#inspired by that one post by someone who follows i believe

[streets-in-paradise]

Feast of the Champions

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Pairings: Maximus Decimus Meridius/The Spaniard x (Fem) Reader, (flirtatious friendship only) Haken x (Fem)Reader.

Warnings: captive man x kind lady captor (reader is the daughter of proximo), the spaniard speaks spanish despite neither spaniards or spanish existed then, trojan war metaphores and historical mistakes here and there ( specially in the few references to roman food I made with the info of the few legit-sounding recipes I found online.)

Summary: After his great performance, the Spaniard has rejected all the typical rewards for a champion. With the news of an upcoming trip to Rome and his intentions of winning freedom there reaching your ears, you offer to honor him with a small feast celebrating the best champions of the school in order to inspire them for the upcoming challenges.

Aware of your feelings for him, he expects to find you performing to tempt him with the idea of taking you as his wife after being liberted. However, the tensions between his own growing fondness of you and the wounds from his past reinforce his resistance. In a desperate attempt to solve the dichotomy, he hopes to counter strike by trying to bring you closer with someone he himself believes to be in a better position to make you happy.

Tags: @wildsaltair ( I am posting this one only because you wanted to see it )

Notes: Works as a continuation for Field of Practice, because I wanted to do one more oneshot with this concept despite I am not really turning it into a fic series.

Glossary: Puls - name of the fava beans and garlic porridge the gladiators are seen having in the film.

Savillum: ancient rome recipe for cheesecake, made of a ricotta-like cheese.

........................

Exactly as you predicted, the Spaniard became a huge success. A surprise since his very first performance, when nobody expected much of him. On the light of his raising popularity, your father found just one major problem with him and it was the lack of an act. He killed for the sake of it, giving quick deaths delivered with frustrated rage as mere means for survival. Like Achilles butchering the young men of Troy, an unstoppable force of destruction no one seemed capable of containing. Ironically distant from the Pelides, he proceeded with complete neglence for his fame. One man that was worth for an army, yet too occupied with the killing to work on the charm.

Fixable mistake on his part, because you have found his charm away from the arena. In the closed range of your home, from the very first moment he spared you an instant of his attention. Everytime you would remember he had once compared you to Helen of Troy observing the combats from some distant tower behind the great walls, you would fluster yourself with the memory. He didn't flirt with you back then, but knowing that didn't ease the effect it had on you.

He was Achilles in the battlefield and Hector in the city, A mindless butcher for the arena, a noble man offering you a cordial friendship ... the one who showed no interest in your beauty despite openly acknowledging it. The one making your heart beat stronger, because you weren't exactly like the spartan queen in what came to him. You couldn't help yourself from admiring him in ways you never did for other gladiators. What you had with him wasn't like your flirty friendship with Haken, treatment you would give him because his easy-going ways encouraged you for it. When the german would compliment you in return for receiving your praise, that would usually get you chuckling and following the game. Whenever the Spaniard did, you would become a flustered mess regardless of how innocent his comment could be.

If he would say your hair looked nice, you would repeat the hairstyle. If he would notice your soft approach of caregiver for the beasts, you would wander the cages of the beasts talking to those as if they were simple farm animals just to see if it would make him laugh.

There was nothing you wouldn't do to make him happy. Your heart was struck by the arrow of Cupid, causing a strong infatuation, and Proximo avoided to adress it for as long as he could. He quickly became aware of it, but it wasn't untill your behavior began to concern him that he decided to have that sort of talk with you.

Once the gladiator started following his indications, he won more than just the crowd. Your receivement was to embrace the victorious champion kissing both of his cheeks as if you would have conciously restrained yourself from trying his lips. The Spaniard had only smiled as if your enthusiasm was amusing to him, but your father could tell you would have clinged to that man with your whole body if it wasn't for his stoich ways creating a barrier.

Business aside, it was enough to raise concern about your fragile heart of wishfull maiden.

" I will arrange a reward for the Spaniard. " He was casually commenting to you in the intimacy of the prívate sections of the complex, where gladiators couldn't disrupt. " … Don't sneak arround this time if you don't want to stumble with what you shouldn't see."

The implications were clear regarding which kind of prize could be destined to the man, but the warning only got from you a skeptical chuckle making you abandon the focus of your writing practice on the foreign language you were learning to look up at him.

" He won't want a whore … Shall we make a bet? "

The proposal amused him, seeing that finding your correct predictions finantially wrecking some of his acquaintances had got you too confident on that matter.

" You are placing too much hope on that man. It is making you forget he is, after all, … a man."

You deviated the conversation strictly back to what it regarded the performance on the arena.

" He hasn't dissapointed, and let me remind you I was the onlyone who had faith in him from the start. Now that he is becoming famous, you would claim it was your idea to make of him a champion. "

He gave a few steps closer to you, untill being ríght in front of your work surface so you wouldn't avoid him when he would start to call you out.

" That's not what I mean and you know it … I watched you act like if you wanted to feel being his lovely wife welcoming him from war. I am aware of the particular ways you adopt with my men, but this is different. You are not playing to comfort him or yourself, you want to believe the fiction. "

From that point you decided to abandon the excercise, feeling the reproach falling on you with too much acuracy to keep pretending being occupated in something else and escape it.

" The difference doesn't matter, it's good for business and that's all you care about. How I feel about him concerns only myself. "

There was a shade of bitterness on your voice, dubitative search for his emotions of father on the matter beyond the calculative concerns of the slave master.

He gave you what you wanted, but allways in his particular way.

" After knowing where you come from ... Do you still want to fall in love with a gladiator? "

Your mother, he rarely talked about her. On his part, all you got to understand from how it happened was that he didn't experience it as an episode of enforced prostitution because of his fame as a gladiator. She was his lover as much as he was hers, and some form of genuine feeling bonded them despite the odd circunstancies for their passion.

" I am not like her, ... getting rid of the evidence before the husband would come back from war. If the campaigns of good old Marcus Aurelius wouldn't have been so long back in the day ... "

" She loved you as she loved me, if that wouldn't have been the case you wouldn't have end up working the nice farm in the villa of her eldery relatives." He interrumpted you right away, as scarce on details through the reminder as he could be. " You would have been placed where the illegitimate children go, to be picked up by a brothel and become a whore instead of the polite farm maid they ended up handing me."

He was correct: you were offered kindness and it was on base of that fact that your worldviews were so divided.

" ... Or a gladiator school. " You teased him in return. " Female gladiators are a curious oddity and in the moment they would have found out I was the daughter of the greatest gladiator in Rome, they wouldn't have resisted it. I would have been raised in a place like this, to become an amazon. The daugther of Mars on the arena. "

Lovely compliments to the treasured aspects of his complicated past weren't enough for you to get away.

" At least your mother knew my name before risking herself with me."

Remembering that you didn't even knew the name of the man sneaking into your romantic daydreams was quite an uncomfortable truth of the kind your father had no carefulness dealing with.

In a strange sense, his brutal honesty was a display of his affection that you didn't hesitate on returning.

" I am proud of you, as I am proud of our men. What I do for you is not an act. It's precisely because I know I could have been one of you that I want to do better for you all. I was given some light in my life, now it's my time to hold a candle and bringing it to you."

You took one of his hands with both of yours and gave him your sweetest grin, to what his voice became softer in the next advice.

" The Spaniard prefers to habitate in darkness and there is not much you can do about that."

You left your seat with an elegant bearing, feeling in yourself the charming effect of your first fruitfull conversation with the man back when he was even more of a stranger to you than then.

" The day we meet he said I reminded him of Helen of Troy watching the combats, ... he said I was beautifull and all our men find me charming. "

Pridefull as you were from repeating that statement, you still didn't manage to impress him with it.

He could easily guess what kind of first impression you would make for some gladiators, and the learnings of his youth only made the image more precise.

" You are the only woman arround who smells as one, a sip of fresh water in the desert. That doesn't mean you should take any encouragement from it. "

His realistic sight underestimated your patience. Even if you just happened to be the better presented woman of the place, that wasn't something to overlook. From the attention that would bring you, there was hope to build something real with the man you wanted.

" Rome wasn't built in a day, Pa ... And for a kiss of the Spaniard I would wait a lifetime. "

The mischievous energy in your tone and the little smirk at the end was an invitation for complicity, to what your father kept teasing you.

" That is easy to say, his is shorter than yours. "

The mean joke still managed to make you laugh, but you cutted his own chuckles with a hug.

" ... You care for me!!! You are thinking of my heartbreak if he dies!"

No matter how many times you would give him effusive affectionate gestures, it always would get him slightly surprised. You found it adorable, a reminescense of his corporal memory more used to predict attacks than caresses. He would tense for an instant, and you would ease him before squeezing tighter.

Proximo wasn't a man easy to catch giving himself in to softer emotions and with your filial love outbursts he used his cynicism as a shield.

"I am thinking that I don't want to load with the bastard of a gladiator because my own late acknowledged descendant couldn't find a husband before getting pregnant from one."

You released him and playfully patted one of his shoulders.

" Don't say that! The Spaniard is a gentleman, .. he would never do that! "

" I hate to admit it, but you are in the right. It could be worse, ... you could be chasing the german. Have no doubt that he would be responding, he loves the attention from beautifull women."

The disguised compliment was your shot to read between lines glimpses of support. Not for your cause, but for yourself as his contextually excentric-mannered daughter pointing to at least one of your virtues. There was little chance for him to calm your excitement anyways after letting you know that he was going to bring in the Spaniard closer to the intimate lounges in his property, even if it was for a conversation in which you had no place to wander. When the guards guided him in, your eyes followed the gladiator all the way through in hardly hidden adoration.

The Spaniard had strutted the place as if he expected to face more difficulties through the unusual call. Properly groomed and better dressed than he was on his early days at the school, he looked every day more handsome in your eyes. The sleeveless blue garment of common use you would see many other gladiators wearing had a different and somehow more perfect fitting for him, highlighting the blue of his eyes and the light glimpses of tanning in his skin. Despite you did miss a bit the messy beard, his lips looked even more kissable. You would have lied denying you thought of rewarding him with a full mouth kiss after the fight where his frustrated reaction turned him into a new favorite of the people.

You were more than entertained, you were amazed.

Distracted as he was with his own thoughts, he noticed you only an instant before getting inside and dedicated you a fleeting smile. A kind gesture, like a friendly salute that in any other would have been a mere courtesy. After Juba, you were the onlyone he would sometimes smile for. It would happen either as a result of your hard work cheering him up, or to let you know he was alright. No matter how stubborn he was, you were equally as persistent in the task of proving you cared for him and he got sort of used to it. At moments, you would get the rare impression that he would pretend neutrality as an active effort to not grow fond of you and that would only inspire you in the contrary direction. The more he would avoid it, the sweeter your concern displays would become.

When you finally saw him coming out from the talk with your father, you smiled to yourself noticing he was carrying a piece of armor. His claimed reward, you guessed, proving you weren't wrong about him.

" Strange preferences for your compensation, my friend. Most victorious champions would want at least a taste from one of the many pleasures denied for them. "

The teasing made him stop in his tracks and you smiled for him.

" You look like Achilles holding the new armour forged by Vulcan ... Who are you going to avenge with that? "

He knew that you had no idea of just how much accurate the mocking affirmation was, but it got you his attention.

" We will be going to Rome, as you warned me, for what your father wants to guide me and promote me so I would one day stand in front of the Emperor like he once did. "

The clarification was vague and from it you understood that he had decided it was the time to stop fighting for mere survival to focus on winning his freedom. You thought he was no longer self perceiving as a doomed prisoner and perhaps started to envision a future for himself.

Guided by the very little amount of factual knowledge you had about him, it was understandable for you to think he had found hope.

" THAT'S WONDERFULL!!! Take it from me, Spaniard: a man with your skill and charm will have no problem winning the crowd. " You couldn't stop yourself from inmediately encouraging. " Pa says the romans are more demanding because they are used to spectacles of a great magnitude that isn't experienced anywhere else in the empire, ... but you are something out of this world. "

He smiled to the praise and you followed the gesture looking at his lips.

" He is still not entirely convinced of that, but thank you. ... I only hope you remember what I told you about Rome."

" To watch out from the Emperor? Yes, sir! " You repeated, like a happy subordinate following orders from a general. " That would be no big deal, I would be too preoccupied for my champions to socialize during the games. "

He remained a bit skeptical and through his protective reasoning he let you know that he didn't ignore at all your daily activities.

" The scribe has been teaching you greek, the one foreign language that roman elites value. "

Lovely surprise painted in your semblance to that simple acknowledgement of you he revealed and you ended up telling more than what you should, going in details that shouldn't concern him.

" The original language of the Iliad, that I am learning for my own enrichment because now I have the chance." You began to explain yourself. " ... My mother was wealthy, but the people she sent me with weren't going to raise me like one of them. I grew up a fatherless child from an union they wanted to hide, so to them I was more like a freeborn servant they liked as family than a real relative. The owner of the villa taught me to read in latin because he used to say that is what distinguishes the civilized folk from barbarians. I think that is nonsense: Haken and Juba are more polite than many latin speakers and avid readers I meet. "

" Clever, ... you won't let the bright of the city blind you. " He praised you in return. " Your father was once a slave yet you remain the humblest of the family. How is that even possible? "

Whatever he spoke with your father inspiring him into asking further, you were thankfull of. Men rarely asked you about your own story, despite you were there to listen everyone.

"Meeting him changed my life, not just because I became suddenly richer. For me it was as if one day you would find out your father is Hercules and he has finished the twelve labours, so you can follow him for adventures. He is my hero, no matter how different we are, I adore him and I trully wish to make him proud. He didn't abandon me when he found out of me."

You gave a mischievous glance to the guards, indicating them to give you a bit of space to talk comfortably before they would guide him back where he belonged.

They did so, and you confessed yourself in a more mundane aspect of the experience.

" The change of enviroment was brutal ... Can you imagine, going from a farmhouse to a gladiator school? So used to cultivate life and you find yourself surrounded of death. Reading the epics was my way of adjusting to it, of trying to inmerse myself in the fantasy that you all incarnate."

Like it happened a few times before, a sudden yet unexplainable burst of laughter from him shifted the tone of your conversation. It was an odd habit of his that you finally felt in condition to interrogate him about.

" Why do you always laugh harder when I am being serious than when I joke with you?

" Sometimes I hear you speak and feel as if the gods would be pulling a bad phrank on me." He simply stated. " Not thinking your saids are meaningless or I find them a mock, but because we understand each other too well"

Incapable of fully comprehending what he meant, you chuckled and grabbed the piece of armor from his hands. After a quick examination, you smirked in approval and handed it to the guards so they would keep it save for him during an instant. Enough for you to take his hands staring at him with absolute delight.

" May I tempt you with one more reward, Spaniard? Not just for your results on the arena, but for your wise advice and attentive ears. I rarely find a good listener here."

His smile adquired a shade of cheerfull nervousy, as if something in him feared of your proposal despite he trusted in you.

" ... That would depend of which offering the lady of the house is about to make. "

Your chuckling evolved into louder laughter, surprised by the assumption.

" What kind of woman do you think I am? No matter how much they said Helen was a whore, she only slept with her oddly circunstantial husbands during her time in Troy. Men may die in front of me but I don't reward the champions with my beauty. "

He knew you have grown fond of the image he presented you with during the little game you played the day you meet. Seeing the charming effect you had in many of the other gladiators, he had said that in the parody of the heroic times they represented you played the role of the face that launched a thousand ships. From then, you never stopped teasing him about that observation.

" Very well, divine among women, because rejecting you puts me in a very difficult position none of us wants to be in ... What do you have for me? "

His use of the famous ephitet of the epics was a mere mock, a harmless participation of the inside joke he accidentally started, but you were melting for him regardless of how ilogical that was.

" To invite you for dinner, so for once you would be fed like a man and not as a beast. " You proposed, as friendly as you could because you didn't want to give him the impression of romantic hints in the invitation. " ... Besides, it doesn't have to be just you. I would invite Haken, I don't want him to feel displaced by your popularity ... And Juba too! He is your friend, another great champion, and allways so sweet to me. It would be a delight to count with his company. "

You were starting to stumble in your own words and he attempted to help you make it sense from what he interpreted on the petition.

" Let me understand this: you want us to have a feast of the champions, ... a banquet like the ones given to the heroes of the trojan war? "

You nodded in agreement, relieved to have found a sensical explanation for what initially was an idea initially born from your wish to present him with new comforts as silent way to express your love.

" A more humble adaptation of the concept. I will even cook for you, because honoring my best gladiators with food made by other slaves is unnaceptable. "

He approved your mindset, coming to notice you had the sort of humble dignity and honor the place often lacked of.

" It sounds fantastic, but I believe your father would find it goes against the rules and you already risked a lot for the scribe."

" I stopped Pa from wasting resources: that slave was useless for fighting, but not worthless. " You defended yourself in the logic of the business. " He payed him incredibly cheaper and I am giving good use to his skills. If he eventually wants to get rid of him, selling him as a teacher to a wealthy family in Rome gives more profit than letting him die on the arena. "

As witness of your interaction with the man, he perfectly knew that wasn't your motivation. You had mercy of him and wrapped your feelings in a language convincing enough to please your father.Maximus was very proud of you for it and acted as your accomplice, never questioning your true reasons because it was a tacit understandment between you.

It was a hopefull relief for him to find in you a person of matching values, specially because you weren't limiting yourself to a quiet lamment for your surroundings but taking action in whatever way you could.

" You saved the life of that man, ... and I would gladly sit by your table If the master allows it. "

Signaling his moment to retire, he kissed the knuckles from both of your hands and you allowed him the permission in between non stop giggling.

It was nothing serious, he was just joking in the light-hearted way you often encouraged with the others, but following his style more inclined to keep proper manners for it. Seeing the kind of jokes you had with Haken made Maximus guess it wouldn't encourage you too much.

He had came to notice that you admired him, not in the way the crowd cheers for a gladiator, but as a lonely woman that fancies a man. It was an understandable reaction in your perspective, given that he had no way of crushing your hopes without revealing his story to you. As long as you knew, he was a lonely man in position of enjoying your company and he had a soft spot for you. Despite nothing you have done has had any explicit intentions of a romantical advance on him, Maximus would see the love in your eyes whenever your glance searched for his.

Remaining for too long near you was like being tempted with the promise of peace hidding underneath the mundanity of never ending combats without a purpose. He needed to be more cautious, but your unspoken complot with Juba to make him cling to life for a little longer was very much effective. While his gladiator friend kindly encouraged him to stay alive, you tried hard to make him enjoy of his cruelly prolonged existence and you often obtained brief success.

He couldn't keep affording it, not when the chance for revenge against Commodus was finally presenting itself. Temporally indulging in the comforting fiction that your innocent ignorance of his personal tragedy encouraged wasn't fair for you either. Precisely because you have made for yourself a little spot in his heart, he had to do better and make you see you deserved more than an infatuation with a doomed man whose ultimate wish was following his murdered family in the afterlife.

A cheerfull man who still had life to give and his whole heart for you was what a woman as lovely as you trully deserved. If he would have been captured as someone with nothing else to mourn for but the loss of his freedom, fighting to get it back knowing you would be waiting for him could have been the perfect deal. It wasn't the case, but you didn't know that and he couldn't be feeding that hope.

It occured to him that the best way to put you in the right path without breaking your heart or revealing his past was finding the right man for you, or at least the most adequate option available. From all the other gladiators, it was clear that you were closer with the german. Juba was becoming another close favorite too, but ever since he told you about his wife and daughters you had respectfully toned down the praise on him. In contrast, Haken seemed to love every instant of your attention and often played to impress you whenever you would catch him during trainings.

Energic and vivacious as his arrogance allowed, he was the onlyone finding some amusement in his enforced role. His crave for freedom didn't imply a complete disdain of being a gladiator. Only he felt comfortable enough in the cruel settling to be pulling jokes all the time and no shadows of the past seemed to be tormenting him. Haken was a man seeking freedom with the intention of living a plenty life, but he never stopped living.

If betting on a freed gladiator was an option you considered, that one was your perfect deal. In his empty life there was plenty of space for someone like you and he had a strong will to live. It was a convenient arrangement for your father as well, given someone so involved in the functioning of the school could be a good heir for his business. Maybe someday after his revenge would be concreted, when he himself probably wouldn't be there to see it, Maximus believed Haken could eventually be able to win his freedom. Considering how his carelessly individualistic attitudes contrasting with your kindness weren't an obstacle in your process of befriending him, he could guess you had better chances with him.

Despite his differences with the german made him suspect you were perhaps too good for him, that man had everything he himself wouldn't be able to give you. Seeing his act of rude bastard crash in pieces when you would softly reprimand him for being unnecessary mean to the weaker men made him suspect you would get something good out of him.

After falling to notice he had inpulsively accepted your strange invitation, Maximus decided he could use that to twist your expectations. He had no doubt that you would be trying to impress him as the maiden that seeks to catch a potential suitor of her wants, but he was one step ahead and would present you with another one instead. Intially, he sincerely thought you wouldn't get away with such insane idea, but he underestimated how much Proximo enjoyed of any reminiscenses to the glorious side of being a champion. For once, one of your weird occurences got him excited and invested. You two resembled a lovely family whenever you would pass by to consult him on the rushed planifications you were working on.

