and Snapchat CANNOT be monitored on Apple phones. I hate apple phones, but this is one good situation. Only safari can be monitored on IoS (apple) phones.

On all computers they can monitor the above except for firefox. It will also monitor Microsoft Edge.

ALL of your google drives and google emails will be shared if it is on that device. If you have hidden emails on your devices, log out of them immediately.

They will recieve alerts if Bark thinks you are viewing porn, getting bullied, engaging with predators, or mention drugs in any way. Bark updates frequently about slang and "innapropriate" emojis.

It will almost constantly update your physical location.

Now. This is all pretty fucking shitty. How are some ways you can deal with the damage of such a privacy breach? Here's how:

Never write about suicidal ideation, self harm, nsfw, or drugs on your devices. Immediately delete any hate, and do NOT get into arguments online.

Do not search anything that you think could even *possibly* be blocked. They will get an alert immediately.

If you ever need to go somewhere you don't want them to know about? Turn off all of the devices on you.

A friend have an old phone that they are getting rid of? Ask if you can have it. There are many messaging apps you can download without a phone plan, you just can't send SMS messages or call people. Connect to the wifi if you need to use the phone. Hide this always, and do not use it at night as it poses the risk of you falling asleep with it. You can use this phone for social media, but if you do, log out of all of your other devices so they can't find it.

If you have IoS, only text when you DON'T have the wifi on, then delete any messages you need before turning wifi back on. Discord is fine for IoS

Do NOT try to remove bark. Your parents will automatically notified.

Try and go to the library more often if you want to log onto discord and chat freely. Make a new account and do not log in on devices Bark controls

Best of luck to you my mutual. It's going to be ok. So sorry you are going through this.

I GOT GROUNDED, THEY'RE TAKING MY PHONE AND PUTTING AN APP ON IT. REMOVE ME FROM ANY DISC SERVERS

[runawaymun]

Hey! Any advice on writing multi chaptered fics or just longer stories?

I feel like I'm okay for like snippets but have no idea how to write the middle of a story or move a character or story from point a to point b.

And asking you because you're writing is phenomenal and I'd love some advice.

(But if no brain space for advice I totally get that too and feel free to hide this ask or something)

(Anyway great updates on boundless and the one shot Brimbrond)

Sorry for taking so long to respond to this! I just wanted to take some good time to gather my thoughts because oh man oh boy I am a bit of a nerd about plot structure, even if I pants it a lot of the time -- because middles and structure absolutely plagued me when I was a beginner and so I spent a long, long time studying it and breaking it down.

I'm going to start with some very, very basic advice and then get into some more specific stuff. So let's talk first about how to structure a long-form plot first.

DISCLAIMER: this is how I personally structure plots. More often than not I veer off my own track. And this is a very western way of structuring a plot. It's well worth looking into how storytellers from around the world structure their work because it can vary wildly (Miyazaki is a great example of this). Take this with a grain of salt. It's a guideline which I find helpful. This is going to get very, very long. Bear with me:

When I'm first thinking about how to create a plot around a story I want to tell, this is the process I walk myself through, and it tends to work about 75% of the time for the stories I like to tell (I'm not much of a thriller or mystery writer and those tend to have different kinds of structure). Main recipe is as follows:

Status quo - establish the setting and the character. Do this by the middle-to-end of chapter one, preferably. You can get away with drawing it out a bit in sci-fi or fantasy works that require more worldbuilding, but try not to.

Inciting incident - I won't tell you to start in media res, as that varies from writer to writer and story to story. Generally you want to have this somewhere in chapters 1-3. Say we're talking about LOTR - I'd say the inciting incident is when Bilbo goes invisible at his birthday party and leaves for retirement. Everything sort of snowballs from there (Gandalf confirming this is The One Ring, the Ring being passed to Frodo, the adventure beginning, etc. etc). This is where your character can lose something, or be confronted with a huge problem, or gain some new information. This is the point where your story really picks up.

Point of no return - your character has been presented with a problem or is put in a situation and now they have to decide what to do about it. Sometimes characters choose to run away, or choose inaction. It's up to you and your character as to what they do next.

The annoying part - the most helpful way I've ever found to think about middles is in terms of a series of decisions and consequences. Your character must decide what to do (or try to get what they want), and this will then come with consequences to those decisions. I ignore a lot of writing advice because writers seem to be very cagey about how they compose middles and plots for some reason, but the one piece I heard that helped me was: "What does my character want, and what stops them from getting it?" -- and this can be anything, right? Frodo wants (has to) take the Ring to Mordor. Luke wants to learn to be a Jedi like his father. Inspector Poirot needs to catch the murderer. Odysseus wants to return home. Each of these characters are going to make a series of decisions toward their goal, and they may be working from incomplete information, or bad paradigms, or racing against the clock, or against impossible odds. They're going to make mistakes. Over and over and over again. The middle is a series of decisions, consequences for those decisions, and obstacles (more on that later).

Point of no return 2, electric boogaloo (i.e. the actual midpoint to the story) - the part right before the climax -- the climax IS NOT the midpoint of your story, nor is it the end. This is your midpoint where Everything Fucking Sucks. Your character's back is against the wall. They have to change, or fail.

