#like i really thought this was a classy party but as i've said before my heart is simply not made of stone

[casyawn]

okay prepare yourselves this will be embarrassingly sincere but i'm actually not finished talking about the reunion scene and everything i love about it. i love that it's the first real and honest conversation louis and lestat have ever had on screen. i love that it's raw and painful and unjudging. i love that louis allows himself to express the pain he feels around his suicide attempt for the first time. i love that it's about many things but above all it's about how they both failed claudia. about how they both carry her with them and are the only ones who can understand. i love siri pause. i love that louis thanks lestat for the gift, that it's more meaningful to both of them than a love confession could have ever been. i love that there's no love confession. i love that louis is the one who closes the gap between them and i love that it's in response to lestat expressing shame and regret over how he failed to be a good father to claudia. i love that that's what louis needed to hear from him more than anything, more than the apology for dropping him from the sky or for how he treated him. i love that louis owns up to the way he behaved during the relationship not because i think lestat necessarily deserves that from him but because it's an important healing moment for louis himself. i love that louis is soft with lestat and that he's the one talking to him and comforting him at the end when we can't hear them, a true role reversal from the turning scene in the pilot. i love that they don't get back together. i love that the world is being destroyed outside the house and that it starts to fall apart around them because that is what their love is, destructive and painful but true. i love that this is how we leave them, not knowing what the future will look like for them. i love that louis gets to choose to reunite with lestat on his own terms. and most of all. most of all. i love that lestat looks like a wet miserable pathetic rat with an unwashed greasy bob. and that his honkers are out

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(After Halloween)

*Adam woke this morning on cloud nine, Lucifer told him he loved him, Lucifer made love to him, and they had so much fun at the Halloween party, Adam practically melted when he felt a hand run itself through his hair and gently scratch his scalp*

Lucifer: How did you sleep last night?

Adam: It was the best sleep I had in a while, I always loved you and you gave me everything I wanted and more.

Lucifer: You deserve it, tonight I am taking you to Ozzie’s.

Adam: What is Ozzie’s?

Lucifer: A really nice club in the Lust Ring and afterwards we are going to go to the best resort where I am going to make passionate love to you.

*Adam felt giddy in a way he never felt before, he never really had a relationship and had a relationship where he got to go on dates, the less said about his marriage to Lilith the better, it was nice being married to Eve, but they had to spend most of their time having children and starting humanity, Lucifer was also Adam’s soulmate, they got dressed and went downstairs, Lucifer started to make pancakes for everyone, Adam sitting close to Lucifer while Lucifer let Adam sample a little bit of everything he was making, Alastor watched in disgust as Adam and Lucifer were being curtesy, his plot to use Lilith to keep Lucifer from Adam failed, Charlie and Vaggie walked down*

Charlie: Are you excited for Thanksgiving?

Adam: You celebrate Thanksgiving in Hell, that is mainly an America thing.

Lucifer: Well we have Sinners from all around the world and they bring their traditions with them, you will see some people celebrating Dia De Los Muertos today. Also it is an excuse to have a big feast.

Adam: Well unlike Halloween, we celebrate Thanksgiving in Heaven because we must talk about what we are thankful for.

Vaggie: It is nice that they at least allow us Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Charlie: What are you two doing today?

Lucifer: I am taking Adam on his first date.

Charlie: That sounds fun.

*Adam felt Angel Dust hug him*

Angel Dust: I knew you would get your short king.

Adam: I am so happy, Luci is talking me to Ozzie’s.

Angel Dust: Lucky, I am taking you shopping so you can be gorgeous tonight.

*after they had breakfast, Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb took Adam to the mall for shopping*

Adam: so what kind of place is Ozzie's?

Angel: It's classy mixed with sex. So classy sex. The entertainment I hear is amazing that place is always booked.

Cherri: Perk of dating a King I guess, you can get in anywhere you want.

They were looking through all the clothes and Adam left the makeup picking to Angel and Cherri, he didn't have the first clue on what would look good or even how to do it for himself.

It would probably look like a toddler drew on his face with a Sharpe.

Adam: I've never been on a date before.

Angel: Never? But you were married.

Adam: Yeah but it wasn't, hi nice to meet you let's get to know each other. It was here's your wife go fuck like rabbits and make babies.

Angel: Never thought about it like that.

Cherri: What about a dress?

Adam blushed: I'm still a man you know.

Angel: You're one curvaceous babe my good dude, show off what big daddy G gave you.

[letstrythisout4]

Hi, it’s me, slytherinboysappreciation. I wanted to send you this as an ask rather than a comment to make it easier for you to answer.

Do you have any thoughts about Blaise and his personal grooming habits? To me he seems like a very well put together person. Like, expensive tastes and classy outfits.

I don’t think he’s obsessed with his appearance like I think Draco is (my personal opinion), but I do think he takes pride in it. Maybe it’s a value his mother instilled in him?

My personal headcanon is that he gives fashion advice to the Slytherin gang. Like, Pansy goes to him for advice on which dress to wear to a party and Draco brings him along when he goes shopping because he values Blaise’s advice so much.

Idk what do you think? I’d love to hear any thoughts you have about this

fuck yeah absolutely

HP Masterlist

ok first i need to establish I think most - if not all- of Blaise's traits and values come from his mother in some way. So yeah in my mind his mother is someone who enjoys the finer things in life, she has expensive taste and isn't afraid to show it. She definitely raised him to believe that generally (there are always exceptions) the way you present yourself through your physical appearance is a large representation of who you are (enter parallel to black families putting value in dressing up whenever having a community event like church etc.). So Blaise likes to be put together. He prefers to be clean shaven, he's regularly at the barber to make sure his lineup is clean and his hair isn't crazy (don't ask too many questions about how he gets haircuts while at Hogwarts, he for sure has a guy in Hogsmeade), his uniform is perfect (he asks the elves to iron his laundry before delivering it) and he is always wearing some form of jewelry like a watch or a ring to complete the look. he is a beautiful man

As for what the other students think, I mean I've said it before and I'll say it again...everyone has a crush on him LOL. Ok not everyone but at the very least everyone can admit that he looks sharp 24/7. Not even people who hate him can deny that. I just know he gives Pansy the best advice on what to wear because he picked up his interest in fashion from his mother, he has perfected the balance of finding something classy yet comfortable for who you are as a person. This is where Draco comes in, I think of Draco as really really caring about his appearance but he isn't natural gifted in fashion in the same way Blaise is. While Blaise got to be around his mother and pick up on her way of perceiving clothing, Draco (in my mind) was focused on training to be the next head of the house (aka he just puts on whatever the elves and his mother tell him to). Draco doesn't really know how to dress himself. Which is okay when you wear a uniform but as he gets older he doesn't just want to wear a uniform he wants to wear a uniform. He wants to stand out in the way Blaise does. So he sucks up his pride and goes to Blaise for advice and slowly but surely Draco begins to personalize his clothes (both his uniform and his casual clothes). He's no Blaise that's for sure, he doesn't really get it. But by talking through things with Blaise, Blaise is able to style his clothes to be more Draco.

(Slytherins find out that Draco's dracoification of his clothes is because of Blaise and all of a sudden he's the slytherin house's personal stylist...Blaise has decided he's sooner or later going to find a way to make money off of this lmfao.)

ALSO VERY IMPORTANT:

this is who I imagine when I'm talking about Blaise

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just to provide a bit more perspective to what I'm saying

Authors note: ok ok thank you so much for the ask (moving forward if anyone who has a specific topic they want me to talk about could submit it as an ask I would love that), I loved talking about this! Anyway please like if you enjoy and comment if you have any thoughts thank you all sm!

[oh-hush-its-perfect]

how the hoo characters would react upon being asked about taylor swift

PERCY: She's pretty good. Yeah, I listened to the new version of Speak Now and it kinda went harder than I thought it would. I'm not, like, a "worship the ground she walks on" kinda guy, but I guess I like enough of her songs to consider myself a Swiftie. Guilty pleasure, I guess.