As expected, news about a trip to Rome to fight in the Colosseum and an upcoming previous celebration for the best champions of the school were of great interest for Haken. He looked foward it with increasing excitement, wishfull of the glory an honors. Humble and reserved, Juba initially showed to be disconcerted about being selected to receive a distinction. However, watching his friend work the ego of the german without any explanations for the sudden shift made him suspect he could be making him participant of some joke.

In his role of quiet observant, he eventually figured out the direction of his plan and subtly shared his mind at one particular ocasion in which the Spaniard returned to sit beside him after leaving you in company of his nearest contestant of the arena.

" You like her, but you push her away."

His friend remained in silence, to what he insisted from a more specific approach.

" He has been here for longer than us ... Don't you think that she would have tried it if that was her interest? "

To Juba's complicit chuckling, he found himself cornered to reply.

" What would you do in my place? Mine isn't a life anymore, just surviving and waiting. "

Unlike anyone else, he knew some truths that came from the deeepness of his heart. The longing for his wife and son, his hopeless crave for spiritual rest found only in seeing them again.

The reason why you had no future with him, why he would never be able of giving you back a sparkle of the light you brought to his life.

" You choose how to wait, and you can decide not to do it in agony. " The numidian adviced, with his usual comforting, wise-sounding calm. " She wants you to live again and that wouldn't damage you, ... unless ... "

He stopped himself for an instant, feeling the inquisitive glance of his fellow gladiator.

" ... Unless you don't want to find worthy delayments in the way. "

The Spaniard smiled, then turned his gaze at the scene he created.

" His only wait is the time of fighting that separates him from living free, and look how happy they are. "

They observed how Haken was bending down to hear you better on whatever you were telling him. His response lead to chuckling and after you playfully smacked his shoulder, he grabbed your hand to kiss it.

However, as soon as the interaction ended your eyes were back on the Spaniard. The lovely smile you showed him on your way out still managed to cause a subtle warmth of his stoich semblance.

Juba laughed harder that time, remembering to hold on untill you wouldn't be able to hear him.

It was hard, but Maximus had to admit to himself that he had no idea of what to do with you. He enjoyed your friendship, yet he feared you were expecting something more. Part of him was terrified to start getting accustomed, of reaching a point in which he would be wanting to hear your offer ... To give in, to one day realize he had fallen in love with you.

He desperately needed you to fall for someone else before it would be too late for him. The fate awaiting him in Rome was not of your business, all he would have for you there was a promise of protecting you from Commodus or any of his men. A direct meeting between you and the emperor was less likely than what his obsessive worry would make him suspect, but with a bastard like him he could never be sure of anything. You weren't naive or foolish, but your natural inclination to sweetly intervene in favor of broken men would turn incredibly dangerous in his presence.

If you managed to shake a few certainities on a centered man with a clear mind, his deranged and directionless enemy starved for affection he didn't deserve could find in you exactly what he wanted. Maximus was aware that any connection to him Commodus could find would bring him to you.

After a lifetime of treacherous crave for everything he achieved, the emperor wouldn't resist it. Coming to you with fake softness, like the snake he was, making you doubt of the stranger that told you nothing about himself and crushed your ilusions when your protection stopped being usefull. Pretending he was the one coming to rescue you from his lies, charming you with the acting of well spoken prince so you would make him the new target of your admiration.

For the good of everyone, you needed to arrive in Rome under the effect of another infatuation. He himself wasn't in the position of surrending himself to those feelings again, but the german was free of sentimental attachements and was going to need of a consolation prize once he would have realized the master didn't have the greatest aspirations settled on him anymore.

Once he finally convinced himself to be proceeding under the will to do the right thing, even Proximo seemed to have turned against his intentions with his sudden support. Not of your interest in him, but of his future as a champion, yet there was no doubt that could be potentially encouraging to you. The mere idea of his owner wanting him as a future son in law to teach in the business was amusing, but perhaps not impossible to envision for his enamored daughter.

The night of the party all three guests were adorned with tunics of a neat white after their respective proper baths, like house guests would following roman traditions. Like he did from the very first moment that he saw you, the general turned gladiator got from you once more an accidental sense of returned familiarity with the life he left behind. A taste of the human condition teasing him, inspiring him in what you believed was only about the search for his freedom from the emperor.

At the receivement on the halls of the master there were plenty of wonders to surpass the expectations, but one in particular captured stares ahead of everything else. Patiently awaiting for them at the center of the scene, you looked beautifull to the point of cruelty. With your lose hair perfectly styled, wearing a green dress of a carefully crafted asymetric cut that made the skirt fall slightly shorter in on leg and was leaving one of your shoulders completely exposed. An embroidered mantle protected it untill the excitement of the arrivals made you leave it behind and the rescued scribe right behind you acting like a manservant received it with a quiet smile.

Like never seen before in your modest ways of dressing, the strands of matching craft tied arround your waist to secure the fitting of the dress followed your figure with gentle accuracy. Feminine curves enhaced with decorum, but so easily distracting for the eyes of any man. Small glimpses of nervousy in your lovely face, and evidence of a subtle make up done for the ocassion, completed the confirmation from some of the early guesses the spaniard gladiator had.

At least from your perspective, that was all for him. For his eyes to wander lost and numb his reason like if he could ever be a suitor you would be in condition of catching. Seeing you made him feel flattered, even honored, but unworthy of such adoration. His words the day you meet fell short to the painfully beautifull spectacle you were providing, like a young Helen receving her suitors in Sparta.

Probably enraptured in similar observations, or circunstantially charmed in the surprise, Haken practically pushed him so he would be the one reaching you first. Juba didn't miss the move and limited himself to give a mocking glance to his spaniard friend reminding him on that of his warnings.

" This must be the highest rewarding ludus of the empire! Your looks alone are worth for a hundred more deaths by my hand, dear friend."

His praise made you chuckle, but you didn't delay in returning the gesture.

" And I can still see those huge muscles because we never find anything that fits you the way it should, but after all that is exactly what the crowd wants! We will have to protect you from the lust of the rich roman matrons, my germanic god."

From his seat at the head of the table, Proximo corrected with an autoritative mockery that in that image made him resemble the parody of a cheerfull king in the feast.

" For what? We know he is going to throw himself at the herd of screaming women."

The mischievous smile of the german left the matter dubious, not denying or comfirming anything to him untill directing a cheerfull excuse to you.

" ... You will always be my favorite. "

To a sweet look of yours with your arms stretched up, he catched you for a warm hug as salute and then kept playing with you even after you were released from his strong grip.

" Do a little show off for the invitees, let them see what their suffering pays for." He suggested in friendly mocks, taking your hand in order to guide a slow twirl. " That's a really nice dress."

A brief instant of amusing complicity with the others occured as he shared the sight for them, small truce with the spaniard with the mere object of sharing their impression.

" Very nice. " Juba agreed first, politely unimpressed. " … but I still don't see why all of this was done for three slaves. "

Vigilant through the whole interaction, the eye of the father was a more subtle threat than usual. The little indulgence of his men didn't upset him as much as that comment did.

" You are not simple slaves, you are gladiators. " Proximo corrected, serious as if he had been offended. " If you haven't learn the difference yet, Rome will show it to you. That's why she kindly prepared this exercise for you: those who don't like honors need to get used, and those who enjoy those too much need to keep their minds awake or perish for their blindness. "

Guessing himself as the target of the last attack, the german responded with more mockery.

" Are you giving up on finding her a husband outside the circles of old gamblers that frequent you? Perhaps you would have more luck offering her as prize for the last one standing. "

You were surprised by the daring joke, but your laughter was the facade of your eyes chasing the spaniard for a reaction. His usual silence had been prolonged for too long and you started wondering what he could be thinking of you, of the reward you pulled for him, and of the casually presented hipotetical situation implied in the comment. Whatever your father answered to the provocation of your friend defending his honor, you didn't listen for being entranced on the sight of the spaniard and the intensity of his blue eyes fixated on you.

He remembered his plan, and was still aware of his duty saving you from himself on the quest for justice that was his most intimate priority leaving no space for second thoughts. However, something didn't feel right in the jokes of the german adquiring a shade of truth. It was precisely what he needed, a promising first step for you two getting together so you could find a less disgraced fate for your affections, but giving up to those by himself wasn't as easy as he once thought.

After one more instant of silent contemplation, and careless as you were for the course of the conversation, he told you exactly what he wanted to say.

" Is this the beauty we must pay with blood? How many men have died so we will get here to be gifted with one peek at your fanciest looks? … And yet, now that I see you, I can't say it was all in vain."

Nobody saw it coming, except perhaps his confidant numidian, and it certainly managed to amaze you more than anything you had ever heard from gladiators in the mood of practicing politeness. Reminiscense of your inside joke that sounded too personal to be mere jesting.

Trying to escape the inminent flustered reaction that would leave you in evidence through the blatant contrast on your salute to the gladiator, you turned back for a neutral approach doing a general comment on his.

" The romans will not believe this, Pa. We have a hero of the epic times, he even speaks like one ..."

Wisely cooling you down with his cynicsm, Proximo ruined the moment with his unamused reception of your appreciation.

" Guide Achilles to take his seat and let's begin, finding you doing the cooking was already a feat."

You accompanied everyone stiffling a chuckle, not precisely because of the callout made to you, but to the performance of the spaniard as an angry butcher screaming with brutal honesty to the crowd he despised. While every man took his distributed position, the joke left an aftertought that you couldn't keep to yourself.

"Achilles and Hector must have made a pact in the Underworld because both wanted to reborn in you, Spaniard."

You weren't ready for the lovely smirk the polite praise, aparently directed only to his gladiator persona on the arena, had accidentally caused. Despite way more subtle than your friendly, yet shamelessly playfull teasing with Haken, the intimate understandment going on made it land differently.

"I am amazed you got time to lead the cooking and then work in your looks with such great detail in both tasks. I didn't imagine you as a perfectionist."

Heading in the opposite direction to claim your space in front of them, you responded with pleased mischievousness.

" You are not the onlyone who is full of surprises, ... and I got a great one for you. "

To a sign you gave, the scribe brought you back the mantle and you whispered him to help out pouring the wine from a nearby krater.

" Father wants to test as many uses as we can give of him, and I feel like one of those rich roman ladies with their educated greek manservants. For me this is also a testing exercise for the life in the capital, he will be evaluating my banquet manners." You explained for everyone, then subtly redirected your words to him. " I got you spaniard wine, turns out Pa keeps his storages well supplied. "

A quick look at the table showed how much effort you put on making them feel like free men having dinner in the house of a business associate. Roasted lamb, pork stewed with apples and even honey glazed mushrooms were on sight, among many other foods that wouldn't be normally destined to slaves. Breads of many types, kindly different from the one accustomed to be served with their usual Puls. No more fava beans, what everyone was thankfull of, but plates of cheese or fruit served instead. The small touch of a bowl with garum let Maximus know whoever you used to cook for before had roman tastes. He found a confirmation when you bragged a little bit about the Savillum awaiting them near the end of the meal, dish that you had to explain to the other gladiators.

You soon got them invested in a talk about the foods they remembered from their countries, telling on your part some food related anecdotes from your past in the countryfield villa. Proximo casually critiziced the guardians of your early years, claiming the owner of the place was an intelectual that despised the arena but liked bucolic poetry without having worked his fields for a single day of his life. He sounded very satisfied of having rescued you from them, but the Spaniard identified in his claims more than that arrogant relief of being your savior.

A certain cheer of knowing he would get to spend his old age in company of a daughter that admired him, since those intelectuals he cursed couldn't poison her mind against him. Despite he would never say it out loud, choosing to take you with him wasn't a mere act of rescue happening after he acknowledged your existence. Getting to be a father as an old man must have been a strange, late joy for him.

In his reproaches followed by reluctant indulgences there was proof that you were the only thing Proximo cared about more than riches. For once, the general turned gladiator could relate to his perspective.

As parents they got reversed fates: his master finding a daughter late while he himself had lost his boy too early. In the silly anecdots about you driving him crazy that your father started sharing for those who didn't got to witness many, Maximus found a strange remembrance for what he lost. While Juba felt somewhat encouraged by the context to tell you bits about his daughters, he couldn't speak of his son.

The weight of his memory renewed his strenghts, and he noticed Haken was getting bored at that point of the talk because he was probably the only man there who haven't been a father yet. He certainly mentioned to never have had a wife, and that was an excellent point to start planting seeds between the two of you.

" You are always very vocal about your chances to win the freedom we all chase. If you make it, you must start thinking in one. " He casually commented, a disguised advice. " There is no greater joy for the free man than going back home to find the smile of his lovely wife. No amount of paid company will give you that, the most experienced prostitute won't replicate the passion of a wife giving herself to you out of love."

The recommendation was very unexpected, specially because the german didn't want any kindness from his contestant.

" Who would have thought the Spaniard is a hopeless romantic? " Haken teased him towards you. " Is that why you like him?"

Being midly exposed left you out of options and you decided to escape with a joke.

" He may appear to the crowd as an unstoppable force of destruction, but he is the sweetest. "

Your father limited you on purpose becase he wanted to make a speech and bring back some seriousness to the moment. It was deviating too far of his own interests, which weren't the spread of sentimentalisms or watching you flirt with the Spaniard.

" One obvious reason why my sentimental daughter has convinced me of giving you this early show of what glory can bring you, it's because some of you simply won't make it … Not at least in your current conditions. " He began, airs of greatness coming from his past speaking for him. " Rome is not forgiving of the mistakes you three make surviving the province. In the sand of the Coliseum, magnificent beyond your wildest dreams, even your most trusted strenghts can morph into weaknesses. "

He made a brief pause evaluating the reactions before delivering his strongest conclussion.

" Being the strongest won't save you, going unnoticed is a death sentence from the crowd, and rabid butchering followed of insults won't impress them. You may think I am not to be trusted, but there is wisedom in my words you are invited to take. "

The three gladiators looked at their sides, silently attributing to each other every critic. Seeing that your father was about to scare them, you rephrased the intentionality of his speech.

" If of me depended, the three of you would find freedom in Rome. I watched you fight, mourn and laugh. You all deserve it, maybe more than anyone else here. " You suddenly interrupted, in a ceremonial yet comforting tone. " If I could, I would face the Emperor for you. I would beg the son of Marcus Aurelius to have one more mercy with this family and release my friends, the best gladiators I ever had the honor of meeting in my father's home."

The mere idea raised concern on the Spaniard. He knew that, for him and out of loyalty to everyone else there, you could be able of trying such reckless movement. You would do anything believing to be helping his cause, lovely infatuated as you were.

" I have no doubt that you would, that's why your father will have to keep you well surveiled."

He gave you a mischievously reprehensive look and you hid the reaction giving a sip of wine.

" It's good to know all of us count with your support. " Juba completed, with calm relief. " You said you don't like to play favorites, but the crowd does. "

" We are her favorites, but I got to keep her by my side the longest. " Haken pridefully corrected. " You see, she is like a good luck charm: the men she grows fond of always prosper. "

" There are exceptions, like this greek eunuch " Proximo mocked his superstitious talking by pointing at the scribe. " His only use is to keep her entertained as a companion. "

" He will prove himself to you, just like the Spaniard did." You defended the man, curiously glancing at the gladiator instead. " Blame me for having faith, but he deserves it."

The bright in your eyes left him no space for doubts, he knew you weren't really talking about the scribe. For as long as he was forced to endure more of Proximo's tecnical complains on the perfomances of his men regarding the challening tastes and demmands of romans, your reassuring expressions reacting to each remark eased the situation for him.

For as much as you bragged about the dessert you successfully prepared, or the wine you got in honor of his home, neither of those details were the biggest surprise you had in mind. Certain aspects of your planification escaped even your expressed saids to your father, who would end up as surprised as the guests of your table when you cheerfully announced you would bring entertainment for them.

Near the end of the meal, when everyone was quite saciated from food, drinks and conversation, you pridefully stood up as a follow up from the claim that kept the men struggling to guess what would be your next step.

" This is a home of performers, so tonight it is my wish to perform for your entertainment. " You sweetly informed. " Unfortunately for us, I am not instructed in many arts, but I will offer you the one I believe my finest. "

You looked at your father with a cheerfull smile, easing him and looking for his approbation in the same action.

" I have been told that, in Rome, people are fond of acts that tell stories. Gladiatorial spectacles are sometimes structured as stories that narrate the victories of the past for the glory of it. For this, I am going to enact a little tale for you in my singing. "

The introduction made you sound like you were about to become the master of ceremonies of your own act, to what you proceeded into a detailed narration.

" Going back long before Mars loved the virgin Silvia, when Aeneas was still in Troy, yet not remained there for too long. The ruse of Odysseus to conquer the brightfull city had worked, and the greek warriors awaited inside of the giant wooden horse. Undetected by the citizens they were, untill the doubtfull scheming of one among them put their feat in great risk."

Noticing the mood of the small audience, you saw the gladiators in attentive silence and a smile in your father's face. He looked almost proud, and that would only encouraged you.

" In slow, gallant pace, Helen circled the horse three times calling for the greeks. One by one, in her voice they heard the voices of their distant wifes. The memory of their loved ones torturing them, blessing them, invited them to expose themselves in risk of their own survival. Believing to be reuniting with his wife, one man responding to her and the so longed vengeance would have been ruined. "

Something had changed in the calm semblance of the Spaniard, like a sudden fright imperceptible enough for most. Seeing this shift inspired you to shorten the explanations.

" Far from seeking to torture you, I invite you to relax and find in my voice the call of your merriest thoughts. "

Taking a guess in what you were about to do, your father stepped aside. Curiosity kept him surveiling the scene instead of calling him to stop you because it showed him how much attention you have put listening to his tales, how you looked up to him. Being the master of ceremonies of her own arena, his girl had presented herself to perform like an entertainer.

It was adorable, so he could only allow you the creative freedom taking distance alongside the scribe.

Enacting the scene you had just narrated, you began to pace around the gladiators singing about a young wife waiting for her husband describing him between declarations of love and longing. Slow, but confident were your steps circling the table, and you gave yourself completely to the performance adding little seductive quircks through an acting. Juba, the onlyone you knew to be a married man, took it as your well intentioned try to comfort him and inspire him. Your approach of him was perhaps more modest an innocent for this cause, what he appreciated.

If they would have been the crew of hidden greeks, Haken was perhaps the one closer to sentence everyone else to a certain death falling for your act. He would follow it whenever your attention was back on him, clearly responding with cheerfull enjoyment. If your hand would give a brief caress to his cheek, he would grab it to keep it still for just a bit longer, then tilt his head following your way with a smirk. In direct contrast with him was the Spaniard, biggest challenge on the crowd, precisely the one whose cheer you craved for the most.

Unamusement wasn't the source of his gelid receivement, but pretty much the opposite. Conflicted feelings and the incredible coincidence had frozen him on the spot to contemplate you in awe. You knew nothing about him, but in the choice of an act to get his attention you touched the core of his heart. Like the autentical Odysseus of the scene, he resisted with prudence in awareness that his plan for vengeance would be ruined once he would have given in to you. Like Helen tempting the men with the echoes of their wives, you were offering him a second chance in life if he would just take you. The whole gathering was your subtle proposal to him, showing over and over how much of a great wife you could be once he would have obtained his freedom. With a voice as bewitching as your image, you were determined to charm him in particular. The flirty manners with rest were collateral, part of a performance to appear less obvious.

Trapped between his enjoyment of the dangerously ethereal beauty in the performance and the melancholy for his tragically lost love that you had accidentally evoked, he stayed still as emotions overwhelmed him. Lacking a response must have been frustrating for you, but instead of ruining the act with tears of rejectment released in advance you embraced the role even harder.

The last notes came out as you cuped both of his cheeks, tilting his head slightly upwards teasing a kiss that would never happen. His challenging composure, and the tension building up between you, strangely reminded of the moment you meet him.

Good timing in the humor of your german friend saved everyone.

" ... And they say she can't find a husband because of us! "

The choir of laughter and clapping iniciated eased the situation. With the room cheering for you, only your beloved remained silent.

Ríght after your little thankfull salute, you teased him about it.

" At risk of sounding reiterative, I have to ask … Are you not entertained, Spaniard? "

He smiled as if nothing had happened, trying to fool you and himself equally.

" Not more than you want me to be … I think the german cheered the loudest"

You smirked, then pretended to be offended by the neutral review.

" Even after I played the role you found me? Well, I guess I owe myself to my audience then."

You blew a kiss for Haken and he gave you a cheeky wink.

" My friend! If only I was a free man ... you would be suffering no longer. "

You laughed together, untill he pushed Juba a little bit just to be able to round you against him with one arm.

Proximo respected the artistic liberties, but the disruptive time had ended with your performance and he was ready to reinforce the limits.

" You must be drunk off your ass if you think I would ever give her away to you."

His voice reminded you of his presence and you rushed towards him with excitement.

" Pa!! Aren't you going to talk of my act? I didn't tell you about it so you wouldn't have an evaluation ready. "

Noticing you were awaiting with expectation made him more proclive to allow himself a cheerfull reaction even if his men were nearby.

" And when was I supposed to find out my girl is a songbird with acting skills? " He praised you right away. " I allways suspected that you could be more than the country peasant they raised you as. It runs in your blood … You are an entertainer, just like your father! "

Careless for anything else to his display of pride, you hugged him as he kept cheering out loud.