Paradigm shift: your character learns something new, or develops in some crucial way that leads to:

The climax/confrontation: 3/4 - 7/8th of the way through your plot. Frodo decides to keep the ring. Luke uses the force to blow up the death star. Anakin's fear and the manipulation from Palpatine overtakes him and he turns to the dark side. Inspector Poirot gets his last crucial piece of information and gathers everybody together for the Big Reveal. Odysseus gets home and chases the suitors out of his house. Etc. Etc. This is that Big Point in the story we all think as the most important or crucial point (but it's not. That's the key here. THE most important point is the whole middle of how we got here).

Consequences and paradigm shift 2 electric boogaloo: varies from story to story, but this is the fallout of the last decision or confrontation. Your character may reflect on what they've learned. The killer goes to jail. Frodo returns to the Shire and it's saved, but not for him. The journey your character has been on has irreparably altered them, or the world around them -- for better or for worse.

Resolution: the place where you land the story ;) what is the final impression you want your readers to have of your character, or this world?

Alright so that's all kind of nebulous. Let me give you a slightly more specific form of this plot structure that I use pretty often, because I almost exclusively write character and relationship-driven stories since that's what interests me most:

So most of this looks much the same (the inciting incident is some kind of meetcute. The characters then have to decide if they want to have some kind of relationship -- I like to name this part the callback). Then we have a whole weird squishy section of building interest and tension, before once again we have The Big Fight (darkest before the dawn or what have you), before one or both characters have some kind of paradigm shift, they confess their feelings (or resolve the fight or whatever), and the security of the relationship is established -- happy go lucky times, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

So the middle here is of course still squishy and nebulous, but the focus here is still on "What decisions are the characters making? What are the consequences of those decisions? What are they learning, and how do they respond to it?" Maybe the tension is in one character being more reticent, while the other is more open. Maybe the tension is a sexual tension (will they, won't they?). Maybe a character is working off of incomplete information, or a misunderstanding, and that needs to be cleared up before the relationship (or even their own personal growth) can progress (both Elrian and Thalionel in Stars and Boundless Sky follow this pattern). The middle is a push-pull between your character's desires and outside forces that are stopping them from getting what they want, or achieving what they want to achieve.

So okay, that's all well and good. That's basic plot structure. Let me get into my thought process about middles specifically:

Begin with your ending in mind. I do not mean that you need to have like the whole resolution to your story fleshed out. If you're that kind of writer, great! But if you're more of a pantser like me, then that can be a big ask. Instead, ask yourself: what do I want my character to have learned by the end of the story? How do I want them to have changed, or grown? Do I want it to be for better, or for worse? Is there a specific plot goal you have in mind? (saving the world, or catching the murderer, solving the mystery, exorcizing the ghost, the couple getting together at the end, the found family finally gelling with each other, or whatever).

Once you have that thought in mind, now start to think about what your character might need to get from their starting point to their ending point. If it's a murder mystery, this is your information gathering section. You can lead your character to wrong or right conclusions. Have them make mistakes. Etc. etc. If it's a romance, this is where you create a string of scenes where the characters have opportunities to interact and learn more about each other (works for platonic slowburns, too). If this is a traditional hero's journey, this is where you plop in your actual journey.

Not to repeat this ad nauseum, but your middle is all about getting your character to your end goal, but in the most difficult way possible lmao. Let them make mistakes. Let them make bad decisions -- and then follow through with the consequences of those bad decisions. Give them bad information. This is where understanding your character's fundamental flaws becomes extremely important. Your entire plot, imo, stems from your character's fundamental flaws -- because ultimately that is what is going to slow them down the most from reaching their goal. Sure, you may have the big bad evil guy (bbeg), but we're not worried about him. That's an external factor and that's easy to drop in when you need a quick problem to place in front of your protagonist -- but that problem needs to be in service to your character or your worldbuilding. Teach them something. Give them an opportunity for growth. Aragorn needs to lead at Helm's Deep so he can inhabit his leadership role. The mountain pass of Caradhras needs to force the Fellowship through the mines so that Gandalf falls fighting the Balrog and comes back leveled up and ready to fight, and other characters in the fellowship have a chance to grow into their roles without relying on Gandalf for leadership. Your middle is all about crafting little opportunities for character growth, always while moving toward your end goal -- whatever that may be.

The paradigm shifts are crucial, and they can shift for better or for worse. It's up to you and your characters and the story you want to tell as to which it'll be.

If you're bored, your reader is bored. Only write what excites you, skip all the rest, and make it make sense at the end -- I'm so serious. Yes you need to add in breaks for pacing (like the whole Rivendell section in LOTR), but in those breaks still make sure that you're either expanding your worldbuilding, or giving your characters and opportunity for growth.