ANNABETH: Oh, gosh. People always ask me this. Uh, long story short— oh, right, that's one of her songs. That's kinda funny— I liked her music a lot when I was younger. Like, "Better than Revenge" was my thing when I was fifteen. And, yeah, I've listened to most of her albums. I liked Midnights and folklore and evermore. But I was never in love with her as a person. I just relate to some of her songs. Oh, gods, I couldn't count how many times I've cried to "Would've, Could've, Should've." But I heard someone call her the "greatest songwriter of our generation," and that's just... That's a bit bizarre for me. I think she's good as an artist, though. So... I guess I like her music, but I'm definitely not a Swiftie.

PIPER: Uhhh, I don't know. Like, her music is terrible or anything, but it's not really my taste. But as a person? I don't know, the whole Matty Healy thing just rubbed me the wrong way, and... I mean, she's a rich white lady doing rich white lady things. My dad asked me if I wanted her at my birthday party once. I said no, but I also said no to the Regrettes, and I'm literally in love with Lydia Knight. I'm happy for her with the tour and all, but not really my scene, no. But Jason likes her so I try to be supportive.

JASON: Oh, my gods. She's like... I don't know if she's my favorite artist, but she's up there. I mean, like, she's just so classy and her music is just so good. The way she uses synths is like... it's like magic. And her lyrics— I mean, you can't get much more relatable than that. My favorite album is probably... Lover? Or maybe Red. Then again, maybe it's 1989. It's so hard to pick. I guess I'm kind of a hopeless romantic at the end of the day.

LEO: Taylor Swift? Well, like, she's hot.

THALIA: Not really my style. But if she did a punk-pop or metal album, I'd be down for that. Like, I heard a metal cover of "Look What You Made Me Do" once, and it went so hard. She's really got a good voice for punk, too. Saw a video of her doing a vocal growl on that one song— uh, what's it called? "We are Never Getting Back Together" or something like that? Anyway, that sounded really good. But I don't really like her environmental impact. You could ask Rachel about that. I bet she'd have a lot to say.

RACHEL: Taylor— Listen. Don't get me started on Taylor Swift. Her music is mediocre at best, and her carbon footprint? Holy Hades! I saw somewhere that that one study that said 8,000 tonnes was wrong and it's actually more like 1,000 tonnes, but that was taken from half of a year during a global pandemic. She wasn't even touring or anything. The woman's a multimillionaire. With that kind of money, you would think that she'd be more environmentally conscious, but no. Not at all. And I guess it's cool or whatever that she pays her people well, but, like, that's the bare minimum. Taylor Swift. I didn't like her before all that about her environmental impact and stuff came out, and I definitely don't like how she dates racist guys, and I hate the way people worship her and follow her like lemmings, y'know?

HAZEL: Who?

FRANK: Oh, she's good, I suppose. Never got super invested in her or her music or anything. I don't really know anything about her except that people love her, and her singles are fine, I guess. I liked that one song "cardigan."

NICO: Uh, I feel like people shouldn't really ask me about music. My music taste kinda sucks. But sure, Taylor Swift makes some good music. Annabeth played me a few songs once. I really liked "Haunted," I think it's called.

REYNA: I don't follow her life and I haven't listened to any of her albums or anything. I mostly listen to Latin music, to be honest. But she's a woman and she's extremely successful, so I suppose I'm happy for her.

[Coach Hedge immediately starts singing "Shake It Off" when asked and did not provide any further comment.]

OCTAVIAN: I can't believe some people call that trash "music." It's so low-brow and vapid. Only eleven year old girls actually like that kind of thing. Me, I listen to real music— the classics, like Mozart. My favorite song by him is definitely "Canon in D."

[starlightshadowsworld]

Splinter lives.

@nrrrdgrrrl2002 you gave me an idea.

Instead of the cold hands of death he's pulled into the warm embraces of his children as they help him up.

Or rather some of his children, Donnie and Mikey are holding him.

While Raph is holding up Leo, who looks a lot worse for wear.

"Leo!"

Donnie and Mikey run over, any thought of their father vanishing at the sight of their big brother.

Splinter smiles, his cane back in his head and he steadies himself.

He is about to go to his son, to congratulate him, to show him how proud of him he is.

For the Shredder is gone.

But something feels amiss.

His son is nowhere near the Shredders body.

Splinter let's his gaze fall on his old friend.

The once mighty Oroku Saki lays crushed in a trash compactor.

And any pride Splinter feels vanishes.

His son hadn't made him proud.

Hadn't taken the task his father had given to him and succeeded in it.

He had failed him.

Casey and April returned, the two had vanished earlier. Now returning in the Party Wagon.

Neither looked happy.

"Case! Help me with Leo!" Said Raph, Casey went over and with a gentleness few knew he possessed he took Leo's other side and helped him to the van.

"Sorry we couldn't get anything bigger." Apologised April, Donnie smiled shaking his head "don't worry about it. But... What is this thing?"

April snorted "my dad's ol party wagon from his college days. He gave me the keys to my grandma's farmhouse so well be laying low their for a while."

She didn't mention he hadn't made it out but Donnie could put the pieces together.

"It won't be long" He said trying to comfort her and she smiled through it didn't reach her eyes.

The two settled into the van. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but they made it work.

"Next time I'm just hijacking an ambulance." Grumbled Casey, beside him April snorted "real classy of you Jones."

Casey grinned though it was small "you know me Red." April smiled back, she thanked whatever God's existed that she'd befriended Casey Jones all that time ago. "Yeah, I know you. Now get us out of here."

Casey gave a thumbs up, turned the keys and drove away.

It didn't take long for the turtles to fall asleep. All of them somehow curling up together like they had when they were young.

April was humming one of the songs on the radio and Casey was drumming his fingers on the dashboard.

Splinter was awake.

How could he sleep after all that happened?

He looked at his students, his sons all sleeping peacefully as if nothing had happened.

Almost like he could sense the older rats gaze, Casey's hand paused.

"Splinter..." his voice was cold, nothing like anything Splinter had heard from the boy.

Casey met his gaze in the mirror, cold and unwavering.

"You try anything and you can walk it."

His voice said he was kidding.

And from the way April's posture went from relaxed to alert, she wouldn't stop him.

"What I do with my children is not your concern, Casey Jones."

Casey's eyes went alight with fire, his grip on the wheel tightened. "If you hurt them I'll kill you myself."

He said simply.

And he meant it.

Splinter couldn't help the scoff, the idea that a simple boy could defeat him.

Casey smiled but it wasn't kind.

"I've already killed one ninja master today, I'm open to another."

Splinters eyes widened, surely not... Surely... But he knew neither were lying.

A simple boy had killed the Shredder.

An undisciplined, reckless, angry child had taken out his old friend.

It was like a slap to the face.

"That was not your choice to make."

"Really? That's what you say to that?" Says April. "Your greatest enemy defeated and your mad it was Casey who did it?" She said, unable to process it.

"Sorry man, if I know you'd call dibs I totally would've done the same thing." Said Casey with a snort.

Splinter glared "it was Leo's responsibility, his job as leader."

Casey was silent before slamming his foot on the break.

Luckily the turtles remained snoozing.

Casey got out the van, and hauled Splinter out onto the floor in a heap.

"Your sons almost died and you don't even care, do you?! Leo might not be able to walk again and you don't care?!... If anyone's the failure it's you." Seethed Casey.

"Not only did you put all that pressure on Leo, you pushed him till he almost died and your mad he didn't?!" Hissed April.

Both of them looked at Splinter like he was the scum of the earth.

"Your the worst father I've ever met, and I've met mine so that's saying something." Said Casey shaking his head.