" We will get filthy rich!! Perfect the act, repeat it in a roman banquet, and you will get a herd of wealthy men bringing gifts. If the rumours spread far enough and your fame grows, maybe one day you may even perform for the young emperor. "

His observations got you in blissfull disbelief, so after releasing him you objected the too grandious ideation.

" I was just playing for my friends! I found my voice singing to entertain myself in the farm. You can't possibly think I can become that good."

Before he would get to reply, and faithfull to his strange compulsion, the Spaniard interrupted.

" Are you thinking of selling your own daughter to Commodus now that you found an exploitable talent of hers? That's low, Proximo. Even for you."

" My darling, he worries for me!! " You commented with delight getting your attention briefly back in him. " Fear not, I will explain him. "

Trying to sound as nice as you could, you revealed the small infidence he once made you.

" You know I don't like to critizice your business associates, so I tried to say nothing for as long as I could. Spaniard heard rumours in the legion … And that man? He is bad as disease. "

The reprobatory nod you gave was funny, but it didn't manage to convince your father.

" Why should we believe in him? He didn't even bother to tell us his name."

It was a plausible answer, but the gladiator had something ready for it.

" You don't have to, but there is wisedom in my words you are invited to take. "

Twisting the very own rethoric used on him earlier granted him a partial victory, and when you smiled for him from afar once more, the passion he only allowed himself to unleash through protectiveness found its correct outlet.

" Eres preciosa, … y no permitiré que ese hijo de puta te mire siquiera. "

Evidently impressed and slightly frightened, the scribe ended up exposing him.

" That's not something very appropiate to say about the Emperor of Rome. "

Making himself an echo of the collective surprise, Juba questioned him with increasing curiousity.

" Is his one of the seven languages? "

" Tell us what he said. " Haken followed. " I don't like his wicked grin, I could swear he is up to something."

The greek was all smiles seeing his skills were suddenly acknowledged.

"Indeed, I understand him … but I owe myself to my lady so you can ask her the full translation later. "

He was having a very particular little vengeance against the one who mocked him the loudest for his desperation at the arrival to the school. Perhaps encouraged by your protection, he mischievously showed off in front of the arrogant though whispering you the answer.

You eyes were open wide to the words he murmured, envisiong the meaning in the intense feeling that the original pronunciation gave you. According to your loyal accomplice, the Spaniard had said that he wouldn't allow the emperor, adressed in heavy curse words, to have even one peek of your beauty.

Shielding him with your lies, you mockfully repeated only the part in which he cursed Commodus so everyone could laugh and forget about it.

Was it merely a strong sense of protectiveness? Preventive jealousy? You couldn't possibly tell and it was driving you crazy. He spent the rest of the night being elusive of you, shielding himself in the extroverted nature of Haken so you could never approach him directly again like you have done before. Even his reserved best friend had became more talkative, or at least not subtly closed to your attempts of interact.

Progress made was completely lost, since he had shutted himself down again. Confused by the overal mistery that the man was, but at least happy for the good time you spent near all the other men, you could still say that your merry gathering was a success. Nice closure for one stage at the gateway for the biggest challenge of your lives: facing the great city. For them? The most brutal, and most glorious arena in the world. For you, it would be feeling small again fearing to stumble with the family of your mother. If she still lived, would you find her on the streets and not recognize her unless your father would be there to tell you? Those were things in which you prefered not to think about, or otherwise you would not be able to follow his excitement about leaving the province.

The success waiting for him, all the luxurious wonders of the capital, and your beloved gladiators proving their quality were merriest thoughts. And however, your wishfull thinking couldn't help going back to the same idea. A freshly freed Spaniard, triumphant despite his personal disdain for the emperor, finding his way in the capital. Carrying you in his arms to cross the threshold of his new home, that would be your home.

In the tangled mess of your fantasies you found at least one root of his strange behavior, and you couldn't believe how you couldn't see it before. The matter couldn't wait untill the next day, but you couldn't discuss it in front of your father, so you proceeded exactly in the way you have mastered.

Sneaking to the cages, even if it was a scandalous hour, so the guards will let you confront him before he would be locked up again. Seeing you arrive didn't surprise him, and having an accusing finger pointed at him even before privacy would allow you to be clear was enough to guess your motive.

" You have been trying to set me up with Haken the entire night … Why?? And don't dare to bring a man that has nothing to be with us into this again. "

He decided to defend himself being completely honest with you, even if that would expose you both to the uncomfortable truths.

" I did what a good friend does, helping you search a prospect seeing you started considering close to be liberted gladiators as a possible marriage strategy."

The callout hitted you strong, but you tried to save your dignity.

" That's absurd! And you clearly don't know him like i do, his jokes mean nothing. Haken won't be looking for a wife anytime soon."

Saying that, to change that, you just had to give him enough time behaving for him in the exact same way you would do for he himself would have been too provoking. It would have angered you, potentially exposing himself as well.

" But you think I will, … ever since you found out i want to win my freedom. You spoiled me so much tonight in order to prove me you could be a good wife. "

" Can you blame me for trying? After all, free men need wives. " You defended yourself. " Besides, you are very different from what one can expect from a champion. You rejected the pleasurable companies offered to you, and that persuasive little speech about the uniqueness of marital lovemaking made me guess you dream with finding a woman you can call your own. "

If there was a moment worthy of being direct, or at least teasing glimpses of his past to help you understand his attitude, it was precisely then. Knowing Rome was near meant for Maximus that, the less you would knew about him, the safest would be for you.

" Following me will keep you chasing ghosts, you are in love with a shadow. How can you be seeking to pursue a future alongside a man you don't know at all?"

His hands were holding your shoulders, more as a caress than a as a pressing grab, and he stared deeply into your eyes as he awaited for an answer.

It made you melt towards him, even if he seemed closer than ever to breaking your heart.

" Because every small discovering of him amazes me a little more, and every single day I wake up more in love than the night before. If I would have found my feelings completely denied, I would have desisted a long time ago. I can tell when I am not wanted, and I respect it, ... but everytime I think you are about to deny me you prove me otherwise. "

Your confused frustration was his fault, a mistake he had to ammend in the kindest way possible.

" Your are so close to make me love you, but I am not meant to have you. I can't afford this, neither it would be fair for you to take the load of treating wounds from my past. The tender flesh is still bleeding from a damage so deep they will never close. The german has only old scars, and sees a bright future ahead for himself."

The confession was stained by the cryptic phrasing surrounding it.

" Spaniard, you claim to be protecting me, but you are obsessed in speculating with other men's desires. You want Haken to fall for me arguing it's for my own good, you have this insane fear that the Emperor himself could want me if we ever meet because he is dangerous… How about you? Have you figured out how you feel for me?"

You took one of his hands and moved it close to your chest, pressing untill he would be able to feel the fastening beatings.

" Can you feel it raise for you? It's yours, even if I have no name for the only man that makes my heart beat like this. "

Intimacy as such was torture for the man in that context. Unable to respond, but craving to do so.

" You will get all the answers soon, I promise. "

The tranquilizing claim managed to make you smile, but it wasn't enough to satisfy your passionate curiosity.

" Can I get a kiss now? "

Your eyes searched for an answer in his face with wondering adoration and even despite the bad ilumination of the enviroment, he still found you lovely.

Gently cuping your cheeks to pull you closer towards him, he granted your wish for a kiss that was exactly as sweet and tender as he had imagined on how you deserved to be kissed.

[tf2heritageposts]

valve found a way to stop the entropy that will one day lead to the heat death of the universe but unfortunately the solution was deemed too complex for playtesters even after dumbing it down a lot, so they cut it out

[selfcarecap]

Halloween [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x neighbour!reader

summary: You dress up as Wolverine for Wade’s Halloween party and it unleashes something in Logan. Him wearing a Ghostface mask also unleashes something in you. Or: Logan fucks you wearing a Ghostface mask.

warnings: smut 18+ (oral, unprotected (but inconsequential) p in v, creampie, doggy in front of a mirror, missionary, cum eating and also Logan spitting it into reader’s mouth, brief chasing kink, (Ghostface) mask kink obv, pet names: bub, baby, good girl), worst!Logan I guess but I couldn’t find a pic to use, Wade being Wade 

word count: 3.8k

note: I didn’t have that much time to write this but I wanted to post something for Logan before Halloween so <3, inspired by that I want to be fucked for Halloween sound on tt lol you'll see what I mean, and some ideas me and @ethanhoewke talked about 🤭, also I’ve never watched Scream so all I can do is mention the mask lol | gorgeous dividers by @dollywons & @anitalenia <3

You meet your neighbours Logan and Wade in the laundry room of your building on Thursday night. They’re fighting over whether they’re going to do a couple’s costume for Wade’s Halloween party next week. 

“We’re not a couple, Wade. We’re not doing a couple’s costume.”

Wade sighs as he stuffs his blood splattered clothes into the washing machine – you’ve learnt not to ask anymore. 

“Hey,” Logan says when he sees you, and those three letters are enough to make your cheeks heat up. You wave at them both, busying yourself with your own washing. 

Wade puts his hand on his hip, “Can you believe Logie won’t do a couple’s costume with me after I adopted him and put a roof over his head? He’s such an ungrateful brat.”

You giggle, meeting Logan’s gaze as he rolls his eyes at his roommate. He turns away to let you do your laundry in peace but Wade walks over to you, sitting down on the bench behind you. 

“What do you want to be for Halloween? Sexy nurse? Sexy doctor? Sexy cop?”

You laugh, “Why do they all have to be sexy?”

“Because it’s you, so it’s impossible for the costume to not be sexy,” Wade raises his eyebrows and you smile at the compliment, sitting down next to him. 

You sigh as you think about his question. 

“Fucked, Wade. I want to be fucked for Halloween.”

You hear a chuckle from Logan a few feet away. You were hoping he wasn’t listening, but he does you the favour of keeping his head turnt in the other direction as he sorts through laundry. You’re closer with Wade – you didn’t necessarily want Logan knowing how badly you need to get laid. 

Wade points to his own chest, “Wait, by moi?”

“I love you but I’d prefer someone who doesn’t look like a burnt chicken nugget.”

“You know what? Even though I look like a burnt chicken nugget, I still love myself. Learned that from the OG.”

You smile, “And anyway, I thought you and Vanessa were back together?”

“That we are,” Wade says, rising to his feet and twirling out of the room like a ballerina, calling out, “I’ll see you later for movie night!” 

“He’s fucking crazy,” Logan says, chuckling, and you smile as you finish doing your laundry. 

-

You’re late to Wade’s Halloween party the following week. You rush two floors up to their shared apartment, but your knocks go unnoticed through the loud music coming from inside and the door won’t open. 

You’re about to get your phone out to call Wade but you realise you can’t. Your fake claws are in the way. 

You’re dressed up as Logan. You recently saw some pictures of when he was younger, effortlessly hot in a tanktop and jeans, hair styled charmingly, almost like kitty ears. 

Accordingly, you’ve got yourself a fitted tanktop, jeans that make you stop in front of every mirror to admire your backside, and a belt with a big buckle like the ones he used to wear. You’ve paired your outfit with kitty ears the colour of your hair and, of course, fake claws protruding between your fingers. 

You hope Logan doesn’t take offence. In your rush to get ready for the party, you didn’t even consider that. 

What if he doesn’t like your costume? What if he thinks it’s disrespectful? You know he’s struggled with his mutation, after all, hurt people he loved because of it. Wade told you the costume was a good idea when you showed him your outfit the other day, but Wade isn’t Logan. 

Plus, it’s Halloween. Halloween is supposed to be scary, even if most people’s costumes aren’t scary nowadays. What if Logan thinks you’re calling him a scary monster? Oh god. You’re considering going downstairs and changing – into what, you don’t know, but the last thing you want is to offend Logan, and if there’s even just a small chance of it then you don’t want to do it after all. Suddenly, you see Logan.  

He’s walking down the hallway where you’ve zoned out, arms folded awkwardly because of your claws. He stops in his tracks, a plastic shopping bag hanging from his hand, and he’s squinting at you; you wouldn’t say he looks mad but you’re not sure. 

Logan comes closer, folding his arms. “Are you supposed to be me?” 

A smile creeps on his face as you tentatively answer with a “…yeah?”

He looks you up and down and it makes your skin heat up as he takes a step forward, “Not sure if I should be offended, bub.”

Oh no–

He continues with a smirk, “Going around stealin’ a man’s look and doing it better than him? Can’t say that outfit used to look that good on me.” You sigh a breath of relief. He likes it. You smile at his compliment, and then he’s reaching out to give a light tug on the cat ears in your hair. 

“I don’t get what these are supposed to be though.”

You push the plastic hair band back in place as you smile up at him, “You know exactly what they are.”

Logan shrugs. “You got something wrong though.”

He stands next to you with the side of his arm pressed against yours, and you gulp at the sudden contact with his warm, beefy arm. Logan makes a fist and unsheathes his claws, holding them next to yours, and they’re at least three times the length of your fake ones, metal sparkling even in the shitty light of the corridor. 

“Should be much bigger,” he smirks, pulling them back in and unlocking the door for you. You don’t miss the implication behind his words, and you swallow as you step into the loud party in their apartment that is decorated to the nines for Halloween. 

Wade runs over to you to hug you, wearing a sexy maid costume over his Deadpool suit. 

“I love it,” you tell him while he simultaneously compliments your outfit. You look around for Logan and only just catch him closing the door to his bedroom, and he disappears behind it. You were too distracted just now to realise that he wasn’t even wearing a costume. 

Your shoulders deflate as you realise he’s probably not coming back out. He was half of the reason you even came to the party. You were looking forward to spending some time with him, but now that you think about it, you wouldn’t expect him to be interested in a Halloween party, crafting an elaborate costume and hanging up corny decorations the way Wade did. 

You try to shake off your disappointment and enjoy yourself nevertheless. 

-

You’re stumbling back to the kitchen after dancing with Wade and Vanessa, getting yourself a drink. You’re softly humming to the music coming from the other room when you feel a presence behind you. 

Your heart speeds up for a moment when you see someone in a Ghostface mask standing right beside you. He’s wearing the mask with a black, tight tanktop stretched over his broad chest. You smell Logan’s cologne as the scent swirls in the air around you, but you could have recognised him by the veins on his arms alone.  

You try to keep your hopes at bay but you can’t help but wonder if he’s wearing the mask because of you. When you watched Scream with him and Wade the other night, Wade kept teasing you about your crush on the killer. 

At the time you felt like disappearing, hoping that Logan was as disinterested as he claimed, that he wasn’t listening to anything you two were saying, but now you’re glad he heard. If he’s wearing the costume for your sake. Which he probably isn’t. You’ve tried to convince yourself that your crush is unrequited, just to protect yourself. It’s a common Halloween costume, nothing to do with you… probably. 

“Hi,” Logan says. You can’t see his face but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Hey…,” you reply, almost shakily, “didn’t think you were coming.”

“I wasn’t going to, couldn’t be bothered to think of a costume. But then I found this so I thought I’ll join you.”

You nod along as he tells you about going out to buy the mask only today, but you’re not paying attention. All you can focus on is how hot it is that you can’t see Logan’s face through the mask, but you still know it’s him. The way his voice is slightly muffled yet strong makes you shudder. 

“So, has your wish for Halloween come true yet?”

You give him a confused smile, only just realising that he’s asking you something.

“You told Wade you wanted to get fucked for Halloween.”

Not able to stop a shy grin from spreading over your face, you say, “Oh. No, hasn’t happened yet. Not counting on it.” 

“No one you like here?” Logan asks, and you look up at him, at the Ghostface mask, trying to think of a flirty reply when Wade’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. 

Wade runs over to Logan, leaning his head to the side flirtily, “I told you it’d look hot, peanut. Are you gonna hunt me later, Mr. Ghostface?” Wade brings a finger to his lip, and, for once, Logan doesn’t get annoyed by his jokes.

“Ghostface only hunts good girls,” Logan says, and your heart starts to beat faster yet again when you realise Logan is looking down at you.

“Am I not a good girl?” Wade asks, and Logan just huffs, ignoring him. You can’t see his eyes, but you can still feel them on you. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud.

It’s not much later that Logan is chasing you through the hallways of your building, with you giggling and squealing only a few feet ahead of him as the adrenaline pumps through you. 

He gave you a headstart but you know he’ll catch you. You want him to catch you. You’re fumbling with the keys to your apartment when he reaches you, your heart hammering in your chest at the thrill of being chased. 

Logan’s hands go to your waist as he pushes you against your front door. 

“I got you.”

You reach up to gently tug the mask off but he stops you when only his lips are exposed, and he grins. You smile and lean up to kiss him, and you somehow manage to fit your key into the lock while you’re making out and push the door open. 

Logan lifts you and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing as he carries you to your bedroom. 

With your claws and the rest of your clothes discarded on the floor minutes later, Logan is fucking you in front of the mirror by your bed. He’s taking you from behind, mask still on as he pulls and pushes at your hips with you fucking back against him as the mattress dips beneath you. 

But as hot as it is to see the Ghostface mask looking down at you through the mirror, it’s also your first time having sex with Logan and you want to see him.

“Can I take the mask off?” you ask, looking back at him and Logan lifts you so that your back is flush with his chest. You turn around and pull the mask off over his head with a smile.

His hair is messy and a little bit sweaty, and as good as Logan usually looks you don’t think you’ve ever been quite this attracted to him. He holds your face to press a few sloppy kisses to your lips, and then he turns you back around to face the mirror.

Logan doesn’t push you back on all fours, but takes your arms and clasps them behind your back, holding them together with one big hand. He slides his cock back into your wet pussy and begins to rub your clit with his other hand.

“Look at you,” he nods towards the mirror, and you meet his eyes in it, watching as his gaze trails down your body, to where his hand disappears between your soft thighs, “So fucking pretty.”

You lean your head back against his shoulder as he continues to play with your pussy, but he can’t properly fuck you at this angle, so you buck back against him until he manoeuvres you onto your back.

His lips find yours again and your arm sneaks around the back of his neck, holding him close as you kiss him desperately. You whine when his lips leave yours. He kisses down your neck and over your collarbones, down over your tits and over your belly. He arrives between your legs with a smirk and licks through the wetness of your pussy.

He moans when he first makes contact, “tastes even better than I fucking imagined, baby.”

You smile down at Logan as he pulls your socked feet onto his shoulders, fingers grabbing your ankles. “You’ve imagined this?”

Logan looks up at you, “Every single fucking day. You haven’t?”

You smile bashfully despite his own admission, but he doesn’t let you answer anyway, moving his head back between your legs to make out with your pussy. He pushes two fingers inside you, the tips of his fingers rubbing up against your g-spot.

You begin to squirm as the heat builds up in your lower stomach, but Logan holds your hips down with his muscular forearm over your waist, “Stay still for me, baby, okay?”

Logan starts sucking on your clit, and you cum immediately, back arching as you grab onto his hair. Your pussy pulses and throbs around his fingers as pleasure floods your body. You grind up to meet his mouth and he lets you use him until you’re breathless.

He places a last, rough kiss on your pussy, getting back on his knees to fuck you, but you breathe out, “Give me a second.” You smile shyly, your pussy still squeezing around nothing every few seconds.

“Of course, bub.” He leans down to kiss you and you mumble a question against his lips.

“Can I go down on you?”

Logan smiles and sits up, “Me or…?” he nods over to the mask. 

You shrug shyly, “Well, if you’re offering.”

“Why do you think I wore it?” Logan smirks, pulling the mask back on. You briefly pull it up to his forehead again to give him a small kiss of appreciation.

He holds your hand as you get off the bed, sinking down onto the carpeted floor. You smile as his hard cock bobs in front of your face, glistening with precum and your wetness.

You place your hands on his knees and softly trace a path down his cock with your tongue, gently sucking his balls as you look up. A thrill shoots through you when you only see the mask looking back at you, and you move to suck Logan’s dick into your mouth as deep as you can, tasting your own arousal on him.

He throbs hotly against your tongue as you let spit run down his length, slapping his cock against your tongue.

“Such a good girl,” Logan’s voice sounds from above you, and you look up at him, at the Ghostface mask, as you take his cock in your mouth again, your hands back on his knees for support.

You make out with the head of his cock, gently sucking on the skin down the side of him, licking your way up, playing with him.

“I’m close, baby,” he moans.

You mumble against his skin, telling him to take off the mask, and even though it comes out muffled he hears. Logan tugs off the mask in one quick movement, looking down at you with his eyebrows drawn together in pleasure and his lips bitten raw. His face glows with desire and a hint of sweat, and he hums when you suck him into your mouth.

You use your hand to jerk off the rest of him, moving your mouth down on him as far as you can, and your eyes flutter shut when you hear Logan moan, and he’s spilling the first ropes of his load down your throat. You keep sucking until you’ve swallowed all of his cum, and only then do you take your mouth off him.

Sitting back, suddenly shy, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand but Logan’s already tugging you up to the bed to kiss you.

“You got another orgasm in you?” he asks against your lips. You straddle him and feel his hard cock smack against your thigh as you tell him yes. He tips you onto your back, leaning down to press a wet kiss to your pussy.

When he gets between your legs and pushes his cock into you again it somehow feels even better than the first time as you gasp in pleasure.

“You’re so warm, bub. So perfect. Wanna stay here forever,” Logan says mindlessly as he bottoms out, and you whine into his mouth.