If you want to tell a really long (novel length) type of story, sideplots and alternate POVs are your best friend. They are structured exactly the same as a regular plot, they're just simpler or smaller and generally work in service to the main plot. Maybe there are side characters or side relationships you'd like to develop. Maybe there's a smaller mystery or a part of your worldbuilding you'd like to explore. Action plots can be side plots to romantic or platonic slowburn plots, just as much as it can be the other way around. And this is not something you need to structure out the gate. Just be curious and playful. Find points in your story that interest you, and explore them a bit. You'll find that they expand the story.

Biggest and best tip I can give you, when all is said and done, is to decide what kind of story you want to tell and then examine how other people are doing it. If you want to write a superhero story, pick out your favorites and look at how they're structured. If you want to write a mystery, same thing. If you're writing a romance or a drama, again -- same thing. Look at the pieces of fiction that you like, figure out what you like about it, and then apply it to your own work.

That's all the general advice off the top of my head. IDK how helpful this was lol. If you want more tips on middles I can try to look at it a bit more in depth, but to be quite honest middles are really what defines a genre. Romances have different middles to thrillers. Thrillers have different middles to mysteries. Mysteries have different middles to dystopian sci-fis. Etc. Etc. So take the general advice with a grain of salt and look more specifically at the genre of story that you're looking to tell.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk <3

[till-the-end-official]

Ivan paces around his room as his sister stares at him in lesbian judgement. He really doesn't want to hear it from her, but she speaks anyway.

"Ivan. Till is not going to care what you wear on this date. Till already dresses like Adam Sandler on a regular basis. His idea of 'dressing nice' is probably being fully punked out. I think you'll be fine."

Ivan groans into his hands. His sister was right, but he'll never say that out loud. He sighs and goes back into the closet (lmao) and just picks his favorite outfit. He even got a matching cap and sunglasses for the outfit to hide himself in public.

"Noona, do you think he'd kill me if I took him somewhere too nice?"

"Yes."

Her speaking without hesitation definitely meant that she was 100% sure and also correct.

Ivan pouts and grumbles under his breath. He then gets a brilliant idea and gasps out loud.

"Oh my god, karaoke! It's literally that easy. Both of us are good at it... or well good at singing- and we can also order drinks and book a private room."

Sua regards him with vague amusement. She huffs fondly before standing up, making her way out of the house.

"Yeah. That works, just don't start making out in the booth. Unfortunately, there are cameras. Me and Mizi found out the hard way."

Ivan's face lights up in flames at the idea of making out with Till before the rest of the comment registers in his head.

"Wait you and Mizi-?!?"

Sua's already booked it out his apartment. Ivan has half the mind to chase her, but he has a date to get ready for.

Till, on the other hand, was freaking out. He was on call with Mizi, practically hyperventilating, as he dismantled his entire closet.

"Till, calm down. You're overthinking this. Ivan finds you so attractive as is- he would find you attractive in a potato sack. Calm down."

These words did not assure Till at all, his mind was set into panic mode. He threw outfit after outfit onto his bed, making his bedroom seem like a clothing store was blown up. He had NEVER put this much effort into how he looks, and it was reminding him just how simple his outfits were. He wasn't one to care about what he wore on dates, he usually just threw on whatever he felt like, but this time it was different. Everything about this date felt different.

"I-I still want to look somewhat presentable! Just because he may like whatever I wear doesn't mean I shouldn't put any effort into it!"

Till has never sounded more distressed in his life, and Mizi only ended up giggling as she watched her senior freak out over what to wear. She knew that deep down, whatever Till chose Ivan would drool over him in, but it was very sweet seeing Till put this much thought into his outfit.

"How about the outfit you wore to the Beat Rider event? The one with your black ripped jeans and leather jacket?"

Till had no energy to think of anything different, so he decided to go with that. While he was grabbing his clothes, he also grabbed some silver rings and earrings to go along with it. He threw on a simple blue crewneck, quickly putting a silver chain and another necklace with a lock around his neck before throwing on his hooded leather jacket. He put on his pair of black ripped jeans before quickly lacing up his Doc Martins.

"Do you think this looks good?"

Till asked, turning his camera on and showing Mizi the outfit. Mizi gasped, despite it being the outfit she suggested, and nodded excitedly.

"You look great! I'm sure Ivan is going to love it."

Right as the pink-hair actress said that, the sound of Till's doorbell going off could be heard.

"Speak of the devil... Thank you, Mizi."

"No problem at all! Just remember to be safe!"

Before Till could ask what she meant by that, Mizi hung up. He groaned quietly to himself before quickly grabbing a facemask and a pair of sunglasses just incase he needed them. He quickly ran out of his room, shoving his phone in his pocket before opening the door.

As soon as Till registered Ivan, he slammed the door on his face, his cheeks flushing up as he had a mini gay panic.

'Oh my god- we're going out and he looks like THAT?! I might have to wear my mask the entire time oh my god. He can't just SURPRISE me like that- I knew he was attractive but like I've never slammed the door before- wait! Oh shit!'

Till hurriedly opened the door again, cursing under his breath as he looked at Ivan. His face was even hotter than before he slammed the door, so he must look like a fucking apple right now. God... he felt so embarrassed. He would be surprised if Ivan didn't mistake him for a sundried tomato right now.