Splinter glared "I gave them everything I had! I raised 4 mutants in a sewer with no one to help me."

"Yeah no you don't get to pull the generational trauma card right now, get in line." Said April folding her arms.

"Why does it matter who kills the Shredder? If your that obsessed with it why didn't you do it? You failed the first time but you've had 16, 17 years to do it."

Splinter was seething that either of these children had the nerve to speak to him like that.

"Leo isn't you, you know that? Actually no I don't think you know it so let me spell it out for you. Leo isn't you, Raph isn't you, Donnie isn't you, Mikey isn't you. There better than you could ever be."

Splinter gave her a disbelieving look. "Ninja they may be, but they are undisciplined, reckle-"

"Do you even like them?" Asked Casey, "seriously, do you even care for them." Splinter sighs "of course I do."

Casey and April exchanged looks of disbelief. "Alright, name something you like about all of them that doesn't involve ninjutsu."

The silence spoke volumes.

Casey shook his head "unbelievable...how, how can you look at them and not love them. Their such lovable little dorks. Grew on me like a fungus."

April snorted "gross, but not untrue."

"You see them as nothing other than soilders to carry out your plans. I bet you don't know that Mikey wants to be a chef, pretty sure Mister Murakami is gonna give him 24/7 when he passes on." Said April fondly.

"Don's gonna out do us all, he's getting his GED." Said Casey with a smile. "Raph says drummer but he wants to be a kindergarten teacher. He tries to pretend but he loves those sticky lil guys, my lil sis adores him."

"And Leo, he's not sure just yet but he wants to travel the world. Those boys are gonna go far, no thanks to you." Says April.

Splinter is shocked "what? Did you think they were gonna spend their whole lives fighting for your dream?" She says with a look.

"... Raphael shouldn't around children. His anger is dangerous." Was all Splinter said.

Casey rolled his eyes "you ever think, oh wise ninja man that you purposely poking him with a stuck till he blows up is why his anger gets so bad. And you didn't even try to teach him how to control it, just humiliate him."

Splinter didn't say anything only frowned deeper.

April gently bumped her shoulder with his, reminding him he wasn't alone. Casey bumped hers back, thankful.

"And showing them the world... You'll expose them to humans."

Now both humans rolled their eyes at him.

"Splinter, do you know what a camera is?" Asked April, seriously. "Of course I do" He snapped.

"Well when people notice mutant happenings because of course they did. They took videos, uploaded em to the Internet.

Hell the whole rat king thing was broadcasted on live TV. Your sons are known, and no thanks from you their safe." She said, the mighty mutanimals had handed that.

"Mutants started integrating with humanity long ago, your kids are no different. Their all raking their courses online but I drop em off every morning for school with April. I'd say I'm suprised you didn't notice but... Yeah.

And their all hella smart, we're all gonna graduate togrther and move out to some flat we can squeeze into, Donnie's already got an internship lined up." Explained Casey, pride in his voice.

Splinter could stand stunned.

He had no idea.

"Careful you might blow his mind." Teased April. "I thought he was gonna explode when you asked him what a camera was, that's too advanced for an ol timer." Teased Casey.

Both bursting into laughter.

Leaving Splinter humiliated, all of this was wrong. So wrong. His sons were never to leave, a GED? Internships? It was all wrong. They were to be ninja, to fight the Shredder and protect this city.

Not act like children.

They were monsters, mutants they would never belong amongst humans.

This was wrong.

"You... Dare take my sons from their rightful path..." He hissed, but April and Casey we're done with him.

"If their rightful path is being a child soilder than yes, huh should've known you and Shredder were related. Given how you both raise your kids, I'm glad Karai got free of you both."

That sent Splinter foting at them, enraged.

No one talked about his Miwa like that.

Casey fell to the ground, April was about to use her powers to throw Splinter off when another voice came out.

"Leave them alone."

It was Leo, stumbling on his injured leg but his face determined.

"Stand down Leonardo."

"No, you always taught me to follow my instincts and mine say leave my family alone."

"I am your father!"

"Than why won't you act like it...just leave us alone to deal with this, your good at that."

Splinter glared but he did infact leave "you will regret this."

"Already do...Casey! Are you okay!" Asked Leo, Casey gave him a thumbs up as April helped him up. "I'm good man, just caught me suprise."

Leo nodded, he looked out to the distance where his father had gone before back at his friends.

His family.

"How much did you hear?" Asked April hesitantly "most of it... Thanks for standing up for us."

And he meant it.

Both of them had been strangers all that time ago but had both become people Leo was proud to call family.

"Always." Both of them echoed. "Now let's get this show back on the road" said Casey, helping Leo in and the trio returned to their seats.

"And Leo" said April, turning to face him. "We're both really proud of you." She smiled. Casey nodded in agreement "so proud."

Leo blinked in suprise before smiling. He felt a weight lift of his shoulders. Somehow that meant more than his father's approval ever had.

"Thanks. You think we could we listen to the radio?"

"Sure, but if Casey starts singing I'm out. Said April, receiving a sqawk of protest from Casey.

"I have the voice of angels Red, your just jealous."

Leo smiled, watching them banter and curled back up to his brothers who were awake.

Had been awake for a while.

"Hey Casey the Angels called they want their banscgnee scream back." Said Raph. Casey huffed but he was smiling.

"If it gets us going, I guess I can put up with Casey's voice." Said Donnie, "thanks Don!"

Mikey giggled af their antics and joined in as Casey sung his heart out.

Raph caught Leo's eyes and hugged him close. And Leo knew he had heard everything.

They knew April and Casey could handle it but would all have jumped in if they had too.

For each other.

And this thought Leo, this was home.

[the-firebird69]

Old head be like🤣Gratiot Ave Detroit

I heard this voice saying you shouldn't be allowed out of doors that is so cool I almost got mad and I heard this what is that that is awesome it looks like a Coleman and I said it might be I said poor Gary. Is there a Lafayette said I wonder what the hell this is it looks so cool to people and it is a Coleman and it's practically stock and I said this thing looks like the s*** and I just put a bigger front tire on and it looks awesome it looks so awesome cuz I change the sprockets huge and I did change that one but for Christ's sake people thought it was awesome you said you got to take it to the shop and put some white walls on it and glossy it and you'll see it's going to even be awesome and I tried doing that no I did and people were almost fell out of the chair it looks so cool and she says if I was just a little smaller it would be the perfect bike and I'm ironically smaller and he says this is what kind of bike you like anyway it's like the Honda so I said this I have got to get a bunch of these and retrofit them for the road it's just intense you don't have to use gears the things got a power it rolls nice it's the right size when your normal size it looks like a regular bike it's awesome of course it's a white one but wow I never thought I'd have this kind of reaction and he's trying to hide it so you can see it after a lot of people did that said gross that is really going to go in my garage or driveway you had to pull you over you find you for looking to fly too cool that's what I mean and he said and I said this you have got to be s******* me so they can fix it up like the tires needs to be not painted but other than that everything is fine shove the party casino by every girl and Lily will have like 10 of them one hour into that show. So I heard him say that and I deleted it up a bit cleaned up the tires and I went out with it and people asked me tons of questions it was ridiculous and he's right you can make millions of these minutes and the girls are all over me literally I had girls jumping up on me asking me where I got it they heard the outdoor store and it went around I'm telling you what people are going to buy this this is intense it's so cool and he says that I probably do big jobs and I can inspect them on it that's crazy like the original one but just painted white and have a company with white lawn mowers I'll start getting tons of customers you have to wash them down when you use them classy White that's intense what are you say is intense cuz it's true you need to expect it nobody does.