“Want you inside me forever too,” you babble, already fucked out. You wrap your legs around his waist as he fucks you. It feels like your wet pussy is sucking him in with the way you clech around him, and you both know you won’t take long for your next orgasms.

He slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit as he begins to fucks you deeper. “You gonna cum for me again, bub? You make such a cute face when you cum. Let me see it again, baby.”

You’re nodding dumbly and letting the feeling of him take over, not just his big cock in your pussy and his slicked fingers on your clit, but the way his body feels on top of yours, warm skin against warm skin as he sloppily kisses your jaw and neck, and you cream around his cock as you cum, moaning his name.

“That’s it, baby, doin’ so well. Taking my big cock like a good girl, hm?” Logan’s voice is strained, and then he’s cumming too, filling you up with his warm release until your pussy is stuffed full with his cock and his cum. He pulls out slowly and rubs your sensitive clit a little more.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, fucking two fingers into you and when he pulls them out they’re coated in his sticky load.

You reach out to pull him down by his wrist and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking his cum off them as he smirks down at you, rubbing a hand over his face to calm himself for now.

You both come down from your highs with laboured breaths, and he pulls you to lie your head on the pillow. Logan wraps his arms around you, just cuddling you for a bit, when you realise something and smile up at him.

“So, are you that narcissistic that seeing me dressed up as you made you want to fuck me?” 

Logan smirks. “Nah, wanted to fuck you way before that. And I’m just honoured you like me enough to dress up as me.”

You open your mouth for a rebuttal but he instead takes that opportunity to push his tongue back into your mouth as he holds the side of your face. You make out lazily for another few moments, slinging your leg over his hip, but then you drag his hand away from your face.

“Well, I’m honoured you like me enough to dress up for me.” 

“Baby, there’s a lot more I’d do for you than just dress up in a horror mask.”

“Really?” you smile. Logan nods earnestly. He holds you in his arms for a few minutes as you relax into the comfortable silence.

He pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, “Will you go out with me?”

You giggle then, “Don’t think you have to ask me anymore.”

“What? I wanna be a gentleman.”

“Yeah, very gentlemanly what you just did to me.”

You feel some of Logan’s cum drip out of your pussy and onto his thigh in that moment.

Logan looks at you and gives you a silly smile, lifting your leg off him to sit up, “Yeah, baby, I am a gentleman, and a gentleman cleans up after himself.”

He spreads your thighs as he gets between them, and licks up your pussy, coating his tongue in his own cum. You smile at his words but soon you begin to pout in pleasure as he starts going down on you again.

You sigh when he stops and moves up to your face, but you smile when you realise what he’s doing, happily parting your lips for him. Logan leans over you and spits his cum into your mouth, “We taste good together, hm?” he asks.

You swallow your combined arousals eagerly, closing your eyes as you savour the taste, but a gentle pat on your clit makes you open them again.

“You got another one in you, right, baby? Just one.” You nod quickly, unable to form words with you needily spread open for Logan like this. 

Lying back, you let Logan eat your pussy until you’re cumming again, your thighs pressing against his temples as he grabs at the flesh of your legs, licking your clit until you’re satisfied.

Logan lies back down next to you with his lips still shiny with your wetness, and you lean in for another kiss. He takes you in his arms to cuddle, when he asks you again.

“So, will you go on a date with me?”

“Only if it ends with you doing that thing with your mouth again,” you tease.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not going a day without it anymore.”

You giggle into his neck, relaxing against his muscular body.

Logan turns around when he gets a text, showing you his phone. It’s a message from Wade:

Everyone left and I’m about to give Vanessa a happy Halloweener if you know what I’m saying! So don’t come home tonight but I have a feeling you weren’t going to anyway ;)

Logan cringes while you laugh, ready to put his phone back when another message comes through.

And if you don’t treat her right I’ll cut off your Halloweener

Logan groans, switching off his phone. You laugh against his skin and let him hold you until you both sink into a warm, cozy sleep.

P.S. Logan thinks good girls reblog and comment on the fics they enjoy 🤭🙂‍↕️

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

An AU where Tintin is a crime lord, inspired by @jerseyhobby 's post here!

Detective Rastapopoulus is one of the most brilliant minds in his department. His talent has been long overlooked due to his status as an immigrant, but when a new teenage menace starts to stir up the streets, Rastapopoulus's knack for digging into the murky depths of the criminal underworld is called upon.

His target is only known by his alias, Tintin. At just seventeen he already has a few bank heists, smuggling operations and a chain of illegal clubs under his belt. He operates like a phantom, making himself hardly known. Those who have had business with him never recall him raising his voice, as he simply does not need to. Manners go a long way, and manners are an effective mask for the brutality required to maintain such an operation.

Few are confirmed to know him personally. He has his beloved dog, Snowy, who has a taste for expensive jewelry, and his right hand man, a pickpocket-turned jewel thief he met in Shanghai. Together they are unstoppable, nothing is outside their reach - and when the Karaboudjan, a large shipping vessel goes missing, along with its crew and captain, Rastapopoulus just knows they are involved. If only he can keep his temper and ego in check, he might just be able to finally put an end to Tintin's reign of chaos, and perhaps earn the recognition he so desperately craves.

I think an AU where Tintin uses his abilities for crime would be an interesting way to see how he's impacted people he's met, so for this take I have only inverted Tintin and Rastapopoulos - Haddock is still an honest man, but his vulnerability leaves him open to being manipulated. He becomes Tintin's equivalent to Allan Thompson, only this time motivated by fear for his life rather than money. Alcohol, threats and his rock-bottom self esteem keep him in line.

Calculus is scammed by Tintin for his inventions, leaving him feeling deeply betrayed as he is someone with strong morals. He vows revenge, his tunnel vision leading him down incredibly destructive paths. He was initially targeted by Tintin because he just seemed naive and easy to exploit, but Tintin severly underestimates him, despite Chang's warnings. Not only does Tintin have the law on his tail, but a mad scientist with nothing left to lose, who has access to devastating explosives.

Chang simply wants somewhere he belongs. Canonically he's stolen from cops before, so there's no doubt that if Tintin dragged him into crime he would follow along - but he may start to doubt if their bond is built more on what he can do for him rather than his value as a person.

Rastapopoulos this time gets to use his cunning to catch a slippery crime lord, but he still has the same shortcomings as his canon counterpart. He sorely craves attention and praise. He has a terrible short temper. He craves power and influence. He starts to use increasingly questionable methods for his investigation, as his higher ups breathe down his neck for being incapable of catching a couple of queer teenage hoodlums.

Tintin himself isn't motivated by money or power, he's looking for thrills and control over his life. Canonically he's rather emotionally shut off, and he's no different here. He doesn't let himself get too attached to anyone else. Unlike canon Rastapopoulos, I can imagine a crime lord Tintin pouring money and resources into communities in need, and opening up spaces for marginalised groups like bars for queer people. He still wants to do good deep down, but just doesn't quite believe he is a good person.

[xoxo-surfergirl]

the lady, the prince, & the sword

[in honor of spooky season]

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

abstract: over one hundred years after the dance, you grow up as a lady in the ruins of Harrenhal. One day, you get a little too curious about the prince and his dragon rumored to be rotting at the bottom of the lake, and awaken something beyond your understanding. 🕯️this fic is inspired by a post from @sapphirevhagar 🕯️ themes: spooky harrenhal, smut, ghost/undead aemond, aemond as a war criminal, forbidden romance if you squint, you are the lady of harrenhal, dark aemond (but like, he's a dark character so I just tried to stay true to who he is), piv & hand stuff

lucy's notes: ao3 link. I tried to make my characterization of aemond as true as I could, but I won't lie it was hard in this scenario!! I don't think he'd be the type to just fuck someone (but maybe he would...who knows), but for the purposes of this spooky halloween fic I tried to make it as realistic as I could. maybe he would if he was pussy starved for a century, so that's what I'm going for. ENJOY!

word count: 8.6k

The sun had struck its highest point in the sky, your very own guiding star to the lake below it. 

From this bluff above God’s Eye, you could see all of what you called home: a boundless land, resilient despite centuries of war that had left each tree as a tombstone watered with spilled blood. And yet, the land was more alive because of it, or perhaps despite it. You weren’t sure which, but you knew just as well as any other riverman that if you listened close enough, you could feel the breath of the land under your feet. 

The rolling evergreens murmured when the winds ran through their branches. Winter was coming, and soon the jeweled blue of God’s Eye would coalesce into bitter sheets of ice. But for now, the first light gusts coaxed the water’s surface into gentle catspaws, still forgiving enough on your skin to welcome you into the lake. There was no barrier between your toes and the grass. Your daily swims were the one time you went without boots, an activity of yours that the Lord of Harrenhal detested. Mud is unbecoming of a lady , your father would say. It was, but so was walking in squelching boots back to your chambers. 

The faint line of sand at your favorite lakeside spot had finally breached your toes. It was better than all of the rest. Much of the lake had no such comfortable entry as this: a large swath of sand perfectly divoted for entry. Silence was a familiar friend here. It was a true silence, unlike the faint drips and echoes that seeped through your walls. 

And so the last thing you were expecting was company. “And what finds my Lady at this cursed corner of God’s Eye?” 

“My good Patrek, I did not expect to see you here.” Hiding your fright was easier said than done. An old family friend of the less noble type, with a face worn by time and a voice weathered by wind. Onlookers were rare here, and you wondered if he had followed you all the way from the keep. 

“You should not be here, my Lady. You know the stories, educated as you are.” 

You did—of how the very burrows of sand that now welcomed your toes were dug by Daemon Targaryen’s dragon Caraxes in a death-crawl to shore after his rider and opponent had perished. Every riverman knew of the tale. 

“I swim here often. If there is a curse, I hope I have been spared it.” Brushing off a stubborn elder was something you were quite familiar with. 

“Then you know the dragon’s blood soaked into the soil, dying where you stand. The very ground you walk on is damned.” His voice gruffed against his throat, but there was no mistaking the concern there. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in the power of such things—as a Lady of Harrenhal you knew very well from your own accord how often things are not always what they seemed. But even some tales were too far-fetched for your own belief.

 Besides, if you heeded every tale and story from your surrounding men, you’d hardly be able to leave your chambers. 

Telling an old riverman what to do was not a task you’d expected to find yourself involved in at this hour. The look in your eye did more talking than your words. “I appreciate your concern, Patrek. But I insist, I am more than alright.” 

With one last stare, he dismissed himself. Thank the gods. 

In front of you, fragile blades of grass dared to peek through the large sand trough. It was a perfect pathway to the water, gently sloping and kinder on your feet than the rocky mud surrounding the rest of the lake was. If this truly was Caraxes’ doing, he had carved such a fine entrance to the water. It had never regrown. Barren, unlike the greater parts of the rest of the lake—perhaps the agony of such a creature reshaping the dirt with its claws, belly dragging and wingless on one side, had scarred the land permanently. You could see it. 

The water lapped at your toes now. Dragons were a far away concept, from a land and world that no longer existed, yet you wondered if their deaths really were something so traitorous to the gods that the land could never fully be right again. 

Stepping further and further inside, the light billow of your dress danced in the water. There were times, like a moonlit night, where you would forgo your dress and let the lake feel you bare. Those moments were rare, and ladies hardly had enough privacy and virtue to spare to allow such brazen activities—but you indulged in them when the moon called. With a final push of your toes, you dove your hands ahead of you and released. For a second, you were flying, letting the water carry you before you pushed against it once more. Smiling came easy here. 

And yet Patrek’s words lingered. None of the information was new. Perhaps it was the graveness of his voice that haunted you. 

Words could melt in the water, and his were no exception. The water held you as your mother might have, or a lover—all over, bringing you a comfort you could find nowhere else. You ran your fingers and toes in the sand below you, feeling it sift in the weightlessness between them. 

The sun had sunk low in the sky when you emerged from the lake, mind and body calm in your daily ritual. 

A new day had brought with it new curiosities—it would be easier to say that getting the tales out of your head was a simple task, but over the course of the previous day, it had proved much more difficult than you’d hoped. 

Sleep had evaded you, and restlessness drew you to the library. Each book was half rotted away from moisture that settled between each page and binding stitch. The candle light in your hand fought a losing battle with the mist, surrendering to a low bruising blue. Even still, you had found what you came there for. 

It was readable despite the poor lighting.  Dragons in the Riverlands were a sore subject—it was not a surprise to find that many, if not all of the manuscripts on dragons were loathsome at best, and near traitorous to your Targaryen overlords at worst. 

Prince Daemon Targaryen and his dragon Caraxes dueled Prince Aemond Targaryen and his dragon Vhagar on the 22nd day of the 5th moon of 130 AC. Dragon shrieks rippled in the wind and dragonfire flamed into the sunset so bright that the sky itself was said to be alight. Prince Daemon is said to have leapt onto Vhagar, plunging the ancestral Targaryen Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister through his nephew’s good eye. Caraxes is believed to have crawled to shore before releasing a dying shriek. Prince Daemon, Prince Aemond and Vhagar’s bones are believed to remain at the bottom of the lake today. 

Portraits of the two men and their dragons had accompanied the passage, with sketches of the battle gathered from the artists and bards surrounding God’s Eye. Long platinum hair framed both men, though Daemon lacked Aemond’s youth and sapphire eye.

  What a peculiar thing, a sapphire eye. Imagining a dragon as large as Vhagar sunk deep beneath your nose was a strange thing, fitting for a strange man with a sapphire in his socket. Trying to imagine a creature, let alone a dragon as big as her, was incomprehensible. If she really was the size of a small keep, how could one command her? 

Aemond Targaryen had—and perhaps that made him one of the most god-like Targaryens of all Targaryens to exist. And now he was damned to spend his eternity bound to the dark blue dungeon that was the depths of God’s Eye. 

Your toes had found the water’s edge once again, among the supposed cursed grounds of Caraxes last breathing place. If one dragon’s death made the land cursed, then surely the death of two doubled it. 

Today was a different venture than you were used to. The sun was even more forgiving than usual, warming your skin before you ever touched the water. It was a compulsion that drew your limbs to swim further from shore, an unexplainable magnetic lord that your limbs gladly obliged. With a hefty suck of air, you submerged your head. The chamber of echoing silence took its hold of your ears as you sank deeper and with a blink, you opened your eyes. The sun rays refracted in planes off of the water’s surface, down to the awaiting bottom. Only on the most clear days were you able to see this far, and yet it still wasn’t far enough to reach its furthest depths. 

Arms and legs tugged on the water. You sank deeper, your hair and dress haloing your floating figure. Long tendrils of curly pondweed and brittle water nymph followed the soft current rippling through the lake. You could feel its light pull, but your limbs were much stronger than the fragile plants that lay there. Swimming forward into deeper territory, large rocks begin to take shape, with their own water thread and algae sprouting from aged cracks. 

It was so faint, you almost missed it. A sparkle or two in the darkness, a trap of sunlight where sunlight didn’t belong anymore, just out of your sight. Another pull of your arms and you were closer: close enough to almost see what could create such a glimmer. Your lungs were calling but you just needed to get one more look—

Despite the near fade to darkness, the shape was unmistakable: a silver pommel, jutting out from beyond the deep. The dragon wings at the hilt were frozen in flight. Realization laid its heavy hand upon your chest and the call of your lungs became too loud to ignore. Frantically swimming to the surface, the bubbles spilled from your lips as the water became warmer as the sun drew closer. Your rift of the surface was punctuated by the loud gasp of your aching chest. Save for your weak disruption, the top of the lake sat as tranquil and undisturbed as you had left it. 

If it’s what you thought it was—

A few more deep breaths later and you were down below the surface once again, heart thrumming with revelation. This time, you knew exactly how deep you needed to go. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, but the glint was visible even near the surface. It was a distant sparkle in the underworld, as if it was capturing the blue essence of God’s Eye itself. Blood pumped through your ears in the chamber of the deep as your arms tugged, stomach threatening to turn despite your precious conservation of air. 

A sapphire and a sword, each a shining beacon of their own. The skull which held both tilted up towards the heavens. Beyond it, skeletal arms reached forward, nearly upward. Part of you knew that the same buoyancy which allowed you to float was the same that held him, but another part of you wondered if at the time of the prince’s death he was reaching towards the sky in hopeless defiance. His once royal leathers and armor were rusted and torn, ebbing like the eel grass that had taken root. Time submitted all to its will, even princes, leaving only rot behind. 

The incomprehensible became comprehensible with one look downwards: crumpled and black, you realized it was not depth, but dragon bones themselves that seemed to create the darkness of the water that surrounded him. Thick spires of obsidian bone curled around what you could only put together as a rib cage the size of a small keep. Her skull was far from her body, large eye sockets gaping and maw stretched with rows of dagger teeth. The very maw that was the last sight of many in the Riverlands. 

If you wanted to reach the surface, you needed to swim now. But for a few more moments, the urge to swim just a bit further was greater than your want for air. You don’t know what possessed you—it could have been the lack of oxygen, or that you were just fond of shiny things on occasion, but you reached for the bright pommel that was nearly offering itself out to you and pulled. The blade was heavier than you were anticipating, as much of a novice as you were, but you persisted. Drawing your arms tight into your chest and using your whole body to swim against it, you did your best to wrack it free from its hold in the prince’s skull. It felt almost wrong to pull so hard, but you persisted. Bubbles jutted from your mouth in the struggle until it wracked free. 

It was now the second time you surfaced, and your gasp was much louder than the last. The sword was heavy in your arms, wanting to drag you back down to the bottom with it and join the prince and his dragon. There was no particular reason for taking it—it was a beautiful thing, untouched by the same rot and ruin as the prince and his dragon below. A sneaky voice in your head reminded you that a relic like this could pay to fill Harrenhal’s coffers for half the year or more if returned to the Targaryens, yet that is not why you sought it. 

In fact, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to know what you had taken, and made quick work to wrap it in your swimming dress on your way back to the castle. A large object wrapped in cloth was not subtle, but the impossibility of manning such a monstrosity of a castle worked in your favor. Taking careful steps and hiding in the many alcoves to weave your way back to your chambers without spectacle proved a successful effort. 

The afternoon had come and gone with little affair, besides a light dusting of rain. It rained at Harrenhal often. And often, you found it peaceful. The rain was a part of life, and the wetness with it. 

But as the late afternoon carried on to evening, it became no such rain. The sky had darkened hours before sundown, bright colors and pretty horizons forgotten behind the undulating turmoil above you. The thunder went beyond simple sounds to full-bodied vibrations, shaking you from the bottom of your feet through your ears. It was not a storm, but a wroth sky. You were certain that no castle for hundreds of miles was spared. 

The buckets meant to catch runaway leaks in the stones were overflowing from the violent rain. Wind raided every crevice it could weave through, whistling just to force itself through. Servants and your family alike had begun sheltering the most fragile of belongings: books, letters, artifacts, and wood sensitive to rot. The torches fought against the wind, a harsh back-and-forth that flickered all light around you into senselessness. 

Retiring early tended to suit you better in many storms, though you doubted you would be getting any meaningful sleep. Earlier, you had unfurled Dark Sister. A small bead of blood on your finger taught you that valyrian steel was as sharp as they say it is. The sword rested against your desk, tall and lethal, catching every strike of lightning as it came down through your window. 

Between each bout of thunder and battering of lightning, you managed to find moments of rest. Each time a strike would come down threatening to tear down the walls, you sat up, clutching your down quilt in your hands. And each time, Dark Sister was glinting in the corner, winged hilt spread like a pouncing bird of prey. 

And yet the greatest of your fears lay not with the presence of the ancestral Targaryen sword, but came in your winks of sleep: a figure, tall and eerie, in the corner of your chambers. Each time you had awoken, your eyes flashed across your room, fearing that you would find a creature of the night standing there. 

Luckily, it seemed the shadow had made its home in your head and not your chambers. When daybreak began to glow behind the clouds, your relief came with it. 

This day was much the same as the last, yet there were fewer and fewer channels for excess water to pour away from the hearths. There would be no swimming today, that much was certain; making the walk down to the lake alone would be enough to sink you into mud, never to be seen again. All were set to help the effort to keep what was able to be kept dry, lady or servant. 

“An omen, I fear,” said Mathilda, a favored handmaiden of yours, as she threw another bucket of water through the open window to the yard below. 

“An omen of what?” 

“Harrenhal hasn’t seen a storm like this in over a decade. It went against all folk predictions.” she breathed worriedly,  “A bad omen. Something isn’t right.” 

You had tucked the sword under your bed about halfway through the night when you realized that looking at it only made your stomach churn. There it lay still and waiting, inches from your two pairs of feet. 

But there was nothing you could do about it at this very moment. “Is there anything to do to protect against a bad omen?” 

“It depends on what’s happened. But for most of my knowledge, I am afraid not. The damage has already been done.” 

The pit in your stomach stirred. In the same evening, the thunder was just as fierce and lightning just as fiery. Regret compounded with every shake of thunder for the stolen sword. It was better left under the lake where it belonged—you knew that now. 

Purple cracked the sky in two from your chamber window, illuminating everything once more. Folktale or omen, bad tidings or tall whispers, on the morrow you would return it. 

And yet that was exactly what didn’t happen. 

Instead, it had happened like this: servants had been rushing around the keep all morning, doing their best to keep the rush of water from entering the hall of a hundred hearths and touching the rugs. Half soaked and boots trailing water already, you didn’t make it past the tower of dread before the guards crossed their swords and insisted that you shall not pass. Too much water could sweep you off your feet and carry you away, they had said, pushing you back to your chambers while you discreetly held a covered Dark Sister to your side. 