Is there to think about it I said this is insanity what's the lawn mower company for me and he said it's a Miami type bike and paint them all different colors and have like a few standard zany colors like black and green flames but cool and glossy and different looks to them and nice shining Chrome lights and reflectors and some Chrome on it and stuff and you have this little little bikes that look real and I can sell millions because they go fast 80 mph fast with our regular weight it will go 120 miles per hour and it looks like a small boy like 100 rebel size it's a little smaller than that I mean we're going to get customers and he's right I can make this business and he can come up with the designs in the store front and everything says what you do is you just make it ergonomically correct so people can get in and out and view the thing test ride it and drive off with one without it being a massive problem it's just kind of a pain because everybody's always in the damn way and you have to think about it from the pickup area it's not a big deal you don't have to wheel one right off the floor if you can and I've seen this before and they're doing it at Black widow and I see how it works too they're not as astonished but really it's a little bit easier and it's a new one is untouched and that's what it says I have to thank him for this idea he is intense and I thought of doing it for a long time but wow what a reaction everyone's calling me now he wants me to post so I'm going to

Jason that's going to be the song too it's in the background is you don't know me like that get back that's what it's called I really have to do this

Wow that is so cool and he did it and that's Jason's version there's a couple things changed as a gas tank the front tire and he did something to sprockets it says he needs suspension but there's one that has it you can do it without it and do it with it it's still rides and it's really inexpensive I see what he's saying too with a cool paint job and really she didn't really try too hard it looks like really intense he hasn't gone out with it or anything but I think he will he might spray a shiny coat on this is intense I mean feeling kind of a lot of talk it looks it's really cool looking so if he gets money it has a house he can ride around the neighborhood with you know if you registered and stuff I understand that too it's kind of some weird to kick around and it's fun and he said after a while he looks like a bear our friend's name is the Nanook and my husband's in white that's really weird. You can call the motorcycle company in the book he says

Lily

I don't know about that it's actually sounds cool though cuz it's for bears I got to tell you something that's a really cool idea Nanook as a bike name that's really weird

Jason

We approved this idea and voice really nice

Olympus

[little-miss-buffy]

Tara's birthday party at the Bronze was actually fun. It was the distraction Buffy needed between Riley leaving and finding out what Dawn was. She was with friends for the most part. Even Giles and Dawn were invited. For the first time in a month, Buffy was able to put her troubles on the back burner and just let go and enjoy herself. "This place is so cool," Dawn was saying as she, Buffy, Xander, and Giles were huddled around a small table. "Except I have to wear this stupid stamp on my hand." Buffy chuckled as she took a sip of her drink. "That's to keep you from boozing it up," Xander said. "Oh, please, only losers drink alcohol," Dawn replied. The teenager was cheerfully oblivious to Buffy, Xander, and Giles taking this in before going back to their drinks. Buffy was slightly proud to hear that, though. This meant that she wouldn't have to worry about Dawn sneaking off to kegger parties. Then again, should she really be surprised? The girl was created by monks. Of course she wouldn't want to drink. She quickly pushed that thought away because she knew it would once again lead to the gravity of hers and Dawn's situation and she didn’t want to think about that tonight.

"Can someone be hot and creepy at the same time?" Anya asked, joining their table as Willow and Tara went to dance. "Because that guy over there definitely is." Buffy followed the ex-demon's gaze to a couple on the dance floor. She wasn't wrong. The guy was definitely hot. His facial features could only be defined as perfect and he had perfect alabaster skin. But, the more Buffy looked at him, the more unsettling he seemed. He had what Buffy liked to call "serial killer eyebrows," which meant that they always looked angry (like Michael C Hall in Dexter). Not only that, his smile seemed somewhat predatory as they walked towards the back door. "Buffy..." Xander trailed off. He didn't need to finish that sentence. "Keep an eye on Dawn," Buffy said, walking towards the back door.. Her slayer instincts were screaming danger! Vampire! She was correct. As soon as she opened the door, there was the vampire feeding off the girl he'd been dancing with before.

"Hey!" Buffy called out to the vampire. "Try picking on someone MY own size!" When he turned to face her, Buffy noticed that he didn't have bumpies in his forehead or any other demonic traits like the other vampires. He just had black veins under his red eyes. What was he? As he spoke, his face shifted to his normal face. There was blood smeared all over the bottom of his face. Classy. She nodded as he droned on trying to intimidate her as she approached him, arms folded over her chest. "I've never heard any of that before," she said sarcastically. "And now's the part where I ask 'who are you?' And then you either tell me that I'll find out on Tuesday or Saturday because that's when you'll kill me, you introduce yourself and say that you're here to kill me, or you just say that you're the one who's going to kill me. Either way, the answer is you're here to kill me. You know, that threat gets more and more frightening every time a hear it."

@mysticfallsresidents

DAMON NEEDED A NEW CHANGE OF A PACE, A DIFFERENT SCENERY TO START ANEW. don't get it twisted, though: he hasn't neglected his evil ways of keeping his humanity switch off and he had no plans to change that part of his pace anytime soon. he just wanted to experience a new town and sunnydale was one he had heard interesting things about such as a world renowned [ .... ] vampire slayer. her name was buffy summers; pretty adorable name and her track record was intriguing. this was the kind of spice he needed to sprinkle in his mundane, dry afterlife. as much as town was infamous for supernatural happenings, the happy meals that walked on legs seemed to be just as ( if not, even more so ) ignorant as mystic falls seemed to be. didn't bother him. it just meant he could find a willing snack that much easier to grab the slayer's attention. did this vampire have a death wish? maybe so but he'd never admit it. all damon loved to preach was that he adored and loved the way his life is but after what happened with elena, he knew inside he felt differently about himself.

THE BRONZE WAS THE POPULAR JOINT THAT SEEMED TO BE HOPPING PRETTY OFTEN FOR SUCH A SMALL TOWN. he liked it. it was always dark, full of warm blood bags, and they never carded you. perfect for a vampire like himself. he had found a beautiful brunette to dance on, flirt with, and quickly convince to have a little fun behind the building of the club within an alleyway. this is what he meant by ignorant; it's like they're asking for it. it wasn't long before damon had sunk his hungry fangs into the exposed veins of the innocent girl, drinking deeply and messily before he hears @little-miss-buffy call out to him. he rips himself off the open-gashed neck and a wide smirk taints his face, hot blood running down from his face in pools on the ground. he doesn't bother to wipe his mouth as he spoke to the woman he was hoping he'd find, “ i was wondering when you'd show up and come save the day. you're a lot cuter in person ” he chuckled, tossing the fainted girl into the wall to his left. he taps the tips of both of his index fingers together, sizing her up and down. “ so you're the vampire slayer [ .... ] oooo scary. i'm positively shaking in my boots ” he taunts, changing back into human visage but the blood from his once alive meal dries up on his chin ( still unbothered to wipe it clean. he was hoping it would piss her off a little more. he needed a good fight. ).

[meetmyothersouls]

I love your work sm 💕 could you write something where the reader and Timmy are exs and meet again at a friends wedding and reconcile/hookup?

Oooh this reminds me of an episode of a show that was on the other day and it was really sweet. And thank you so much <3

Old Flame

Warnings: fluffy fluff

Your plane was late and your luggage either stolen or left at the airport where you boarded your connecting flight to New York; either way it was just your luck. You were invited to a wedding; you weren't sure why. You hadn't spoken to your best friend, Pauline in years, but when the silky baby blue and white invitation arrived in your mailbox you couldn't say no. Of course, attending this wedding, also meant you'd be in the same room with Timothee Chalamet, your high school sweetheart, your first kiss, your first love, your first...well everything.

You had just enough time, and money, to run to a store you used to buy all of your dance dresses and prom dresses at. The prices had gone up since you were a teenager, but you were able to snag a pretty maroon number, tight around the waist and flowy in the skirts. It had an open back and a cute little bow that tied around your neck. The shoes you wore in would have to do, and you praised yourself for choosing to wear a nude pair of flats.

A taxi took you to the venue, The Carlyle Hotel. You let out a small laugh as you were let out in front of it. This venue had Pauline written all over it: old, elegant, classy, it looked as if it were fit to hold a party hosted by Jay Gatsby himself. You rushed inside and grabbed a seat in the back just as the ceremony started. To say it was beautiful was an understatement. Pauline was gorgeous, her wedding had a ball gown silhouette with layers and layers of white lace made up the skirt that continued up her torso in a corset style top, sleeveless and divine.

The rest of the ceremony was as beautiful as Pauline's dress and just as it ended you felt a finger tap on your shoulder. You jumped and turned around to take in the sight of a man you hadn't seen in 10 years. He still took your breath away and as your name came out of his mouth, you shuddered.

"Timothee. Hi."

"Don't think I didn't see you sneak in 3 minutes before the wedding started," he laughed, "always running late." He shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Hey, you always called it 'fashionably late', remember? And it wasn't my fault this time, my plane was late, and my luggage got left behind, so I had to buy a new dress and everything." Your face felt hot. He looked like prince, and as happy as you were to see him, you were sad at the memories that you had with him, the secrets the two of you held.

"Well, you look...just as beautiful as you always have, y/n, if not more." he took your hand in his and placed a tender kiss to it. A prince, that was, indeed, what he was. You risked a quick glance at his fingers, no ring. He wasn't married at least.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Oh, yeah sure." Your hand remained in his as you stood, only dropping it when Pauline tackled you to the floor.

"Y/N!!! YOU CAME!!!" She was beaming, positively glowing.

"You think I'd miss your wedding? We've only talked about this since we were 9 years old." You heard Timothee laugh behind you, likely recalling the many nights you spent the night at the Chalamet residence. Timothee always tried to sneak in and hang out with you, even after Pauline fell asleep.

"Yeah, except you wanted to marry Leonardo Dicaprio, and I wanted to marry-"

"Orlando Bloom!" The two of you said in unison, laughing.

"God, I've missed you so much. Oh hey, I gotta go dance with my dad, but please stick around for a while?"

You smiled and nodded as Pauline ran off, joining her dad on the dance floor. Timothee bumped your shoulder, "Care to dance with an old flame?"

Letting out a laugh, you rolled your eyes. You gripped his hand a little tighter, expecting to join the rest of the attendees on the dance floor. Timothee pulled you the opposite direction, leading the two of you out the back door and into a small Victorian style gazebo. It was white with a gray shingled roof, ivy trailed up the fencing.

"Shouldn't we dance with the rest of them?" You asked, still marveling at the architecture and beauty that surrounded you.

"I don't want to dance; I want to talk." Timothee's hand was now sweaty in yours, but he didn't let go.

Your heart beat hard, and you were sweaty in your dress. You expected to see him, you expected to talk to him, but you didn't expect to be alone with him. You hadn't seen him or talked to him in ten years, but being around him felt the familiar, especially as he stared at you with those eyes whose color you could never quite place.

"Talk about what?" You swallowed hard as he sat on the bench that lined the inside of the gazebo. He looked up at you, still standing and still holding his hand.

"I didn't think you'd come," he admitted, "I kept looking around and I was nervous. I almost gave up, but then I heard the door open and your tiny footsteps" he paused to laugh and shook his head again, "I was probably one of the worst groomsmen, because at that point I didn't pay one bit of attention to the wedding. I can't even tell you what my sister's vows were or what her dress looked like. I only saw you."

You stood there, gawking at him, and you were quite sure your mouth hung open slightly as he continued speaking, "I've missed you every day for ten years."

"Timothee, I..."

"I'm sorry I know this is a lot and at this point I'm practically a stranger to you," he stood, now taking your other hand in his, "but...forgive me for saying this...I've never stopped loving you."

You stared at him, your eyes bouncing between both of his. You weren't sure if you remembered how to blink or breathe. A sound came out of your mouth, a failed attempt to speak. He was breathing heavily and bounced nervously on the balls of his feet.

Squeezing your hands lightly, he let out a nervous laugh, "Hah, uhm, here let me help you. Now's the time where you say something like 'Timothee, I missed you and I've thought about you every day', you know something like that."

You let out something between a breathy laugh and sigh. This was all happening so fast that the only thing that came out of your mouth was, "care to dance with an old flame?"

Timothee's eyes scanned your face as he offered you a small smile, you couldn't place his emotions. Was he trying to get back together with you? You had to go back to California in three days, surely, he wasn't trying to rekindle anything. When you left, you broke his heart, you knew that for a fact. You promised you'd write him, call him every day, but you didn't. It was too hard, and you felt horrible about it, but it was for the best. You would have held him back, which simply wouldn't do; you knew he was capable of so much.

He pulled you into his arms, swaying with you as your head rested on his chest. Just as it was getting dark, a series of string lights came on, illuminating the gazebo. You both looked up and laughed, it was very romantic, like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. Your faces came back down in unison, noses brushing against one another's, your lips so close you could smell his minty breath.

"I have missed you, Timothee. Everyday," you admitted, whispering the words. He swayed with you slowly, looking at you the same way he looked at you when you danced with him on your prom night. "I'm sorry that I-"

He cut you off when his hands moved from your waist up to your cheeks, "Shh," he whispered. He wanted to kiss you, you could tell by the way he licked his lips and sighed, restraining himself. "You don't have to explain anything, I know you had your reasons, and if you want me to know them, I'll listen, but right now, I want to focus on this. On us. On the fact that I would be willing to do anything to have another chance with you. Maybe I shouldn't have acted so fast, but I don't know how long you'll be here. I couldn't let you leave without trying this again. I'm not 17 anymore. I can go anywhere you need me to. Where do you live? California? I can move there. You travel a lot? I'll go with you. Fuck, I'll fly the plane. Y/n, I'll do anything to have another shot at this. With you. I-"

His lips felt like home as you cut him off. Like a missing piece of a puzzle, you'd been trying to put together for ten years. It was fast, sure, but it was right. Timothee's hands moved from your cheeks to the back of your head and the small of your back. You reluctantly pulled your face from his, desperate for air. He placed three more small kisses to your lips but held you close to him.

"Please tell me you aren't seeing anyone?" He asked, suddenly realizing it could be a very real possibility.

"I'm not, I don't really date that much," you admitted.

"Why not?"

You looked into his eyes, "because I've spent the last ten years still in love with you."

He shook his head, half in disbelief, half in an attempt to hide the tears that you saw in his eyes. You weren't sure what this meant, but you were sure that you'd navigate it with him, your old flame.

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @mxciscastleintheair @timotheeisthelomll @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @karinabeers

[the-bau-quinjet]

I've Always Loved the Rain

Summary: Request! Y/N can manipulate the weather, but sometimes her emotions get the best of her. What happens when Bucky brings his girlfriend to Tony's garden party?

Warnings: nothing except some angst!

Word Count: 2086

a/n: I really did have fun writing this! Thank you for sending it my way :)

Masterlist

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Wanda's thoughts appeared in your head causing your head to snap in her direction. "You've been staring at him for the past ten minutes."

"Actually, it's only been 8 minutes. And, no. I do not plan to ever tell him because that would be wildly embarrassing, and he would hate me forever." Your own thoughts were easily heard by the witch.

Before she could try to convince you, you got up and left the living room. You and Bucky have been friends since you joined the team. Everyone, barring Bucky, has told you how you must be special because Bucky has never trusted anyone as quickly as he started trusting you.

There may have even been a point where you thought he could've possibly returned your feelings, but that was before he started dating Perrie.

"Y/N, you can't keep running away from me." Wanda called out as she approached your room.

"I'm not running. I just have get ready for Tony's party." You rolled your eyes. You've never been one for parties, but you'd rather just go than have to deal with Tony complaining about you missing it.

"Oh, you mean the party Perrie is going to?" Wanda questioned from your doorway.