Tomorrow it was, then. Insistence would get you nowhere. A lady’s requests were either dutifully followed or carelessly ignored. It was imperative that the torrent stopped, or that you were able to more discreetly make your way to the lake. 

The sword could not be by your side any longer. Perhaps you could leak your secret to septa Scully—you knew her folkwoman heart still beat inside her somewhere, and it could drive her to help you. 

This night was no different from the last. Harrenhal and its eerie passageways and mangey essence had managed to frighten you as a girl, the darkest storms holding your fear hostage. It had been years since you had faced the same fear that licked at your erratic heart as it did now, tucked under your quilted down, thunder wracking itself outside. 

It was in your head—the uncontrolled storm, the tales in your ear—they had simply wormed their way deep in your mind. It was a weak consolation, but your heart finally began its slowing. 

A footstep in the darkness, outside your chambers, was enough to jolt it right back. 

Any sense of sleep had left you now, and all of your focus rushed to your ears. Digging yourself deeper in the covers, you exhaled as quietly as you could in wait. 

Just as you feared, there was another, and then another. 

No matter how hard your forced your eyes shut, the fright remained, each boot knocking on the stone outside, coming closer, and closer, until, 

The door creaked open softly, a rumble of storm to accompany it. Each finger, limb, and blink was frozen over. If you were still enough, perhaps whoever had opened the door would leave you behind. Each of your heart beats felt so loud it would give away your very existence. 

The cold voice that met you instead was nearly enough to get your heart to stop beating all together. “You have something of mine.” 

You dared not move, not even at the direct notice of your presence. 

Squelching wet footsteps punctuated in between his words, each one slowly creeping closer to your bedside. “I know you’re here, little lady of Harrenhal. No amount of stillness in the world would hide you from me.” 

With a swallow of fear, you scurried off of your bed to your night side table, hoping to distance yourself from the intruder. Sitting or laying felt too vulnerable for you to stay put. 

“I don’t understand.” Were the only words you managed to choke out to the shadowed figure in front of you. There was no weapon for you to reach, unless you reached under the bed and grabbed—

“How do you not know? You took it from me.” 

He lowered the hood of his cape. Platinum hair spilled down his shoulders over the black leather of his doublet that shined as if made from metal itself. His skin was pale as a soft moon, and a sapphire eye with a dash through his face—it was almost holy in nature, the beam of a celestial spell. Any thoughts of a common thief or crook left your mind. Even still, it did almost nothing to alleviate your fear, for you had recognized him. 

The pages in your books didn’t do him justice. Any gasp that may or may not have left your lips was drowned out by a whip of lightning.  “H-how?” 

“Give me back my sword.” He answered plainly. 

Shaky hands reached under the bed, eyes locked onto his fierce gaze as you gingerly felt for the hilt. Once in your grasp, you dragged it out, the weight even heavier in your arms than it had when you had pulled it to the surface. Your arm, lightly shaking, extended to his, the pommel and blade gleaming menacingly. His own palm lay over yours to reclaim the hilt. It was made of flesh, and warm—a mystery that evaded you. 

You figured he might strap the sword to whatever sheath was on his side and go back to wherever he had come from, but instead, he set it aside. In yet another movement of unpredictability, he stepped closer. 

“You must dive again and put it back yourself, I cannot do it for you.” His flesh eye studied you carefully, stepping forward to circle you. “But, you have given me reason to finally meet you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve had no one but you to keep me company for one hundred years” Now, he was at a distance where there was more familiarity and the details of his face became more prominent out of the shadows. “You swim in the lake almost every day.” 

You watched him attentively, attempting to understand what it was you were seeing. The fear of the unknown and absurd frightened you. It could be another dream, just like the one you had last night—but you were certain you were awake. 

He stepped even closer, daring to reach out his hand and brush it over your cheek, as if feeling the lifeblood that beat beneath it. “Who are you, one that swims in God’s Eye?” 

“I am a lady of Harrenhal” you paused, still trying to gauge his danger with your disbelief. “Who are you?” 

“You know who I am.” His sapphire was a burning blue ember in the night. 

Denial reared its unforgiving head into yours. Backing away, you tried to reason with yourself. “It’s a trick. Harrenhal plays tricks—I know this.” 

“I assure you, I am no illusion. Stop fighting it.” 

“I—” You let it sit for a moment. He stood in front of you, tall and enshadowed even in the faint candlelight. 

A deep exhale was all you could manage, closing your eyes in resignation. “Yes, my prince. Are you going to kill me?” 

“No, my lady. I’m not going to hurt you.” Watching the ground, you could see his black boots stepping towards you once more. “You did take my sword, but more than that, I simply wanted to meet the only one who dared swim down to me and Vhagar.” 

He tilted your chin up to meet his own eye. There was something curious there, almost soft. Aemond’s hand was so gentle it soothed your rabbit’s heart. “Now you see me, made of flesh.” 

Fear, though not absent, was no longer the only feeling that sent your blood pumping. The feeling of being wanted was something that you had coveted, yet always remained outside of your grasp. You imagined every movement of yours in the lake, how you had never been truly alone on your visits, even the ones in the deepest of summer where you shed your dress and embraced the lake with all of your bareness. 

Crafted in the image of the gods themselves or not, you knew it was impossible for every Targaryen to look the way he did; the beauty of him was something unique, you knew it. Another bolt fractured the sky outside, its flash illuminating both of you. It played a trick on your eyes, almost closing some of the distance between you with blinding light. 

“Are you scared of the storm?” Aemond loomed above you. 

“I’m of this land. Storms do not scare me.” 

“Did I frighten you?” 

He had to have known your answer, but you indulged him. “Yes, you did, my prince.” 

“You don’t need to be scared of me, my lady of God’s Eye.” He stepped closer, resting his left hand on your arm. His hair hung above your face now, a tilt of his head altering its course. “Does this frighten you?” 

You felt the soft weight of his palm, fearing breathing for the simple movement of it. “No, my prince.” With a careful pause, you continued. “My apologies for taking your sword. I didn’t know—” 

“You can repay me.” Aemond replied, his voice assured yet tender for your ears. “You have been tempting me in the lake for long enough.” 

You nodded lightly, delicately reaching out for your palm to meet his chest. There was a warmth coming from within, not cold like an undead body might be. The prince, real or not, was closer to you than any other man had ever been. He reached down, gently tugging you into a soft kiss. 

He was warm here too, and wet, much to your pleasure. Your lips opened to his own, mouths deftly sliding against one another. Aemond’s hand smoothed over your cheek, his palm nearly swallowing it whole. You moved together in a gentle sway, mouths delicately pressed together. In an act of boldness, you pressed your own body closer to his, your palm holding his side to steady yourself. 

The tempest outside your windows beat on. Your hands moved to crook in his neck. The skin there was soft like his mouth, and you wondered if the rest of him was just as welcoming. Aemond began walking forward, holding and kissing you through his guidance. Your lower back bumped against your mattress, and you broke your lips apart. 

It was perfection: the softness of this moment and the synergy of your movements against one another. 

Until it wasn’t. Perhaps it was the way the lightning had framed him, thunder dividing you two.  Within its roar came the cries of those he had forced to their knees in this very castle. The fall of wood as the huts of innocents burned to ash, Vhagar’s fire hot enough to meld armor and flesh to one. The scar he ripped across the belly of your homeland still hadn’t healed hundreds of years later, and you laid your lips on the man, or the entity of him, who had done it all. 

Your eyes must have given you away. 

“So you are frightened of me?” His subtle sultriness didn’t evade him, even in the light of the hell he had brought upon the earth. 

“You, Aemond Targaryen—reigned terror on this land,” you recoiled slightly, lifting yourself up onto your bed to inch away from him. 

He looked down, but any semblance of remorse was absent from his face. “I did. The fire that raged could be seen from the wall to Dorne.” 

History was a funny thing—something that becomes more intangible the longer it’s dead, fresh marks haunting only those who lived through it. But Aemond was tangible, here in front of you somehow. To him, did it happen yesterday or did it feel like a lifetime away?

Aemond paused, lifting his eye to meet yours, kneeling onto the floor, holding your gaze. “Let me atone for my sins then, my lady of Harrenhal.” 

Your breath hitched in your chest at the slight of his hands lifting your nightdress. 

Sitting up, you slowly pulled yourself away. “This is wrong. You’re—” 

“A monster?” 

Your lack of response was as much of an answer as anything else. 

“I am much more than that, I assure you.” You tried to pretend like the smoothing of his palm against your calf didn’t feel good. It was even harder to pretend that the man doing so wasn’t the most dashing man you’d ever seen, cursed by the gods or not. 

A lip bite was all he would get from you, uncertain of how to navigate your desire with your morality. 

“I can show you many things.” he hummed against your calf. 

You fell back onto the bed, whining lightly in frustration of the sexual kind. 

“If you only let me.” 

You closed your eyes. 

“Which would you rather do?” His princely voice was a seductor’s poison. 

“I can show you how deeply sorry I am for what I did to your home,” he said with a mocking sorrow as the featherlight warmth of his lips and tongue kissed the inside of your legs, up to the inside of your knee, and to the most sensitive skin on the inside of the meat of your thigh. Any resolve that you had was wafted away by the trace of his fingers. 

He pulled away, watching you carefully. “Or, you can show me how sorry you are for stealing my family’s sword. Which would you have it be?” 

Gods bless your ancestors. You prayed that they were not unlucky enough to bear witness to what you were about to say—the closest thing to treason you could commit. 

“I want to see your forgiveness, my prince.” You said, unsure of his next move but knowing somewhere within you that you would only indulge yourself further. 

Aemond smiled smugly. It suited him. “How about you feel it instead?” 

Hooking his fingers under your smallclothes, he rustled them off of you smoothly. You were exposed, cunt glistening and pooling wetness before him. Yes, definitely treason. 

You wondered what sins those long dead and buried beneath would have had to commit to be forced to hear your moan as one of his fingers entered your hole, ready and wanting. Aemond leaned over you, silver and knowing smile once more falling around your face. Using his thumb, he found your pearl so neatly in between your pillowy lips, touching you there lightly. 

“All wet, for me?” his smirk hung over you once more, satisfied by how quickly you dissolved under his hand. And what a joy it was to dissipate into a syrupy essence soaked mess. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, eye observing every rise and fall of your breasts. 

“Well—yes, but,” you whimpered, shame in your gaze. “I’ve never been touched by anyone else.” 

“A good, pretty maiden then.” He added another finger, your body sucking him in and oozing wetness in its own craving. Every brush of his thumb and curl of his digits left your mouth hanging open and eyes pleading at the man above you for more. 

Aemond could act as in control as he wanted, but you saw the embers of greed in his eye and felt his hardness at your hip. 

“I am so terribly sorry,” Aemond started in your ear, his fingers working their way inside of your honey soaked walls and thumb expertly toying with your swollen bud, “for absolutely nothing.” 

The words fell on ears too consumed by the talent of his hands to give a damn. Warmth in your belly bloomed as if he had planted the sun in there himself, your shining juices dripping the length of his palm. You had never been brought to the point of near blindness and incapacity by pleasure before, your own fingers too untrained. 

When the peak of your pleasure came, your arms wrapped around Aemond’s shoulders, moans breathy and full. Your walls throbbed and dripped around his fingers and your body flexed underneath his. Thunder was your friend, drowning out every noise that bubbled from your lips. 

Aemond Targaryen, or whatever was left of him, had been starved of a woman’s taste for over one hundred years. He savored every bead of syrupy sex that dripped from your cunt onto his hands while you panted in the final glimmers of ecstasy. 

It was difficult to help your eyelids from closing—the man had sent you to the hands of the gods and back. All you could do was savor the feel of him under your fingertips, rubbing lightly, until your sleep claimed you without your will or knowledge. 

The dawn broke and you were alone once more, nothing but disorder in your head and gleaming sword under your bed. 

Light thunder beat through the clouds, a solemn sun hidden behind them. The rain had eased a touch, but there had not been enough reprieve to make it any easier for the servants to clean up what was becoming a half-drowned castle. 

Yet the water navigating through the crack in the stones over your head took up the least amount of room in your head. It was real. You knew it was from the echoes of ease in your limbs from the pleasure he played you to. If that wasn’t evidence enough, your slippery juices coated the nestle of your thighs.  

It was wrong—you knew it. What had materialized between you and the prince was highly improper, not only as a lady, but as a lady of Harrenhal, the very castle in which he was partially responsible for the large number of roaming ghosts and of the land which he brought to ash out of his own anger. 

Aemond had said that you needed to return the sword to the God’s Eye yourself. Perhaps you had tampered with something greatly out of your knowledge, and restoration was imperative for your own good and the good of the castle. 

And yet the sword never moved from under your bed. Perhaps you had forgotten, or perhaps, you had conveniently discovered a hundred and one other tasks that needed your attention. And perhaps, the prince would come again. 

You could pray for forgiveness from the river people later. It was your own secret shame to have and to hold, for no one else���s eyes or ears. 

It was last light. Mathilda swept a dollop of water that landed on her forehead. “This storm won’t break.” 

“I was a girl the last time one like this hit.” Of all the many storms that wracked this land, few had the same unbroken rainfall and loud slaughter of thunder. 

There was apprehension and fright in her eyes. Mathilda’s movements were unnatural to anything you had seen her, to the point that it struck its own fear in you . 

“What is it, Mathilda?” 

“There’s only one storm I remember like this,” she started, worrying her hands with another bucket of water. “I didn't want to believe it yesterday. You were a girl, yes.” 

“And what of it?” 

“This land is old. A mass graveyard is what it is. Someone had tampered with something they shouldn’t have.” 

Your stomach sank, and your secret with it. “What happened?” 

“The man was never seen again. And there’s only one place around here people disappear to.” 

The lake. You remembered him, a guard in your father’s command, the storm that tore on, and his disappearance marking the end of it. Everyone had figured he got swept away in the storm, but it seemed that Mathilda, among others, believed something different. Still—there were plenty of cursed objects lying around, perhaps you had gotten a touch more lucky with your object of choosing. 

But perhaps it wasn’t such a dismissive endeavor, and you were more than a halfwit for thinking so. And yet, the night had fallen once more—leaving you with no other choice but to wait and see. 

The blade seemed to find a light of its own even in the blackness of the storm ridden night, peaking just under your bed. Finding a rhythm in between the bolts of lightning and thunder happened over time, but the past few nights had begun to give you practice. Your apprehension kept you from your sleep nonetheless. 

There was always something more beyond the surface, that much you knew was true, and life was no exception. Gods existed, you were sure of it, you just didn’t know how, or why, or where—but there was something about the thread of actions over the past handful of days that connected pieces together in a visceral way you had never fully encountered.

Through each beat of lightning, the truth of every tale that you had ever heard came into question: the cook turned white rat, forced to eat his own young; the children of the forest and the Green King of the Isle of Faces, Sharra the witch queen and her inability to die. Before now, you had not fully disbelieved, but rather doubted the ability of magic or the whims of the gods to make profound changes in an instant. 

“You did not return my sword.” 

His entrance was silent but interruption swift, or you had been so lost in your own head you failed to notice. There was little shock this time. You had been expecting him. He stood there for a moment in patience, your eyes and finding the details of his trench coat in the shadow. There was much less fright in you now than there had been at his first intrusion, and you swung your legs to sit at the edge of your bed. 

“You disobeyed my request,” Aemond said, “I do not take kindly to those who disobey me. Why didn’t you return it, my lady of God’s Eye?” 

It was a fool’s endeavor, a disregard of any consequences. Eyes wide and waiting, you could do nothing but speak your deepest truth. 

“I did not want to.” 

He crept forward, a creature of the shadows coming to enact its wrath. “Explain yourself.” 

With a swallow of the last inklings of your pride and dignity, you replied. “Because I want more of what you did to me last night.” 

He stood as a relic, everything from his hair and skin and coat shining from within, regarding you with an intensity you had never had anyone offer you before. Time existed nowhere in this room; past and present converged in the tides of thunder that swayed over your heads, and you wondered if the world outside of your door still stood or if there was nothingness. 

“Who would have thought a lady to be so lustful? A lady of the Riverlands, no less.” His boots were off now, making his way to you like an animal preys upon what it desires to snatch in its claws. 

You held your chin in an acceptance of his mockery and all that came with it. Because he was right, and because you didn’t care so long as no one knew of it. Aemond moved to stand in between your legs, and you tilted your head to meet his own eye. 

“I suppose I will make an exception to my usual punishment since you have been so honest,” he reached to hold your face in his hands as if he was holding a holy grail. “Do you promise to make such an exception worth my while?” 

“I promise.” You nodded as well as you could in his soft hold, eyes large and pleading. 

The kiss that followed was soft, just as every other first touch between you had been—but it quickly became emboldened; a drop of satisfaction in a lake of craving. His hands slid down your sides, past the sensitivity of your waist and moving to grip the full flesh that sat on your thighs. 

Chest to chest, you were pressed against him, feeling through every movement and flex of the muscle beneath his flesh. Moving once more, his hand slid down in between your thighs where your smallclothes sat pitifully between your bare skin and his fingers. 

He swallowed your whimper into his mouth as his hand moved once more to play with your bud. Skin holds memory, they say, and you knew yours did of him: his light touch was enough to have you squirming beneath him with little effort. 

“My own little harlot of the Riverlands.” Aemond pulled away, moving to untie the wrap of your nightdress. You watched him carefully, a twing of shyness slowing your movements. 

He took your timid hands into his, holding them to him as he moved his nose to meet yours. “And yet a maiden, all the same.” 

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his tenderness. Both your hands moved now to take away what lies between your modesty and bareness. 

“Do I please you?” softly you looked at him, hoping that your shyness was replaced by your attempt to be sultry despite your lack of practice. 

He looked at you as a man starved, deprived of warm fleshy skin to sink into for a century, and there was no pretending in his eye that he hadn’t prayed that you would not return Dark Sister to its rightful place. No matter how powerful the man, beyond swords and war and life and death, the soft skin of a lover would always be a weakness. There was no hiding the membrane of vulnerability and desperation at something so human: the touch and feel of another. 

Leaning down to offer you a kiss, in a near whisper he replied, “Very much so.” 

Hands and lips tenderly felt you everywhere, the blood underneath beating against the glide of his fingers. It was worship of the most holy, or perhaps the indulgence of a sin most foul. The lines blurred and you sank under his want, whether it be worship or sin, you did not care. 

Your hands searched for him, shrugging off his own clothing in the rapture. 

“Whatever it was you did to me yesterday, please, I need to feel it again.” it was more of a breathy whisper in between kisses than an affirmative request. 

“I’ll show you something even better.” Aemond sank to your hips as his right hand did, already weaving slow strokes against your bud. And yet he sank farther, until his head rested between your thighs.

He watched you carefully from there, sliding one finger into your hole. His rubbing continued, and your legs began to weaken once more. You had swung your head to rest your eyes on your ceiling, unexpecting the hot wetness that met your bud. 

It was unlike anything you had felt before—heat on heat, wetness on wetness, his tongue skillfully lapping your clit. 

You fell under his enchantment for him like a man dies gasping underwater: slowly with resistance, until want for release pushes you to frantically search for it all at once. All thoughts of doing anything but taking everything he had to give you had been locked away, perhaps only to be seen again once you had gotten your fill. And you weren’t sure if you could ever be satisfied. 

From this point forward, you would be damned by this memory: Aemond sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking on your sex, and pulling pleasure from you as if he was born a hundred years ago to do it. 

He was determined to feel every drop of your essence sliding down his throat, holding you to him with his hands clasped around your thighs.  Your orgasm came with his lips and tongue never ceasing their worship of you, even as your thighs shook and moans echoed through your walls. 

Even though heavy breaths and dazed eyes of the afterglow, you would not make the mistake of falling asleep so soon, not after the previous night. Your hands lazily reached for him, pulling him closer to you. 

Because you wanted more . There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. If anything, it had driven you further into a wanting animal, a ravenous direwolf seeking to tame its taste for blood. Maiden status be damned, if doing such things with a long dead prince even counted. 

“Eager, are we?” he drawled over you, hands rustling between your bodies. “Shh. Let me take care of you.” 

You felt him on you then, skin to skin, his hard manhood heavy on your stomach. Aemond’s eye met yours as he slid his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness there. 

It was just you two in this moment, one body and another, seeking something buried deep within one another’s skin. 

Face to ear, you whispered about your inexperience and novelty. He did nothing but pull your lips into another kiss, allowing your bodies to slip against each other’s warmth for moments to come. Aemond was a desiring man, or creature—you weren’t sure which, not that it fully mattered to you anymore—and you could feel his own lust for you seeping into each of your kisses and all of his touches, much more wanton than they had yet to be. 

“Let me take you,” he nearly whined in between kisses, “I need to feel you.” 

“I want you. Show me this.” 

Forehead to forehead, Aemond reached between your bodies to guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You knew why maidens and ladies got wet—it would be impossible to carry out the deed without such slipperiness. What hung between a man’s legs was far too large to fit without it. 

Even still, it was always a challenge at first—your own sex squeezing so hard, seemingly wanting to suck his cock deeper inside you and milk it within your walls. As he went to the hilt, moaning was all you had to cope, the noises blending with the creak of the castle. 

“Does it always feel like this?” you choked, more than happy to be full of him but surprised at the feeling.

With his forehead still against yours, his breath fanned in your mouth. “At first, and then it will feel even better.” 

As if to show you, he began long strokes, the head of his cock sliding against the vice of your juicy walls. And you felt it bloom—the deep ember of pleasure at your core, both satisfied and left wanting more by each thrust. 

Your moans and whimpers against his ear were compounded by the thrust of his hips, heavy against your own, pushing his cock to the hilt now in every stroke, the head of it brutally kissing the end of you every time. 

He sat up now, hands firmly on your hips to control the angle of you and the drive of his cock to be right where he wanted them. Moving between your bodies, his thumb danced on your bud again, sending you to reflexively grip him further out of the sheer ecstasy of it. “What would your rivermen think of you like this, moaning like a whore on my cock?” 

It was more of a suffocated squeal than words, chest heaving, not being able to help the way your body was in his hands, moving at the speed he set. “They would think me a traitor.” 

“But you just couldn’t help it, could you? You needed more of me, no matter what I’ve done.” 

Despite you both knowing the truth of it, hardly any shame could touch you now in the throes of your bodies. In between love bites on your ear and kisses on your neck as he took you, there was more than enough praise spilling from his lips: haughty whispers of you take my cock so well and your body is made for me. 

It was as intense as it was pleasurable. Aemond’s platinum tresses locked you into a cage where it was only him: only his body, his cock—nothing else. He was making you into a woman of his own liking, his spell on you binding you to desire and breaking every one of your senses to want nothing but him. 

There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. Reaching the peak of it, your cunt hardly willing to let his cock move inside you and pulsing and pleading for it to be even deeper, you cried out, your own howl into the night. Aemond fucked you through it, seeking his own peak within your walls and finding it in the vice you had him in, milking him for every drop of his own essence to spill in the hot syrupy tightness of your cunt.  

The sedation you felt in your after-pleasure was familiar to the first night—leaving you in a daze, the murky waters difficult to navigate. Fighting it was futile, but you kept yourself awake enough to feel him pull away, save for leaving a kiss on your fingers and hear his final words.

Visit me, my lady of God’s Eye

It would be a selfish thing—you knew—to keep the sword, no matter how badly you wanted to satiate your desire during the night. But the storm raged on, and it was only right to do what had to be done to prevent the entirety of Harrenhal from being consumed by the water raiding every corridor and sieging nearly all chambers and apartments, only the highest of rooms in each tower being spared. 

It was a difficult task, but you had managed. And not hours after the sword was back in the sheath it belonged in, the rain had ceased, to the relief of all in the castle except for one. 

You hadn’t forgotten his last words to you. Sometimes, you swam back to the remains of the dragon prince again, hoping the hallowed skeleton could see you in the angelic light only water could give.  

And sometimes, in the deepest chamber of the lake, you swore you heard whispers in the catches of the currents. 

[solarmorrigan]

Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

-

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

[schizosupport]

One of the curiosities about how psychosis is defined, is the fact that clinically, delusions are defined as strongly held "wrongful" beliefs that don't respond to counter-proof, and that aren't shared with others in a subculture.

In other words, believing even very bizarre conspiracy theories such as "the earth is flat" isn't a delusion, though in a broader linguistic sense it is sometimes referred to as such.

In this post I wanna talk a bit about why that is, and why I do think that it's important to have a distinction between clinical delusions that happen in psychotic illnesses, and strange beliefs that arise in other ways.

So why is it not a delusion if it's shared with a subculture?

I think the reason for this distinction is that delusions experienced by people with psychotic disorders are something that comes from within, rather than something we've been taught to believe. Per definition. Psychotic people aren't particularly "gullible", we don't lack critical thinking skills, we have an illness that make us believe random untrue crap in a way that makes us unable to think critically about it. So while a psychotic belief could be inspired by something we've come across (like a conspiracy theory) our brain is generally gonna take it as a seed and run with it. Therefore we usually quickly get out of bounds from the 'community' that might have inspired our belief anyways.

Overall, we are less prone to having gotten our beliefs from others and are more prone to being the originator of a belief. In something like folie a deux, a non-psychotic person is taught reality from a psychotic delusional person, f.ex. a child growing up with a delusional parent. The child might appear at first glance to be psychotic, but actually they only believe those things because that's what they were taught by someone they consider an authority. If you remove the child from that environment, you will usually be able to help them regain a better understanding. Similarly someone might grow up in a cult. And they are believing what they are being taught, and their parents are believing what they have been taught. And there will be most likely an originator to the cultish beliefs. That person might be maliciously making things up, or they might even be psychotic and delusional. But the people who are being taught these things as facts are behaving like most humans, as social creatures who's reality is defined by their context.

Most people's context is defined along the lines of consensus reality, but if your social context is not aligned with the majority consensus reality, you are still aligned with the beliefs of your social context if you share your weird beliefs with a subculture. Your brain didn't independently come up with a wild belief that is out of touch with everything you know/have been taught.

Consensus reality is a consensus. And even if the consensus you follow is shared by only 2% of the population, if that 2% is all the people you relate to and consider to be the people "in the know", then you are in a way not going against your contextual consensus reality. You've just picked a less popular one.

So what defines a clinical (psychotic) delusion is that it does not align with any consensus about reality that you have access to. It's your own, and it's unlikely that you have allies who are supporting your beliefs. Though in rare cases a clinically delusional person may be contributing new material to a subculture, that others then start believing, and as a result they do share their beliefs with a subculture. But they didn't just learn the belief from the subculture, the belief is growing and morphing independent of the group.

But yeah that's all clinically speaking. In a broader linguistic sense, I think people use "delusional" to refer to anyone who has beliefs that aren't aligned with the majority-consensus-reality, or even more simplistically, that aren't aligned with the speaker's understanding of consensus reality (usually as an insult). So an atheist might refer to the religious as delusional, and vice versa.

It may be a losing battle to get wider society to stop using 'delusional' in this way, but I think it is at least helpful to talk about how such "delusions" differ fundamentally from the psychotic experience.

[cute-sucker]

MORE NEEDY RAFE! PLEASE I BEG OF U 🫣🫣🥲🥲🥲🥹🥹

please tell me why this man would be imaging your kids before he even met your parents. see now, rafe cameron was needy on two different levels. first, emotionally. he can't even believe he has you, and doesn't want you to leave him. second, he's going to keep you at all costs, making sure he keeps you close.

though it's gotten better now. now that he has his business, and no ward beating down on him. now, he seems like a new man. one that's open to loving you with all he's got. but that doesn't mean he isn't needy...

it's so hardcore that rafe's got some trust fund already open for you and the kids. he's the type of guy who wants you to validate him, someone who tightens the lids on things so that you go to get help from him.

he's the type to who manspreads with the hope you'll sit right in his lap. while it may sound strange, rafe follows you carefully, his hand on your waist as he makes sure you're fine. anyone say anything against you, he's there for you.

but sometimes things get bad, sometimes memories drown him out.

sometimes he remembers sarah, wheezie, and his family before things turn to shit...and all of a sudden..and all of a sudden he's stumbling into your arms.. his eyes are red, and full of pain. you can smell the alcohol on his breath, but theres something lurking behind his expression that tells you everything not okay.

"i fucked up, didn't i? fucked up like i always have. like dad always said i would. FUCK!"

that's all he says, radiating with anger. but then you cower, scared. scared of this part of him. then he looks at you again, all small and meek. things are getting bad again, you can tell. then all of a sudden he's sobbing. it's quiet sobbing, something that breaks your heart—muffled loud gasps. those are cries of someone who tries to keep quiet, someone who can't keep it inside himself anymore.

it's a night like that, where you have to hold him closely. his adams apple bobbing as you softly whisper validation into his ear. rafe is softer in your arms, malleable and almost drowsy. he's mumbling things, but you can't keep up.

"never shoulda touched her...never shoulda,"

"you're going to be fine, rafe. you're going to be fine." you'd murmur, softly rubbing circles into his back. he nods, a movement so subtle, that you almost miss it. then he's out.

xoxo: previous inspired post

[cherishedhope]

Dormleaders Reacting to Their Fanbase.

Genre: Crack?? I think it's crack. Not sure. Characters involved: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus. Synopsis: How I think they would react to having so many fans, fanfictions, etc. A/N: I made this a little short. Sorry. :( anyway enjoy!! <3 Disclaimer: This is solely for entertainment purposes only. No hate to any of the ships mentioned!! Characters could potentially be ooc. Mentions of NSFW content but there isn’t actually any in the post. NOT proofread. A/N 2: Malleus’s part was inspired by a convo I had w @moonswolfie . Go follow her. Her twst stories are just- *chefs kiss* Requests: Open!

————————————————————

— He's a bit shocked that he has a whole ass fanbase. Like-?? What?? I mean, yeah, he's well-known around the school but not for good reasons. But to know that he has thousands of people who actually enjoy are obsessed with him is pretty flattering.

— Ace and Deuce are also just as surprised if not more so. Probably even questioning the tastes of the people in our world.

— Appalled when he sees a bunch of posts dissing his mom. (does find it comforting knowing all of them are on his side and seriously questions his upbringing.)

— Turns into a tomato at an impossible rate of two seconds when he sees that a LOT of people are shipping him with Trey. A bunch of screaming and incoherent stuttering. I don’t think he has ever thought of Trey as more than a friend before. (Ace is dying in the background.) — Cater has already warned him of the nsfw tags so Riddle steers FAR FAR FAR away from it. His brain is already having trouble processing that he has people that ADORE everything about him. He can’t handle reading himself being intimate with hundreds of people. He does read a fluffy fic or two.

— I feel like he would take notes of how he acts in the fanfictions so he can apply fanfic Riddle’s actions to himself.

— Art? People make art of him? — Feels a sense of pride when he looks at the drawings people make of him. He’s flattered!

— Flustered as hell, but also super happy about it. Whenever he feels down he’ll think about all the people that like him and he starts feeling a lot better. :)

— THIS COCKY MF

— HE IS SO SMUG ABOUT IT

— Considers building an entire empire of his own with you guys as his loyal, devoted subjects. Then ultimately decides not to because that’s too much work and not enough time for sleep. (Then again, we would probably understand. You guys wouldn’t dare question HIM, right??)

— Definitely rubs it in Malleus’s face the first chance he gets.

— He is watching every single edit of himself he can find. Y’all don’t understand how big of a stroke this is to his ego. His head?? It's bigger than a hot air balloon at this point. Who wouldn’t react that way if someone made edits of them? It is a huge ego boost!

— Finally, after so long, he isn’t referred to as “Falena’s brother.” No. He is Leona Kingscholar. People like HIM. Hell, he could start an entire army with all the fans he has!

— Nothing can ruin his day.

— …..

— Physically recoils when he sees the Malleus x Leona tag. Powers off his phone and then throws it against the wall. He has never been more disgusted and disappointed in all of his life.

— he still likes you guys!! dw. Just give him a couple minutes hours and maybe he’ll get over it.

— What?

— Sorry, yeah, no, he isn’t believing any of you. There is NO way people would willingly sign up for one of his contracts and enjoy it.

— Once he finally snaps out of Denial River, he is still in disbelief. That quickly gives way to him scheming and plotting on how to use this to his advantage.

— Is a customer acting rowdy after signing one of his deals? Trying to sue him over it? Well, now he has thousands of witnesses to back him up. No one can touch him now. He is the most powerful of all!

— Someone tries to attack him? Tweels, release the hounds.

— He is UNTOUCHABLE

— He's too shy to read the fanfics. And he doesn’t wanna look at the edits of himself either. It makes him cringe inside. Not because of them being made. No, the people creating them have great talent. But the reason is because it's him. — He gets curious after a while and does take a look at one edit. JUST ONE!

— And now he's hiding out in his octopot scrolling through as many as he can find. He cries seeing all the love he gets.

— He prints out some of the fanart and hangs it up in his room.

— Whenever he feels self conscious he looks at the edits and then he’s all smiles and as confident as ever.

— FANS?? HIM??

— EEEE!!!!

— :DDDD

— NO WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!

— SCREAMING! JUMPING ALL OVER THE ROOM! SO MANY FRIENDS! KICKING HIS FEET AND GIGGLING! He wants to meet all of you!

— Feels obligated to read every fanfiction, like every fanart, watch every edit. Not because he wants to make himself feel good about it, but because he wants to see how talented you guys are! And he is not disappointed.

— Gets really sad when he realizes that he can't talk to any of you guys.

— :(

— JamiKali? What’s JamiKali? What's a ship??

— Nsfw?? What does that mean?

— It doesn’t take long for Jamil to take his phone away. He probably even puts restrictions on it so Kalim doesn’t get exposed to the more inappropriate side of his fanbase.

— He does not care.

— Flattered, sure, but not as excited as the others are. Yeah, it's surprising that people still worship the ground he walks on even in another world, but not too shocking.

— He scrolls through a bunch of fan arts and criticizes them. If it doesn't resemble him perfectly then he doesn’t care for it.

— Unironically calls you guys his “adoring” fans.

— Doesn’t even look at the fanfics. He already knows that he'll see things that aren't accurate to his character. (little does he know, a lot of people write him pretty well 😭)

— REFUSES to look at the ships. He doesn’t want to see people shipping him with Neige. He already deals with it from the fans in his world so he doesn’t want to see it in another.

— Most of his reaction to this is basically “um yeah, obviously I have a fanbase. 🙄”

— Like Azul, he also does not believe it. Him?? Why would someone as insignificant as him have a fanbase? You guys must have gotten knocked on the head or something when you were younger.

— Dies and ascends to heaven once he sees that people make fanfics/art/edits of him. HE IS EXPLODING WITH HAPPINESS. Holes himself up in his room and binges e v e r y t h i n g. He makes a collage of all his favorite fanarts and uses it as his wallpaper.

— Dies again when he finds out there are figurines of him. And plushies. And rings. And and and and.

— I think his favorite out of all of this would be the fanart. Have you guys seen Ignihyde stans?? Their art is literally gorgeous omksn

— His hair instantly transforms into pink flames when he spots the ships. Him with Azul? Him with Lilia?? Him with Silver?

— Considers each and every ship he sees. I doubt he can look the other person in the eye for a while.

— His self-esteem grows a lot bit so consider that a job well done for being an Idia stan 👍

— What is a fanbase?

— The only thing this man is going to understand is the art part of everything. He’s probably used to having his portrait done in Briar Valley, so that is the only thing his mind can figure out.

— Other than that, what is a “fan fic”? What is the point of moving pictures of him with upbeat music? A ship? Why do people keep saying he's in a ship with some random person from NRC? He is clearly on the ground by himself.

— After Lilia spends the next three hours explaining everything to clueless dragon boy, Malleus finally slightly understands what the internet is. (He still doesn’t understand ships.)

— So many new additions to the gargoyle club!! On the outside he appears calm and neutral but internally he is ecstatic and doing what humans call “running around the room screaming and crying.” There are so many humans that are interested in him droning on about gargoyles! Some even want to participate in the conversation!

— Sebek is in the background complimenting all of you for having good taste and following the young master.

— He's touched by the fact that so many humans are like Yuu and don’t find him intimidating at all and even look up to him as a father figure :) (Lilia failed to tell Malleus about what the “daddy” comments truly entail. )

— He does not care that you guys are in another world. He is gonna find a way to get into contact w y’all. He is NOT letting this many friends go to waste. 😤😤

[babygirlhouse]

house md 2024 headcanons 🫡

hi loves!! jumping on this trend :^) i don't think any of these make sense but they made me laugh soooo here u go

House has a very bad pain day and (when pushed) says that he strained the muscle while riding his bike. Obviously nobody believes him, so the ducklings + Wilson spend the day trying to figure out what he did and end up finding security footage of him attempting to hit the griddy in the morgue 

Kutner has a very generic inspirational quotes tumblr blog (he’s so proud of it) and House finds it and just starts dropping quotes from it in DDXs to mess with him & then acting all innocent 

Thirteen has a secret thirst trap tiktok acc that doesn’t explicitly show her face but has her lab coat & maybe stethoscope. When Chase suggests that it’s her she doesn’t confirm or deny it and just keeps winking. Cameron definitely follows the account after this. Thirteen pretends not to realise.

Wilson takes a uquiz to find out what sort of cheese he is and is devastated when it says he’s cheddar. He then has an identity crisis because he thinks he’s too bland and tries to reinvent his aesthetic, leading to one infected eyebrow piercing and a tramp stamp that’s never mentioned again. Potential there for a sappy scene where House tells him he's anything but bland.

Cuddy starts a momblog style podcast. House sends anonymous hate. Taub guest stars. 

I think Taub would get deeply into ASMR. Like it’d start with him finding and playing a video of ASMR triggers for his daughters, then he tries it himself to see if that calms them down even more, etc etc. He starts a youtube channel and it blows up. He gets recognised by patients at the hospital. It goes to his head just a little. He unironically uses the term 'ASMRtist'

A cosplayer has a mysterious illness and the team has to go to a convention to test for environmental factors. Chase is apprehensive but House forces him to go. He’s quickly recognised at the convention and it turns out that he has a cosplay instagram account and they get stopped every 10 mins to take pictures. No one lets him live it down 

Thirteen and Cameron kiss & fall in love & babysit Taub's kids. House makes relentless jokes but is quietly very fond of them and their relationship. Pls i need this

Foreman has a twitter/X account where he posts a combination of work out tips/inspirational quotes (not as sweet as Kutner's blog, more grindset vibes yknow) but he gets mixed up in a pyramid scheme for protein powders and gets cancelled. Also potential for a sappy scene here where Foreman says he admires Kutner for not letting House's teasing about his blog get to him. They're besties now and make each other better.

Cuddy forces all of them to go on a wellness retreat. House and Wilson make a bet to see who can go the longest without speaking. It's not even a silent retreat, they're just like that. Also someone convinces Chase that the utility shed on the retreat is haunted.

The wellness retreat no speaking bet also def has potential for gay chicken. Like Wilson kisses House to see if that will get him to lose the bet. By the next morning neither of them know or care who lost the bet, they leave their room looking Extremely disheveled and return to the hospital very much together. Cuddy is not at all surprised. She planned this. Each of the ducklings hand her $100.

PPTH minecraft server. yeah

[eroscomet]

Make it Right

Chapter one- Love returned

┗━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┛

Pairing: Astrid Deetz x Fem!Ghost!reader

Context: Astrid and you have been dating two years before a tragic accident happened to you, ending your life. She spends a year alone somehow trying to contact you from the living as you're in the afterlife. When finding that all of her attempts are futile, she turned to her mother's ability but was quickly reminded of how her mother "somehow" could never see the people Astrid wished to see the most.

Warnings: Probably bad writing (I'm sorry), Death

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: I'm not so much familiar with tumblr other than reading. I'm not much of a writer either, this would be like the first piece I post ever. I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I will correct as many as I see. Also, my brain was a bit foggy when remembering the new Beetlejuice Beetlejuice movie so if there's a mistake in that too, I'm sorry. Other than that, I hope you guys enjoy. I have been heavily inspired by many other amazing writers and I hope I really do capture all of the characters as correctly as I can. Also, I'm not expecting this series to blow up, i'll add another chapter if I see many people interact with this one.

Not proof read

╰┈➤Series Masterlist

┗━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┛

┏━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┓

Letʼs be honest, Astrids life was definitely not one that usually someone finds themselves in. A ‘psychicʼ mother, who Astrid believes makes things up, an artist grandmother who seems to be an emotional wreck now that her husband is dead, and finally, a father who she no longer has. Astrid couldn't recall the last time her life was stable, from the beginning it had always be something with her family.

Now, with the passing of her grandfather and her mother suddenly marrying her manager who she is blindly following and clearly not seeing how he exploits her. She finds her world completely upside down and the one time she finds someone who makes her feel at least a bit normal, the universe seems to keep taking any form of normalcy from her. Once upon a time, it had been you and Astrid. The one person who kept her head straight as her world span.

Granted, you didn't come from the perfect family either but you always had found a way to excuse their actions despite Astridʼs constant nagging about your family and their almost pertinacious attitudes.

Your mother, a woman who almost seems to so desperately want to fit in with the women of the neighborhood. Your father who loved his image and his family's image. Your older sister who was always trying to somehow one-up you. Your family cared about the big things, you always found yourself content with the small things. You had always excused their behaviors with simple statements like,

“That's just how they are.” or, “No family is perfect.”

Astrid would cave eventually to your excuses but not with good attitude. Now remembering it, it felt like such a close but distant memory. It had only been a year, almost two, of your passing and yet Astrid finds herself dug in a hole the universe seemed to only bury her deeper in. Every memory had been bittersweet. Between every laugh shared, smiling in the middle of kisses, comforting smells theyʼd grow to find solace in, compliments, listening to music together, there had also been disagreements, comforting each other about things that neither of them had caused or been involved in, emotional damage, and trying to balance finding middle ground in each otherʼs crazy lives.

A year.

The thought of it makes Astrid almost wince, thoughts that seemed to be never ending and had loose ends. Why wasn't she there? She had always thought to herself. Why didn't she stop you? Questions to be left unanswered now that you were gone and she had no one to turn to. She had gone to her mother, who she had never believed was a ghost whisperer or paranormal insighter as everyone saw her, practically begging to have her somehow see you, hear you, feel you. But, like every attempt, they were once again futile.