"Shut up! Someone could hear you." You quickly pulled her into the room, glancing down the hall before closing the door. "I don't care that she's coming. It's fine."

"I know you're pouting, even if you refuse to look at me." Wanda obviously saw right through your bullshit.

"Wan, he's my friend. I just want him to be happy, and if Perrie makes him happy then so be it." You resigned yourself to having to watch Bucky and Perrie together. "Just, promise me you won't say anything."

You nearly begged her, knowing she didn't agree with your method of bottling everything up.

"You're my friend. I want you to be happy too." She tried to avoid your request.

"Wanda, please." You nearly had tears in your eyes. You couldn't make it through this party if Bucky knew about your feelings. "I can't think about it. Tony will kill me if I ruin his perfect weather."

You joined the Avengers after Steve and Nat found you during one of their missions. You saw the two of them trying to sneak into a hydra base, but they had no way of approaching without being spotted.

In a moment of bravery, or stupidity really it could've gone either way, you ran up to them and offered to help. You managed to create enough of a storm that they could get inside without being noticed.

When they came back out, they offered for you to join them figuring someone who could manipulate the weather would be a good teammate to have.

"Oh, Y/N." She pulled you into a hug in an effort to comfort you. "I won't bring it up, I promise." She squeezed you tightly before letting go. "Now, let's pick out an outfit that'll have Barnes regretting not asking you out."

You shook your head at her playful laugh, but agreed with her nonetheless. If this is what it took for her to stay quiet, you'd do it.

-

The sun was still high in the sky when you made it out to join the party. Summer nights always seemed to last forever, the sun not fully setting until nearly 9.

A few clouds dusted the sky, but Tony really did have the perfect weather for his garden party.

You looked around, trying to locate a familiar face. Finally spotting Nat and Wanda, you made your way through the gardens to greet them.

"Y/N, you look incredible!" Nat cheered as you approached.

Wanda convinced you to wear a pale purple two piece set. The classy lace outer layer of your skirt fell to mid calf, the lining ending just above your knee. The top was cropped to end mid stomach. Perfectly matching the skirt, a form fitting lining was covered in a flowy lace layer.

"Thank you. You both look amazing, as usual." Nat wore a black midi dress with a slit. Wanda opted for a flowery yellow dress with buttons up the middle.

You fell into an easy conversation, discussing anything and everything you could think of to keep your mind busy.

"Ladies, looking good!" Sam complimented the three of you as he, Steve, and Vision approached. Vision immediately swept Wanda away to dance.

"You're not so bad yourself, Wilson." You laughed. "Steve, you're very dapper this evening."

"Thank you. Care to dance?" Steve held his hand out for you. Knowing Sam was seconds away from convincing Nat to dance with him, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn't help but smile as he lead you around the dance floor Tony had set up. The party had been going surprisingly well so far.

"You really do look amazing tonight." Steve broke the silence, smiling down at you.

"You're too sweet." You brushed it off, looking over his shoulder as you blushed.

"I mean it." He spun you around, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

Your smile fell when you spotted Bucky and Perrie by the bar. He wore khakis and a pink button up, something you were certain Perrie picked out to match her pink chiffon dress.

You were shocked to find his eyes on you. He looked sort of angry, but you hadn't the slightest idea why.

"I don't know what Bucky's doing with her." Steve followed your line of sight, commenting on the couple.

"He's happy." You turned away from Bucky, heart aching just from looking at the two of them together. You tried to mask the pain in your voice, but Steve saw through it.

"He's not. He might think he is, but Perrie... she's not right for him."

"What do you mean?" You shouldn't have asked, but you craved more information about Bucky.

"She just doesn't understand him. Not like you do." Steve's words hurt you more than they helped.

"Steve, he chose her." You could feel the tears brewing. You didn't notice as the sky got darker and darker. "I have to go."

You turned to walk away from Steve and the conversation only to walk directly into Perrie.

"I'm so sorry!' You quickly wiped your eyes, avoiding the concerned look Bucky was giving you. He lightly grabbed your elbow when you tried to walk past them

"Y/N?" The way he said your name had you frozen. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I, um, I have to go." You pulled your arm from his grasp, again trying to get away.

"No, Y/N-" Bucky's plea for you to talk to him was cut off by Perrie.

"James, we're supposed to be dancing." She whined, pulling on his right arm.

"It's fine, Bucky." Your face contorted into a tight smile. "Dance with your girlfriend." Your vision blurred as you tried to push your way through the crowd.

Nat found you first, pulling you off to the side of the party and gesturing for Wanda to join you both.

"Y/N, what happened?" Natasha tried to coax any bit of information out of you. You ignored the question, focusing instead on trying to control your tears.

Your powers, although you could mostly control them, were tied to your emotions. If what you were feeling manifested itself in the weather, it was almost impossible for you to regain control.

One tear finally fell from your eyes, a matching raindrop falling from the sky.

"Y/N? Why don't we go inside?" You managed a nod, breaths coming out shaky as you tried not to completely lose control.

You were only a few steps from the main entrance to the gardens when everything fell apart.

"Y/N?" Bucky called from a few feet behind you.

Just the sound of his voice caused the delicate balance you had achieved to shatter.

Your tears overflowed, thunder cracking in the sky. The thought of ruining Tony's part only made you cry harder.

The rain fell fast and heavy instantly soaking everyone outside. You stayed frozen, listening as everyone shrieked and ran to get out of the rain.

"You guys should go inside." You spoke softly to Nat and Wanda, gesturing for them to go without you.

"Are you sure?" Nat looked past you at Bucky before meeting your eyes again.

You nodded. "I mean, I'm already soaked." The rain continued to fall mixing with the tears on your cheeks.

They each gave you a quick hug before running to get inside.

"Y/N?" Bucky called again when you still hadn't turned around.

You took a deep breath trying to prepare for this conversation before you turned to face him. He was soaked, his hair sticking to his face despite his efforts to push it off.

"I'm sorry." You whispered so softly, you weren't even sure he could hear it over the rain.

"Don't do that." Bucky shook his head.

"What?" You scrunched your face in confusion.

"Apologize for your feelings." He spoke gently as he walked up to you.

You huffed a laugh. "Well, I was more so apologizing for the rain."

"I've always loved the rain." He shrugged, turning his head up to the sky. He stayed like that for a minute just letting the rain wash over him.

"I think I've always loved you." More tears fell as you admitted the truth. You closed your eyes in an effort to hide from his reaction.

"Y/N, look at me." Bucky pleaded, but you squeezed your eyes shut tighter and shook your head.

"Y/N, please." His hand came up to rest on your cheek, the other resting on your waist. He ran his thumb back and forth over your cheek coaxing you to open your eyes.

Your eyes fluttered open despite your best efforts to keep them closed. You had to blink a few times to clear the raindrops from your eyelashes.

"I love you too."

You searched his eyes for any signs that he was lying, but all you could find was sincerity.

"What about Perrie?" You couldn't help but ask, even if you'd rather forget about her entirely.

"I broke up with her the second she whined about me trying to make sure you were okay."

"You broke up with her because of me?" Your mouth fell open, eyes trained on Bucky's. He nodded sheepishly, but maintained eye contact.

"You're the most important person in the world to me. I probably should've realized what that meant sooner." He looked down, a pink tint blossoming on his cheeks. "She was actually the one who pointed out to me that I'm in love with you..."

"She said that?" Your jaw dropped even farther.

"Yeah. It was really Steve agreeing with her that clued me in though."

"You really love me?" You felt the need to verify what you had already heard. The rain lessening to a slight drizzle went unnoticed by both of you.

"I really, really do." He still held your face in his hand, now leaning his forehead against your own.

"Say it again." You whispered.

"I love you." He said the words quietly, but the meaning behind them was deafening.

"I love you too."