This had made her more angry with her mother. First, she couldn't see her father and now she can't see you. Why is that every time she needs her mother to see a certain ghost for her, she never can but for others she can? It all felt stupid to her, how could people believe her mother?

Astrid found herself visiting Winter River frequently despite not liking staying with her grandmother and mother, especially when that daft man her mother called a “boyfriend” was around. She saw right through his act of the ‘caring, loving, and supportive’ boyfriend. Yet, she felt like she was the only one who could see that. How could someone propose to someone on the day of their father's wake?! She disliked the town, even more the people who foolishly believed her mother “abilities” to see paranormal phenomenons.

Yet, there she had spent most of her free time at the town during spring, summer, and winter break. Her relationship with Winter River had always been horrible yet she couldn't bring herself to say that she hated it there. How could she say that when it was this very same town that she had met you?

Standing there once again, in front of a grave that she became all too familiar with. Yours. It was almost comical how your parents had practically milked your death with every ounce they could get from it. Parading around the town, almost as if making it an excuse to gain from. They had quickly became the family in which everyone had gone to support when you had died. People would constantly go to your home, try to show their support, bring gifts even. Your parents loved every second of the attention.

No surprise that your mother had gained popularity among the women of your neighborhood's community. They only pitied her but masked it with sympathy as your mother would say, “She would've loved to be here” whenever someone had invited her to some so-called ‘important’ event among the other dull rich women. Your father had gotten a raise from his job after your death, again, out of pity of the poor family who had lost their ‘precious’ daughter. Your sister had gotten annoyed about how much you had been the focus after your death. She had expect people to move on after months but now seeing that it has been one, almost two, years of your passing and you being the center of attention, it had made her a bit bitter.

As Astrid stood in front of your grave and the flowers that adorned it, a small half-hearted smile on her lips. Many of the times that she had found herself in front of your grave, though she thought that somehow talking to the dead and getting a response back was stupid, she had always found herself talking out-loud to your grave, hoping for a sign or response that never really came.

“I miss you. Iʼm sorry that I havenʼt visited recently. My grandfather passed away, guess heʼd be with you now, right? Sometimes I wonder if youʼre with my dad or talk to him over there. I know if you were to be listening to me, you'd be rubbing it in my face how I always thought these kinds of things were stupid and now iʼm standing here like an idiot talking to myself and expecting a response from you.”

She smiled to herself as she thought about how youʼd tease her for this. She missed the banter between the two of you, her smile somewhat fading at the empty ache in her heart.

“I wish I could say that I hate you for leaving me here by myself, knowing that life is hard. We were supposed to be going through this life together, though. I wonʼt, I canʼt. I love you and my chest is aching every single day at this back and forth in my mind of memories that we should be looking back at together, happily, and now I just get this bittersweet feeling with the horrible reminder of your death. As much as I don't like it or believe it, I wish I had somehow gained this stupid ability my mother thinks she has.”

Astrids voice had faltered as she felt a frown tugging at her lips and her tears begin to faintly blur her vision. She took a deep breath, pulling herself together as she spoke again.

“I just want you to come home. I know that I always thought it was stupid how you had said ʻhome is where the heart isʼ, but truly I had just felt so bashful to think that someone like me could possibly be someone's home. The statement itself, I had always thought was a bit corny. Now, I find myself saying that I want to go home even while being at home. Funny, huh? You were always such a sap..”

With that and a sad smile, Astrid backed away from your grave. A soft sigh escaping her lips as she once again hoped that you had somehow received her words.

━━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━━

Hours later, Astrid found herself, once again, in your room. She sneaks in through the window because she hates the idea of having to knock on the front door and have a conversation with your parents. They had been supportive of your relationship, yes, but like everything else, it was for their own personal gain. They had seen how other families were inclusive so they thought if they were too, theyʼd fit in more. Astrid had already known that they wouldn't dare to go into your room.

Your family had always hated the way that you decorated your room with endless posters, music, records and vinyls here and there, you loved your music. It was drastically differently from your sister and parents which preferred a more elegant and clean look. Thatʼs why whenever there were visitors, theyʼd never introduce your room to them. Yet, it was your safe haven and Astrid knew that.

After your death, she had taken it upon herself to take care of your vinyls, CDʼs, record player, and plants, all taken cared of. She felt that it made her feel like you were still here. As if she was staying in your room while you were out and about in the town. Her imagination took her far when it came to making up excuses for your absence rather than accepting the fact that you were dead.

She hummed to herself as she finished watering the last plant in your room. Once she was finished, she had gone over to your records, flipping through each of them, trying to find a song to play. Thatʼs when she had heard a small noise in the room. It was unusual to say the least, no one had ever dared to come into your room, it was just her. She shrugged it off as nothing or simply a noise coming from your window.

Then again, a small noise. The noise of a shoe squeaking from across the room. Her eyebrows had furrowed before she whipped her head around towards the direction of the noise. Upon landing her eyes on your face. She felt as if she was dreaming but it had startled her so that she felt her vision suddenly blacking out. When falling back, all she could remember was the feeling of someoneʼs cold hands catching her.

When Astrid awoke, she found herself lying on your bed despite having passed out almost across the room near your records. She almost dreaded waking up, she could have sworn she had seen you. Was it a dream? Did she make it up in her head because she missed you so much? Her vision blurred a bit before finally focusing, the feeling of a dip in the bed and a cold hand holding hers had startled her.

Quickly, she had shot up and off of your bed. Her eyes finally landing on you who had also shot up on the other side of the bed when she did.

“Where are we going?-” You had began speaking before you were cut off by Astrids loud exclaim.

“What the fuck!”

Your eyes scanned the room, your eyebrows furrowed as you turned around to see if there had been anyone behind you which earned a scoff from the other girl.

“Wait, you can see me now?” You asked as your eyebrows raised and your eyes returned to Astrid across the bed.

“Can I see you? Yeah, the better question is can I believe it? Is this another dream?” Astrid climbed over the bed and flung herself onto you. She clung onto your, now, cold body, that hadnʼt bothered her right now.

“What's the matter? You look like youʼve seen a ghost.” Your arms wrapped around the girl almost protectively, a soft laugh escaping you.

“Not funny.” Her words were flat, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She almost didnʼt know what to say as she stared at you. She had dreamed of you before, sure, but never like this. This felt too real. Your skin was more pale and less live as she had usually dreamed, your body cold, your chest was stilled, as if not taking air in or out. She hadnʼt noticed her bottom lip quivering or the tears in the corner of her eyes that had began to form.

“Hey, hey... Donʼt get all sappy on me now, iʼve been watching you this whole time! I hope you know that I followed you literally everywhere.” Your hands had gone to cup her cheeks, gently wiping away any tears as they fell from Astrid's eyes.

“Youʼd better have.” She had joked which earned another soft laugh from you. The sound of your laugh - so familiar - seemed to set her off. Her arms tightened around your shoulders as all of the feelings she bottled up over the past few months seemed to just burst out of her.

“I literally watched over you for a whole year. Trust me, I heard every word you were saying to the sky or my grave, hoping I was near to hear you. I was and I canʼt believe you've gotten all sappy, Deetz. You always told me that I was the sap and there you were spilling your guts and hoping my ghost was near.” One of her hands unconsciously moving from her cheek to her back, gently rubbing it.

“They were never one-sided conversations, I was always replying you just couldnʼt hear or see me. I did have some one-sided conversations, though. Like when youʼd be listening to my music or watching a movie and laying on my bed, moping, Iʼd be laid next to you and talk to you. I was always geeking out anyway, you know how I am about my passions.” You added and a snort escaped Astrid.

Her grip on you seemed to tighten as your voice registered in her ears. You were here, you were real.

“I know I sounded like an absolute idiot - I sounded like a broken record begging for you.” Her voice said as she buried her face into your shoulder.

“Come on, I never really left your side, Astrid. I was just hoping the entire time that what you had said about your momʼs ability being fake was real and that you'd somehow gain her ghost whispering abilities. I just wanted you to see me, hear me, feel me. Iʼve been so lonely. Sure, I hang out and laugh with you all the time but I missed actually talking to you and you bantering with me.” A frown tugged at your lips involuntarily.

“You didnʼt sound like a broken record. every word youʼd hope I had heard was beautiful - sappy - but beautiful. Gosh, you donʼt know how horrible it has been watching you cry about me and not being able to do anything about it. My ghosted body was always reaching for you but you wouldn't feel a thing. I promise you, I always held you and trying to do anything I can to get you to seem me but nothing was working.” You added as you buried your face into her shoulder, trying to get impossibly closer to her.

“Iʼm not a ghost whisperer. Don't think youʼre on the loose. I am mad at you, for the record.” Her hands balling the fabric of your shirt between her fist. She inhaled and exhaled deeply - as if your presence was the only thing keeping her grounded at the moment.

“I know, I know. I promise to make it up for the rest of my afterlife. Though, you gotta to admit, you have to believe your momʼs abilities now that you can see me. I know you said you hated the attention that your mom receives for being... Well, her. But they weren't fake after all!” You shook your head with a small laugh.

“Ghost whisperer.” You mumbled with a small smile, her hand immediately smacking you in the back of the head. Which had earned a small, ʻowʼ, from you.

“I donʼt-” She had began saying before her protest had been interrupted by a shuddering breath and a few silent tears falling from her eyes as she held onto tightly.

“I donʼt hate them.” She mumbled before sighing.

“I just-” Again, cutting herself off with a scoff. She wiped her tears as she pulled away from your embrace to scan your face with a soft smile.

“Gosh, I canʼt even remember what I was about to say. Iʼm so happy to see you and i'm a bumbling idiot and-”

“Iʼm so sorry. I've been trying everything, I swear. I even read that stupid ʻHandbook for the Recently Deceasedʼ from cover to cover many times. Only the strange and unusual could ever see me and I tried to reach for your mom but I couldn't for some reason. Slow down, we have so much to talk about.” You said as a frown tugged at your lips again. If you had a beating heart, it would have ached at Astridʼs tears. All you could find yourself doing was trying to make up for the lost time of not being able to comfort her.

┗━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┛

A/N: Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed it. Should I continue writing this story? There could be multiple parts to this if you guys do enjoy this! Thank you so much for reading! Reqs and or comments, even questions, are all open on my profile! Thank you again! Also, I'd like to add that I understand that in the movie, ghosts are not permitted to leave their area of death or change their clothes. But, for the sake of this fic, let's pretend!

[veganineden]

On the Evolution of “Happily Ever After” and Why “Nothing Lasts Forever”

A reflection inspired by Good Omens 2

One of my favorite Tumblr posts on the second season of Good Omens 2 was actually not about the series at all, but our reaction to it, primarily the ending. @zehwulf wrote, “I think a lot of us—myself included—got a little too comfortable with assuming [Aziraphale and Crowley would] work on their issues right away post-Armageddon.” We did the work for them through meta, fanfiction, fanart, and building a plethora of headcanons. Who among us AO3-surfing fans didn’t read and love Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm?

In the 4 long years since season one was released, we did more than seek to understand and repair rifts between two fictional beings: we were forced to reckon with ourselves too. We faced a global pandemic, suffered traumatizing losses and isolation, and were forced to really and truly look into the face of our atrocities-ridden and capitalistic world. The mainstream rise of Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Justice work, and our participation in this work, showed us that the systems in place were built to oppress and harm most of us, and they are. 

So, what does this have to do with the evolution of “happily ever after”? 

My friend put it best in a conversation we had following the season finale, when she pointed out a shift in media focus. The “happy end” in old stories about wars and kingdoms used to be “we killed the evil old king and put a noble young king in his place and now citizens can live in peace” and we’re transitioning into a period of “we tore down the whole fucking monarchy.” 

If we look at season one, written to follow the beats of a love story, it comforted us by offering a pretty traditional happy ending pattern: you get your fancy dinner with your special someone, the romantic music plays, and you have a place to call your own. Season one’s finale provided a temporary freedom for Aziraphale and Crowley, the “breathing room,” but it didn't solve the problem that was Heaven and Hell, or the agendas belonging to those systems of oppression. 

Is it good enough to keep our heads down, pretend the bad stuff isn’t happening, and live our own personal happy endings until we die? Moral quandaries aside, if you don't die (or if you care about the generations after you), then, like Aziraphale said, it “can’t last forever.” There’s a clear unpleasant end to the “happily ever after” that’s based on ignoring our problems– it’s the destruction of our relationships, and humanity. 

Ineffable Bureaucracy can go off into the stars because they do not care about humanity. 

You know who does?

Aziraphale. 

And Aziraphale knows that Crowley cares about humanity too. (He knows because Crowley was the one who proposed sabotaging Armageddon in the first place, who only invited him to the stars when he thought all was lost, because Crowley would save humanity if he thought it was possible, and Aziraphale knows Crowley has survived losing Everything before, and he will do all in his power so that Crowley does not need to experience that again.) 

In season one and two, we see how much they care about humanity, beyond their orders, to the point The Systems begin to frown at them. Aziraphale hears Crowley’s offer to run away together in the final episode of season two, to leave Earth behind, and just like the first time that offer was made in season one, he declines. He knows choosing only “us” is not a choice either of them can live with for the rest of eternity.

I believe season 3 will provide an opportunity to “dismantle the system,” but I don’t know how it will play out. I worry that Aziraphale has put himself in the now-dead trope of the “young noble king.” (I wish Crowley had told him why Gabriel was dismissed from his duties.) I worry that he would martyr himself as a sole agent for change. I worry that he doesn’t actually know how to dismantle anything by himself: because you can’t. He needs Crowley. He DOES. He needs Crowley, and Muriel, and other angels and demons and humans without fixed mindsets to help him. Only by learning to listen and making room at the table for all can they (and we) move past personal satisfaction to collective liberation. 

Crowley was right when he said that Aziraphale had discovered his “civic obligations.”

So, I think we will get our modern-day happy ending– and it’s going to involve a lot of pain and discomfort, communication, healing and teamwork– and in the end, it’ll all be okay. There will be a time for rest and a time for “us.” 

And most likely a cottage. 

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

 - Maya Angelou

Support the SAG-AFTRA strike and other unions. Trust @neil-gaiman. Register to vote if you haven’t yet. Hold yourself and others accountable with compassion. Read books. Keep doing the work. Rest. Then watch Good Omens 2 again.  

[yellowcabdriver]

desperate

pairing: yuuji itadori x f!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: i quit my old soul-crushing job and i’m desperately trying to finish off all wips before i start my new job svdndjsj please enjoy 🙏🏻 live laugh lovesick yuuji 🫡💕 very shamelessly got inspired by this post

nobara said yuuji shouldn’t call you.

“you don’t want her to think that you’re desperate, right?”

yeah, maybe.

but here’s a thing that a considerate friend that is nobara didn’t take into account.

yuuji is crazy about you and he is indeed very desperate for you and your attention. he is filled with joy and excitement whenever he hears your voice – it’s almost pavlovian, very embarrassing. or at least could be, if yuuji cared enough. his pride is a small price to pay to have a wonder that is you in his life.

but yuuji has to admit, maybe nobara is right. at the end of the day you two are not dating (yet, as yuuji very much hopes). you two are not even very close friends (yet, again, as yuuji hopes).

yuuji’s finger lingers over a call button under your name embezzled with a variety of heart emojis.

“at least text her before calling, you know, it’s kind of a new etiquette these days, not to call someone unannounced,” yuuji remembers nobara’s chastising. it makes yuuji hesitate. of course, he doesn’t want to seem like an ignorant bumpkin who isn’t aware of social cues. what if you’re busy? which you probably are because you are so smart and cool. and you are definitely a great texter (even if you weren’t, yuuji wouldn’t know any better because he is that much in love).

with a sigh, yuuji slides over to messages and starts typing rather pathetically “hiiii how are you???” while fighting the urge to add like a gazillion emojis to express himself better. nobara is really getting into his head, yuuji sighs. this is hard considering he is not exactly an overthinker (that would require having more than one thought and his only singular thought right now is you). a text is better than nothing, sure, but yuuji really really really needs to hear your voice. so he rushes back to his contacts and gathers every ounce of willpower to press on your name.

after almost painful eleven seconds you pick up. yuuji’s breathing hitches a little when he hears your sleepy “hello?”

he wants to throw himself from a window.

he forgot it’s almost 3 am.

“hi, um, hey. sorry, you’re asleep.”

what an absolute mess.

“well, not anymore,” you softly laugh. yuuji, though embarrassed, is so happy to hear your laughter.

“sorry.”

“it’s okay, yuuji. did something happen?”

well, kinda. obviously, yuuji’s not going to tell you that he’s just so down bad for you that he called you up in the middle of the night for no reason.

“no, nothing, i- i’m sorry, it’s nothing urgent, i better call you tomorrow.”

“are you sure? i mean, it’s…” he hears you scramble. “three in the morning. it has got to be an emergency.”

it is, just not a conventional one. yuuji violently shakes his head and then remembers that you can’t see him (why is he such a fool when it comes to you?)

“no, no, i’m sorry, i screwed up. i forgot that not everyone stays up late like me. go to sleep. sorry.”

“stop apologising, it’s all fine. okay, i’ll believe that there’s no emergency. but you better call me tomorrow to confirm that you’re okay.”

yuuji’s cheeks are burning.

“yeah, of course. sorry again.”

you laughed.

“good night, yuuji.”

“good night.”

yuuji’s fingers shake when he types the first message.

“sorry, i actually didn’t mean to call you.”

delivered.

yuuji’s eyes are not leaving the screen beaming brightly into his face.

read.

his palms are suddenly cold.

dot, dot, dot.

“it’s okay,” followed by a smiley emoji and a thumbs up. such a you thing to send. for a minute he contemplates going to sleep and maybe die from embarrassment in his sleep but something takes him over. before he can register it, his fingers start typing.

“fuck it”

delivered, read.

“i did mean to call”

delivered, read.

“i wanted to talk to you”

delivered, read.

“to hear your voice and your laugh”

delivered, read.

yuuji can physically feel the blood rushing away from his limbs when he sees three dancing dots.

“i want to hear your voice, too.”

yuuji’s head is spinning as he fights the urge to jump around the room while smiling at his phone like a madman. megumi and nobara for sure would be disgusted at this sight. he is so ecstatic that he almost misses the next message.

“ft?”

his long calloused fingers dance across the screen to quickly type “i’ll call you”.

he rushes to facetime.

you pick up almost instantly.

yuuji looks at your face, traces of sleep still present in your expression but he can see – and it makes his heart flutter – that you are genuinely happy to see him, too.

you both spent a few intimate moments staring at each other’s badly lit faces, glowing under the dim lights of your screens in the dark, until yuuji finally finds the courage to break the silence.

“so… did you sleep well?”

you quietly laugh and yuuji falls in love even harder though he thought it wasn’t possible. he can’t wait to tell the gang that being desperate pays off, and oh so well.

and what does nobara know anyway.

[moonkissedvisions]

PAC ♡ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ please read:

Hey! welcome to another reading. This reading includes the following questions, I drew one card for each of them: -How do you see yourself? -How do you think others see you? -How do you project yourself to others? -How can you improve your projection/image? -Who/How are you, really? Use your own intuition and discernment to read my interpretations. Remember that this is a general reading so not everything has to resonate. This reading was only made for guidance and entertainment, it´s not a replacement for professional advice of any kind. I use a Rider-Waite deck and you can ask me about the cards if they aren´t named in the reading. Check out my other readings at the end of this post and consider liking/reblogging/following if you liked this one.

ʚ♡ɞ Now, look for your pile and hope you enjoy it. ʚ♡ɞ

♡ Pile 1

How do you see yourself?

You see yourself as a joyful person who likes to have fun and juggle many things at once. You view yourself as adaptable, dynamic, and fast-paced. You strive to maintain balance in your life. Perhaps you see yourself as someone who is too agitated, trying to keep everything together but struggling with a bit of messiness. You are worried that you can't always solve every problem or you aren't versatile enough. You are practical and you tend to take too much at once, but you know you are good at that.

How do you think others see you?

You believe that others perceive you as a resilient and strong individual who has gone through many challenges in life. You think they see you as a warrior who can endure any obstacle that comes your way. You also believe that you excel at setting boundaries and people recognize your persistence, ability to push forward, durability, and unwavering stance on important matters.

What do you project?

You project that you are struggling emotionally. maybe you suffered from heartbreak recently and that's why others see you struggling. When you experience heartbreak, loss, or betrayal, it can be difficult to hide the impact it has on you. Often, others can sense that you are not feeling your best. This may be due to your facial expressions, gestures, and body language projecting your sorrow, depression, or grief. However, others may also sense that you possess the strength to endure emotional pain and anguish, and that you have the capacity to cope with difficult times and emotions. Despite the challenging circumstances, they can see that you are getting through it.

How can you improve your image?

To build a positive image, focus on developing self-confidence, optimism, and a sense of self-assurance. Recognize your own strengths, resilience, and determination, and celebrate your successes and progress with others. Cultivate a positive self-image by showcasing your talents, achievements, and skills, and don't be afraid to reward yourself for your hard work. By accepting love and attention from others, you can build strong and supportive relationships that will help you achieve your goals and thrive in life. Remember, with dedication and perseverance, you can create a positive image that reflects your true potential and inspires others to do the same.

Who/How are you?