Your lips collided in a passionate kiss, years of hidden emotion coming out.

The rain clouds disappeared entirely, the sun set now visible in bright shades of pink and orange.

You finally pulled back when the need for air overcame your need for Bucky.

Your smile faded slightly, eyes showing a slight fear. Bucky noticed immediately, his own nerves growing.

"What's wrong?"

You gestured to the now empty gardens.

Aside from everything being soaked, the wind did a number on the decorations. Tables and chairs were overturned, plates and glasses smashed on the ground. The lanterns that had been hung were now strew across the ground in various states of destruction.

"Tony's going to be so mad at me!"

"He'll forgive you." Bucky stated with confidence.

"How can you be so sure?" You eyed him with furrowed brows, still nervous about facing Tony.

"He's forgiven worse, Doll. Trust me." Bucky eagerly awaited the moment you understood what he was saying.

Your eyes went wide, mind blanking on how to respond. That is, until Bucky smiled brightly at you.

"You've always told me joking about it can help. Figured I'd give it a try."

The two of you burst out laughing before slowly making your way inside, hand in hand and soaking wet.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

[treasure444]

Not The Same

Title: Not The Same Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Cursing, Mean Girl, Unreciprocated feelings (Not Bucky and Reader), Bestfriend Bucky. Summary: After a terrible night leaves you feeling helpless, Bucky is able to lift your spirits. Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: Thank you.. I'm going to try to get the old account back.. not like it'll do anything, because tumblr staff sucks at these things. If you wish to be on my Taglist, You can do so here. Or send an ask. *Please Be Specific* If you'd like to request something, you can send an ask, OR fill out the form here!

Massive, Massive thank you to @maysdigitalarts for the banners, and huge shoutout and thank you to @universitypenguin for beta/alpha reading. Alice is incredible, I've said it before, I'll say it again. Truly amazing, and I am lucky to have such a talented writer as my beta/alpha reader!

Minors, DNI and PLEASE put your age in your bio if you wish to not be blocked. Thank you.

It isn’t the same.

You could have taken Bucky up on his offer, so why did it feel like you couldn’t? He was going on to live his life. He was supposed to be happy, and knowing he was going to be going to his top pick college made both of you happy.

You and Bucky had been friends for at least 10 years. A whole decade. When Bucky broke the news that he was going to be going away for college, you were elated for him. It had meant staying in the same boring town, but asking him to stay was out of the question. Telling him that he was the only person in the entire town that actually mattered, was out of the question.

The friendship had been amazing, but up until close to 8 months ago, you quickly realized what having him around meant. Where your true feelings lied. When he left, it left a whole in your heart. Which led to staying in, watching stupid romantic comedy movies.

It wasn’t like you were totally alone. You had tried to reach out to people, make some new friends, and you had a healthy few that you would consider friends. That term was not used lightly. It was for the people that you could hold genuine conversations with, people who held you accountable, and you did the same for them.

There was one other male friend. Jason. He was a sweetheart, genuine, and kind. He wasn’t someone you thought would be a friend. But he turned out to be a good friend. Your phone lit up, as you switched attention to it.

Picking it up, you read the words on the screen: Jason 9:32 Are you awake?

You responded relatively quickly. 9:32 Yep! Why what’s up?

Jason 9:33 Wanna come to a party with me? Pleasssseeeeee

You giggled before typing out, Sure! Gimme like 20 minutes! Are you picking me up?

Jason 9:34 duh!! I’ll be there in 30!

You smiled, getting up and walking to your closet. Knowing Jason, it was probably a house party. Nothing too fancy, so you decided on a fairly casual outfit, while still keeping it classy. Zipping up the heeled boots you also decided on, you heard a knock.

Walking to the door, grabbing your bag, keys, and phone in the process. You opened the door, seeing a smiling Jason on the other side, “You look great! Let’s go?” Jason spoke as you locked the door behind you, and followed him to his car.

It didn’t take long to get to the party and as you expected it was indeed a house party. You smiled stepping out of the car, and followed Jason into the house. He said hello to a few of his friends on the way in. You could feel the beat of the music radiating through you. Loud music never really bothered you, but this would prove to be a problem if you should stay for more than 3-4 hours.

You could see Jason’s mouth move, but you couldn’t hear anything he was saying. You shook your head and motioned to your ear. He chuckled and leaned in so his breath was all you could feel against the shell of your ear. “Would you like a drink sweetheart?” You nodded, and told him your order.

Jason smiled and walked off to the kitchen. You took the opportunity to look around. Many people you couldn’t place them, didn’t recognize them. But there were a few that you recognized from high school. Most of them more so Bucky’s friends than yours. You glanced over the crowd and saw one girl then Jason was blocking your view, handing you the drink. “Thanks” You smiled, taking it from him.

“No problem sweetheart.” He said, his free hand coming down to rest at the small of your back, before standing beside you. You slightly stepped away from Jason, not uncomfortable with him, but you had noticed he’d become more touchy with you.

“Oh c’mon love.. no need to shy away now.” Jason smirked moving back over to you, once again putting his hand where it was before.

You once again moved away from him, “Jason, what are you talking about?” You asked.

Jason moved in front of you, setting his drink down, and pulling you into him. “Look, we can take it slow, we can do whatever you want. But this innocent act is killing me.” He said his hand moving up and brushing a piece of your hair back.

“Jason..” you began, pushing at his chest until he reluctantly let you go, “I’m so sorry if that’s what you thought this was.. I.. I’m not interested. I’m so sorry.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “What so you’ll give it to Barnes the entirety of high school, but the minute he’s out of the picture, you’re a prude?” He practically spat.

“What? I didn’t.. Bucky and I… Bucky and I were just friends. It wasn’t like that with us.” You defended.

“Bullshit. You fucked him, and that’s it? He’s how far away now? And you’re still hung up on him? Pathetic.” Jason pushed past you shoving your shoulder, leaving you standing there by yourself.

With tears in your eyes, it was better to get out of the damn house. You made sure you had all your belongings before walking to the door. When your name was being called from behind you, from a very familiar person.

Wiping at your eyes, you turned just to see Camille. Camille went to the same high school as you, and was constantly hanging off of Bucky whenever she had the opportunity.

“Hi Camille. It’s nice to see you again.” You tried to eliminate the waiver out of your voice.

“Oh my! I thought it was you, but I wasn’t too sure! If you’re here does that mean Bucky is too?!” She inquired, looking around for him. Clearly she hasn’t changed at all.

“No.. No. Bucky is still over at UCLA. Studying.” You smiled softly as her attention turned to you again.

“OMG! No way! Did you say UCLA?” Camille asked, and you nodded as response. “What a small world! My sister goes there! As a matter of fact, I believe she’s run into him a few times!”

“That’s great!” You said faking excitement.

“Yeah! Yeah! She said he’s been all over a pair of sophomore twins. Dating both of them! Bucky definitely has it in him to keep up with the two!” She giggled, “Oh my! Look at me pointing out the obvious! You would know just as well as I would!”

You shuffled on your feet, feeling the urge to cry once more. “Uh. Actually I wouldn’t. Bucky and I weren’t like that” You said for the second time that night.

“Oh! Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!! I guess the rumors were true! I guess you were just a hype man.. I mean I guess it makes sense.. he used to talk an awful lot of shit about you. Said he never really cared about you.” Camille faked apologetic.

“No worries. I promise. But it was lovely to catch up.. I have work in the morning, so I really have to go.” You said walking out of the house immediately hoping the cool air would ease your burning throat.

You knew it wasn’t like that. Bucky cared about you, and you knew he did. So why did Camille sound so genuine? Why were you believing her? You looked around for your vehicle only to realize, you didn’t drive here. So now you had to walk home in the dark, completely alone.

Great, just great. You thought, tears filling your eyes as you started your walk home. You didn’t bring your jacket, not thinking tonight would end the way it did. Camille’s words echoed inside your head.