Whether it's in the present, past or an ongoing experience, you may have encountered a sense of loss, betrayal, heartbreak or any other kind of ending that has left you feeling defeated, physically and mentally exhausted, unable to react, powerless, discouraged, and sad. It's a feeling that things have come to an end and a new beginning is approaching. You may feel resigned to this situation, and it may have taken you by surprise. Someone or something may have hurt you deeply, and you may feel like there is nothing you can do about it. But with time, a new beginning will approach, and you'll be able to start your life anew. ♡

♡ Pile 2

How do you see yourself?

You perceive yourself as someone who is often lost in thought, too absorbed in your mind to notice what is happening around you. Perhaps you are moody, bored, or indifferent. You don't seem to experience gratitude or joy for anything in particular. You may overanalyze things and miss out on opportunities as a result. You see yourself as someone who is introspective and contemplative, but you struggle to feel content or fulfilled. You don't have a passion or feel emotionally connected to anything. You may be stuck in a negative/lack mindset and find it difficult to appreciate what you already have.

How do you think others see you?

You believe that others perceive you as a patient, moderate, balanced, and a calm person. You think that people see you as someone who enjoys going on adventures and embracing all kinds of experiences. Additionally, you think that others view you as open-minded, flexible, and capable of accepting diverse opinions and ways of living. You don't consider yourself as a person who thinks in black and white, but rather as someone who avoids extreme points of view. Perhaps you believe that people see you as someone who is not vengeful, holds no grudges, and is diplomatic and stable.

What do you project?

You exude calmness and balance while projecting emotional intelligence and the ability to empathize with people's feelings. You possess the skills to help others with their emotional problems and have the ability to connect with your own emotions and creativity. People feel heard and understood when they talk to you, and you have a reassuring presence that can comfort and uplift them. You healthily express your emotions and are unafraid of being perceived as sensitive or emotional. You have a strong intuition that enables you to read others' emotions accurately and know when someone needs support. You are a loving, artistic, and magnetic individual who is capable of dreaming big and inspiring others with your creativity and passion.

How can you improve your image?

Be ready to unleash your inner child by embracing your childlike wonder and free-spirited personality. Ignite your adventurous side and discover new horizons with an open and curious mind. Don't let a lack of enthusiasm hold you back - break free from routine and indulge your curiosity. Follow what intrigues you. Get out of your head, and look at the bright side. The key to finding your passion is to approach life with a playful attitude and a desire to explore new ideas. Don't take yourself too seriously and don't worry about making sense of everything. You don't need to get attached to something to find it fun. Work on your fears. As you embrace your journey, you'll inspire others to follow your lead and tap into their own sense of wonder. Let humor be your guide and start smiling more as you uncover all the exciting experiences that await you.

Who/How are you?

You possess a reflective, methodical, and calm personality. You are someone who doesn't rush into things and takes their time to contemplate and evaluate the situation before action. You are careful with your work and like to commit yourself fully to it. You are a perfectionist. Your introspective and composed nature allows you to think through things deeply and come up with practical solutions. You value your work and like to reflect on the outcome, which helps you learn from your experiences and grow. You are intellectually practical and don't take any risks without careful planning. You are a patient, dedicated, and meticulous individual who values quality work and likes to appreaciate the fruits of their labor.

♡ Pile 3

How do you see yourself?

You see yourself as someone who possesses a remarkable collaborative personality that enables you to effortlessly blend the energies and abilities of all team members, resulting in outstanding project outcomes. Your ability to work in teams is a testament to your skill and capability. You are focused, dedicated, and driven to succeed, with a good eye for detail and a talent for employing practical skills to achieve your goals. Your meticulous planning and thoughtful consideration of all aspects of a project reflect your reliability and conscientious nature. You are aware of your strong work ethic, combined with your friendly and trustworthy demeanor. You are highly committed to your work, practical, and reliable which inspires confidence in your abilities.

How do you think others see you?

You may feel like others don't fully understand you or perceive you accurately. It's possible that you have an unclear sense of your own identity, or that your identity is constantly changing based on your emotions or what's currently going on in your life. This can make it difficult for others to get a clear picture of who you are, and you may feel misunderstood. You might even feel like you can't be your true self, or that there isn't a true version of you that you can show to people. It's possible that you feel like others see you as fake or delusional, or that they pick up on your insecurities and emotional struggles so their perception of you is clouded by emotional projections. You may worry that you confuse people or that they have false beliefs and wrong ideas about you.

What do you project?

You might unknowingly convey your inner feelings of doubt and unease to those around you. Perhaps you are currently low on energy, and those around you can sense that you are feeling defeated. You might be projecting an absence of assertiveness in your communication and actions, indicating that you are unsure of your ability to win your battles and succeed. It's also possible that you are projecting a lack of confidence in yourself and your boundaries, giving off the impression that you are easily giving up and that you don't stand up for yourself. Maybe others perceive you as someone who starts unnecessary conflicts and behaves recklessly. You may also be projecting a lack of experience and commitment, which could result in you frequently stepping back from challenging situations. Overall, you project insecurity and a lack of motivation.

How can you improve your image?

To improve your image, you must embrace the unknown and uncertainty with boldness, readiness, and vitality. Identify the factors that are holding you back and draining your energy. Instead of wasting your time and focusing on insecurities, learn to be assertive, spontaneous, and willing to take risks. Redirect your focus intelligently. Feel the fear, and do it anyway. Trust in your ability to overcome any challenge that comes your way. Don't hold back your wild side; be authentic and unapologetic. Take care of your health and engage in sports that will help you gain confidence and vigor. Expand yourself and seek ways to grow instead of limiting yourself. Remember, you are capable of achieving anything you set your mind to.

Who/How are you?

You may be currently undergoing a process of healing, or are considering such a journey. You are beginning to view your pain, struggle, and grief in a new light, and as a result, you are experiencing a sense of release from emotional pain. You are starting to feel more peaceful and serene, and you are gaining a deeper sense of self-awareness. You are recovering from a past event that has had a profound impact on you, and you are gaining hope and faith in your healing journey. You are engaging in various forms of emotional release, such as journaling, meditation, or talking to someone. You help others to heal by sharing your own journey. You are attuned to your feelings and learning to experience them, rather than trying to control or over-analyze them. You are someone who is overcoming emotional obstacles and developing a sense of self-acceptance and inner peace. Your journey of healing is a testament to your strength and resilience, and serves as an inspiration to others who may be going through similar experiences.

♡ Pile 4

How do you see yourself?

You appear to be someone who possesses a strong sense of willpower. You are confident in your abilities to manifest your desires and you have all the resources at your disposal to achieve your goals. Your skills and creativity are impressive, and you possess the strategic prowess and focus to make things happen. You also possess a sense of empowerment and cunning, which makes you a natural leader with a flair for innovation.

Your persuasive and analytical abilities have made you a force to be reckoned with, and you are well aware of your power and influence. However, you may have noticed that this energy is not always directed in a positive direction. You may have used your persuasive abilities to manipulate, control, or deceive others, rather than using them to inspire and motivate. Perhaps you have struggled to channel your creativity in a way that benefits yourself and others, and as a result, you may have suppressed it altogether. You may also feel that you lack consistency in your endeavors, which can lead to wasted potential or a lack of progress. You may struggle to be honest and coherent with your thoughts and actions, which can lead to a sense of confusion or frustration. Despite these challenges, you deeply understand that you have the potential to overcome them and tap into your full potential.

How do you think others see you?

You believe that others perceive you as a deep and dynamic individual, characterized by a continual process of transformation and evolution in your life. You feel that they recognize your innate ability to undergo significant metamorphoses and serve as a catalyst for change. You sense that others regard you as someone who wields profound influence, capable of instigating transformative shifts within themselves and their surroundings. You believe that people perceive your resilience and profound depth, viewing you as a revolutionary figure who fosters renewal and facilitates healing processes. You think others see you as a radical person.

What do you project?

You appear to be experiencing a sense of detachment from your expertise and proficiency. You project that your level of engagement with your work has diminished compared to previous times. Your attention and organizational skills seem to be faltering, leaving others with a feeling of uncertainty regarding your reliability and dependability. It appears that practicality eludes you, and you are out of harmony with those around you, resulting in a lack of confidence in your abilities both professionally and in your daily pursuits. Your friends or colleagues may detect a noticeable disconnect, sensing that you are not resonating on the same wavelength as before and that your connection with them has weakened. Don't take this as a further discouraging message. Remember that this is also part of your journey so embrace it, and seek to realign at your own pace. You may be projecting this however it doesn't have to be the truth about you.

How can you improve your image?

Enhancing your image begins with embracing both your triumphs and setbacks, as they are integral parts of your journey toward personal and professional growth. By acknowledging and learning from your experiences, you pave the way for self-improvement and evolution. Make time for introspection, allowing yourself to release any burdens and cultivate gratitude for the lessons learned. Reclaim your power by reframing disappointments as opportunities for growth and resilience. Stay proactive in seeking out avenues for advancement and expansion. Re-center yourself by decluttering not only your physical surroundings but also your mental and spiritual spaces. Through this deliberate process of self-care and empowerment, you position yourself to thrive and radiate confidence in all aspects of your life. Remember that you can't grow new flowers until the old ones have decomposed into soil. Focus on growing new flowers, not in the decomposed old ones.

Who/How are you?

You have a vibrant persona thar radiates humor, making interactions with you a delight. You exude a carefree optimism that uplifts those around you. Your approach to life is characterized by a refreshing lack of attachment to material possessions, opting instead to savor experiences with an insatiable curiosity and boundless enthusiasm. You embrace each moment as an opportunity for joy and discovery. Recognizing the analogy of life to a perpetual celebration, you conscientiously cultivate an attitude of a gracious host, ensuring that every encounter is filled with warmth and vitality. Your capacity to maintain a lighthearted perspective, coupled with an unwavering focus on the bright side of life, reflects a remarkable depth of wisdom and resilience. You have an infectious smile and unforgettable laughter, and you embrace your childlike wonder.

Thank you for supporting my blog. I love you.

CHECK OUT MY OTHER READINGS

Discover your NATAL BIRTH CARDS

Astro notes

Your beauty and how to enhance it

The Divine Feminine messages

Your natural gifts and talents

[asvtrials]

Hate that I want you

Hate that i want you      masterlist

part one      next part idea: @floydsfae tags: @ilovejeansosomuch. @spikedfearn (inspired by) summary: Parting ways with a friend group was always hard, somehow trying to rejoin that group was even harder. Especially when a particular quick-tempered someone is rather bitter about your choices. warnings/tags: lots of swearing. friends to enemies to lovers. Bjorn is a bitter and jealous shit. angst a/n: I'm not very familiar with the Alien franchise so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. This is my first Tumblr post and I'm not used to writing in the second-person narrative so sadly this is not my best work but I still hope you like it. English is not my first language so please be nice. word count: 2394

“Fuck no.” That was your only answer before you covered yourself with your blanket and sank even deeper into your messy bed.

“Come on, Y/n!.” The muffled voice of your friend, Kay reached your ears under the blanket before she started to pull it away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You whined while trying to hold onto the covers until eventually Kay gave up

She sighed and sat next to you on the bed. “This is gonna be good for us.” She tried to reason. “You think that idiot was your way out? This is the way out.! She shook you a bit under the covers to make sure you were actually listening.

You rolled over, unsure if she actually believed in this nonsense or was that desperate to leave Jackson’s Star. You wouldn’t blame her if she was.

You stared at her for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Who had this idea in the first place?” You asked, surprised that anyone would think this would work.

“Tyler and Navarro. They said they pick-”

“Tyler and Navarro? Damn, they are really getting desperate.” You cut her off with a scoff.

“So, are you,” Kay added.

You couldn’t deny it.

You were tired. Tired of living the same day over and over again. Wake up at 6 am to the same darkness that followed you the entire day, get ready by 6:30 am, and begin your walk to the bus station to take the overcrowded bus that drove all of the workers to the mines.

Thankfully you were able to be transferred to the kitchen, away from the cramped caves. And as sad as it sounded, that was the only good thing that happened to you in a while.

You didn’t know if it was that or the resentful feeling of your fresh breakup but you let Kay pull you out of your bed and push you into the shower. You just knew you wanted to change this overwhelming routine of the past two months.

As soon as you got dressed, the girl led you through the busy, dimply-lit streets and toward an alleyway where the rest of the crew would wait for you.

You didn't know how to feel about this reunion. You haven't really seen them in a while, spending most of your time with your now ex-boyfriend. You were surprised they even included you in this ‘mission’. You figured it was probably Kay and Tyler, possibly Navarro too.

You turned around and were greeted by the figures of your old friends, Tyler and Bjorn.

When they met your nervous stare, you noticed Tyler’s expression mirrored yours even if it was for a split second. He quickly concealed his uncertainty with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Hey, Y/n. How have you been?” Tyler chuckled and pulled you into a hug, startling you a bit but soon enough you returned the affection

“Fine, I guess—” You began but before you could continue a different voice echoed in the empty alleyway, accent thick and tone dripping with accusation.

“We weren’t sure if you'd bless us with your ladyship.”

Of course, it was no other than Bjorn who would make a comment like this. He earned a glare from Tyler but he just shrugged s as if he was just making conversation.

An annoyed smile tugged at your lips as you spoke “Seems like you didn't change. Like at all.”

Bjorn ignored your comment and turned to Kay. “If she's all caught up, we should go.”

You raised your eyebrow at the way he brushed you off but you decided to let it go. “What about Navarro, Rain, and Andy?” You asked.

“Navarro’s fixing some other parts of the ship and Rain is—” Tyler paused for a moment, sending a glance at his half-sister. You followed his eyes but Kay just smiled at you “Busy with her job,” Tyler ended up saying.

“Is Rain all right?” You asked, chuckling a bit at their failed attempt to cover the truth.

“You’d know if you weren’t too busy snogging your boyfriend every chance you got,” Bjorn remarked with a smug smirk. You could feel your blood boiling at the mention of your ex.

“Bjorn! We talked about this.” Tyler warned the boy but he just scoffed.

“What? She was gone for two months and now acts all worried! That’s a load of bollocks!” He argued, gesturing towards you with a huff.

“Oh, fuck off, Bjorn!” You raised your voice over Tyler who was about to cuss his cousin out. This was already hard enough but having Bjorn act like a massive asshole wasn’t something you were going to sit through.

You did abandon them. You were a bitch, and a bad friend, and whatever this asshat wanted to call you but you didn’t need to hear it, especially from Bjorn out of all people.

You just wanted to have a better life, at least as good as it could get in this shitty colony. A future to look forward to and Noa made it look possible. He had ambition and connections and could easily get a better job than most of the Jackson Star residents. At the time you were stupid enough to believe that he wouldn’t drop you. Yet, as soon as he bagged a job in the ‘Office of Colony Affairs’ he dumped you because, in his words, you had ‘different life goals.’

Fuck. And fuck him, and Bjorn and whoever dared to call you a whore or an opportunist. All of you had the same life goals, get the fuck out of here. That’s why you were here. As crazy as this plan sounded, at least you would be doing something to get away from this place.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting something better for myself!” You snapped.

Bjorn ran his tongue over his teeth, letting out a low chuckle to hide his irritation “So you dropped everyone to get that.” He stated before he met your eyes once more. You didn’t know what you saw in his gaze but it wasn’t simply anger.

“I didn’t drop any of you!” You began, throwing your hands in frustration. “I kept in touch with Kay and Navarro. I asked about all of you! If you weren’t such a dick you’d realize that you made it difficult to talk to you!”

Bjorn remained quiet as if he was trying to come up with a comeback. He tore his gaze away from you when he turned around and mumbled “Whatever.”

“We should really get going now,” Kay spoke nervously, more to Tyler than anyone else.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Tyler agreed noticeably glad that the fight would come to an end, for now at least.

You sent Bjorn one last glare before following Kay and Tyler, but he didn't look all that affected.

The walk to the abandoned warehouse was rather long. A couple of years ago it was busy with workers and clients, mostly to buy components for mining haulers and gear. But right now it was collecting dust and vines so it was the perfect place to get some forgotten parts and tools.

Tyler helped Kay jump over the tall fence while you and Bjorn were already on the other side. You smiled at the sweet moment between the siblings trying to ignore the panging feeling in your chest.

You tried to ignore the intense need you had to glance at the boy next to you but you couldn’t help it. His gaze was fixated on the tall building, holding the cigarette between his fingers. You tried to push away the bitter feeling that cursed through you.

It wasn’t that long ago that he helped you the same way, finding any excuse to feel your skin under his fingertips.

But that was just a childish game you two developed. Flirting jokingly, touching a bit more than necessary to see the other’s cheeks redden and hear your friends groan in disgust. Both of you comfortably balanced on the rope between friendly banter and romantic curiosity.

When both Kay and Tyler landed on the other side of the fence, you began walking toward the building.

You stepped inside and an aerie breeze hit you, from the way Kay started to rub her shoulders you guessed the rest felt the same.

“Bloody hell…” Bjorn mumbled as he walked to the front desk which was covered in dust and some dead bugs.

“Yeah, that’s nasty.” Kay agreed, keeping close to you and Tyler.

“I’ll go check the first floor, someone should check the second,” Tyler announced the plan, staring at the sketch of the parts Novarro drew him.

The group was surrounded by silence, the four of you looking at each other awkwardly until Kay decided to make it easier for all of you. “I can go with Bjorn.” She said cheerily trying to ignore the tension.

“Good, Y/n we’ll go together” Tyler nodded toward you and started walking up the stairs.

Bjorn's loud voice stopped both of you in your tracks. Bjorn tried to sound uninterested even amused as he spoke “I see, you act all tough yet can’t even spend five minutes alone with me. Scared I’ll hurt your feelings, innit?” The way those last words fell out of his lips in such a pitying manner really struck a nerve.

You knew what he was doing. He was baiting you. You saw him do it to everyone, although you weren’t sure if Andy even could understand that he did it just to annoy him.

Still, you weren’t one to give him the satisfaction. You let out a dry chuckle as you rolled your eyes. “Bjorn and I are going to check the second floor” You declared, not bothering to turn around.

“I can go with Y/n?” Kay tried to intervene but neither you nor Bjorn listened as you walked up the stairs.

“Remember, in and out! Be quick.” You heard Tyler’s voice bounce off the walls as you continue your path to the second floor, Bjorn hot in your trail.

You entered a room as soon as you reached the second floor. By the numerous boxes and shelves filled with dirty items, this was clearly one of the storage rooms

“You search the right side, I'll search the left side,” You said when you noticed Bjorn still walking behind you.

“Don’t tell me what to do” He quickly retorted.

You let out an exasperated sigh and walked to the right side instead, ignoring his snarkiness.

Neither of you talked for a long while, putting equipment that seemed useful in your bags or simply looking through the dusty machinery.

Bjorn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence “So how are things with your boyfriend.” You didn’t miss the way his tone changed to a mocking one at the word ‘boyfriend’ but you chose to ignore it.

You stayed quiet for a moment, not sure if you wanted to answer. “We don’t have to talk.”

“Come on, I’m trying to be nice.” He spoke over the loud noise of his hand rummaging through some drawers and you could practically hear his smirk.

A groan managed to slip past your lips before you said “We broke up.”

You heard Bjorn’s movements come to a halt momentarily followed by a breathy laugh. “Can’t say I'm surprised you dumped that twat.”

You remained silent once again only saying a drawn-out “Yeah”

“Wait a fucking minute.” Bjorn laughed, walking closer to you, a smug smirk spreading on his face “He dumped you!”

The amusement in his voice made your anger flare up once again causing your face to contort in irritation but you tried to ignore it and just get the job done, practically slamming the drawer shut.

“Why did he dump you? Did he find someone that matched his status? He did get promoted to a whole-ass desk job” He snorted.

You tried to be calm, you really did but all of it was so recent “Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?” You exploded, making his eyes leave the shelves and focus on you. “Is it really so funny that I was dumped?”

Bjorn stared at you for a long moment, before turning to continue searching. Obviously not without a sarcastic comment. “It’s funny that he dumped you but sorry, didn’t know you were so in love.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose to try and keep your cool. “As if you know what love is?” You tried to keep your voice from shaking with anger.

Bjorn met your scowl once again but to your surprise, his expression didn’t match yours. Unlike yours, his eyes didn’t hold any rage but something that made you unable to look away as he moved closer to you, looming above you.

“I know you two weren’t.” The low tone in his voice had you breathless for a moment.

Does it even matter if you loved Noa? Falling in love was never the point.

“You don’t know anything” You spat out, your voice as intense.

He raised his eyebrow at your words, staring down into your eyes “Really?” He dragged out the word. “You were in love with that asshat? You really want me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe, that’s none of your fucking business.” You bit back, taking a step closer. You wanted to remain unbothered by how the corner plush lips tugged up but the warmth that spread through your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“You’re not answering my question.” The almost gentleness in his voice quickly disappeared as he laughed, his breath hitting your face. His fingers slowly reached up to flick a strand of your hair mockingly.

You were about to slap away his hand when you heard Kay’s voice from the corridor.

“Guys, where are you?” She shouted.

“Uh—we’re here Kay” You yelled back, stepping back from Bjorn. You really didn’t notice how close you two were standing.

Soon enough Kay’s figure appeared in the doorframe.

“Glad to see you didn’t kill each other” She joked. “We found the thing Navarro needed, we can go.” She announced.

You hated how your eyes met Bjorn’s even if it was for a second, and you hated the feeling that erupted in your stomach even more.

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.