‘He’s been all over a pair of sophomore twins’. You knew Bucky was attractive. Even more so now since high school. It still didn’t sit well. Bucky didn’t seem like the type of person to date two girls. Not at the same time.

Reaching the apartment, your phone rang in your purse. Digging for your keys, you answer your phone. “Hello?” You said finding the keys you unlock the door, and step in.

“Hey buttercup!” Bucky’s voice sounded down the receiver.

Somehow at the mere sound of his voice, the tears started to flow more freely. “H-Hi Buck! How’re you?” You asked weakly, trying to disguise the tears.

Bucky frowned, “Hey what happened?”

You hiccuped, “Everything sucks and I’m alone here without you.” You collapsed on your bed.

“Okay, do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asked.

You sobbed, “I tried! I really did! I tried to make friends, tried to do something that used to make me happy like you suggested! My “friend” turned out to just want a relationship.. or maybe just sex, I don’t even know! And then I ran into Camille! Do you remember her ? She was awful, and to top it all off, I had to walk home alone! Bucky, my night was just awful!”

Bucky could feel his heart breaking, “Okay buttercup, alright.. just tell me what happened. Maybe I can help? Or talking will make it better.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see you. “Jason.. he said.. he said that you and I fucked, and that I was still hung up on you. That because you were so far away, it meant that you were out of the picture. And Camille.. She was terrible! She said that you were dating two sophomore girls! That her sister went to UCLA, and saw you with these twin girls! Apparently everyone thought that you and I were fucking. She said that I.. That I was just a hype man for you. That you didn’t care. That you used to talk shit about me. And you didn’t care.” You sniffled.

“what? Baby.. you know that’s.. you know that’s not true.” Bucky said.

“No. No of course I know it isn’t true. I know you’d talk to me about it. We would’ve at least had a conversation. But I don’t know.” You wiped your eyes.

“You don’t know? .. So.. you believe her?”

“No! No. I don’t believe her. I promise! I just let her get in my head. I already had a really shitty night, and then her commentary got to me. And then coming home was a whole different story.”

“Are you home now?”

“Yeah. It was just nerve wrecking. There were a lot of people out tonight.”

“You walked home alone, on a busy highway?!”

“That’s my ear Buck.. yes. I had no other way to get home, I had to!”

Bucky sighed, “Maybe I’m way out of line here.. Maybe this isn’t what you were getting at. I don’t know. But you know, You tried. To make friends, tried to get back into a habit. But maybe.. maybe you could move out here with me?”

“No.. No.. I’m sure I’ll be okay here.. there’s a lot that can go wrong with that, and I don’t want any of that to happen.” You explained.

“What could happen Buttercup? You’d be here, and you’d be safe.” Bucky tried to reason.

“Yeah.. but Bucky.. what if it doesn’t work? I mean we’ve never lived together. We’ve been friends for a while. But what if one day you wake up and realize you hate me? I don’t think I can handle coming home with my tail between my legs. I don’t think I could handle losing you…”

“You wouldn’t. You could never lose me. And I would never, could never, hate you… I know we haven’t lived together, but we’ve known each other all our lives. You mean the world to me and I want you here.”

“That’s sweet.. but I’m not so sure.”

“I am. I promise you nothing will happen. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I lost you.”

You sighed, “You swear to me. Promise me. Nothing will happen?”

“Buttercup, I promise you. I swear on my life. Nothing will happen. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You bit your lip, before agreeing. “Okay.. Okay, I’ll move in with you.”

“Yes!! I’ll be there on Saturday morning to pick you up.” Bucky rejoiced.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me. I need you. I can’t live knowing that you’re not safe.”

“Nothing really happened…”

“It could have. Easily. If I’d have been there you would have had a ride home. And your little boyfriend wouldn’t have teeth anymore.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Bucky chuckled, but the sound was strained. There was a pause in the conversation, almost as if you both were trying to come up with something to say.

“What she told you wasn’t true, you know that right? There’s no sophomore twins chasing me down for dates.” Bucky broke the silence. But his voice sounded forlorn.

“Isn’t there? Maybe you’ve been so busy studying you haven’t noticed them.” 

“I’ve had that problem for years. But it’s not because I’m thinking about studying.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m thinking about. You’re always on my mind, sweetheart. Even more these days. Stay safe until I can come get you, okay? I’ll see you Saturday.”

“O-Okay..” you whispered as you hung up and stared at your phone, wondering what might happen on Saturday morning. The husky tone of Bucky’s voice, the vibration of need strumming through his words, had your heart racing with anticipation.

[angeloroki]

something more — s. todoroki

you wanted to stop this relationship of friends with benefits, with shoto. before your feelings towards him destroyed you.

— character ; aged up!shoto todoroki x gn!reader

— request ; @tyunsworld angst college au where shoto and yn used to be friends with benefits but yn is trying to stol this fwb but shoto refuses (no smut pls just some indications)

— genre ; angst, au college

— warnings ; suggestive content, curses

— a/n ; i decided to change the ending a bit, i hope it's ok for you and that you like it anyway :)

you were sitting on your bed, in the room you shared with your roommate. she wasn't there, gone to her weekly dance class.

every thursday and tuesday, at 6pm until 8pm sharp. your friend was very punctual, and that suited you perfectly.

because usually, at that time, during those two short hours that you shoto would come and spend some time with you in that room.

it was never anything serious, just a good time that the two of you would give each other. kisses that were worthless, soft caresses yet devoid of feeling, sighs and i love you's that were deprived of love echoed and echoed between the walls of the university room.

it had started only 6 months ago, at a mutual friend's party. todoroki was the rich boy in business school. classy, elegant, handsome, and a smooth talker, he had absolutely every girl on campus at his feet.

so, you could say you were slightly surprised when you saw him accost you in the kitchen, where you were trying to relax a bit. you had hooked up, the discussion was not forced, one thing led to another - and especially under the effect of the euphoria felt at the very moment - you had ended up in bed together. you could remember that it was the best sex of your life. and yet you had had quite a few.

a bitter taste stuck in your mouth.

the day after that night, he had found your number and offered to continue. nothing serious of course, just something where you would both enjoy each other. no empty feelings. he had used a phrase,... friends with benefits, that's the term he had used.

stupidly, you didn't hesitate. because after all, you were young, and you needed to unwind with classes and all. and it's not like you could fall in love with a guy like that.

only you were so wrong.

you slowly came out of your thoughts to look at the time. 6:01 p.m. Your friend had gone out ten minutes ago, so Shoto should be back any minute.

a sigh escaped your lips at the scenario that was about to unfold.

and yet you were the only one to blame, or rather your stupid heart. or maybe your stupid ease of attachment to people who couldn't care less about you.

you lay down and stared at the ceiling.

you knew his weaknesses, what he liked to do on a sunday afternoon, the things that made him angry, just as you knew every inch of his body.

and how the fuck could you not fall in love with him?

a salty taste comes to your lips, tears. you bite your upper lip, silently. and yet you knew it wouldn't be mutual. and it never would be. because he was simply shoto todoroki.

« you spend a lot of time with that boy, what's his name again ? your roommate yells at you from the bathroom. is there something going on between you or something ? »

the heat came flooding in on your cheeks.

« no... no! it's just that we have mutual friends, that's all. »

« yeah sure ! but be careful though, he's known to break hearts this guy [..]. »

that talk you had three months ago echoed ironically in your head. breaking hearts. and yours, by the way.

you go over the plan in your head. before things get hot, you tell him. all at once, well almost all. you just tell him you want out of this relationship.

and so you say everything without pauses, at the risk of crying in front of him. the best thing is that you remain insensitive.

someone knocked on the door. 6:12 pm, he's here.

« y/n, it's me. » he said in his deep voice, which always made you shiver.

you got up and opened the door for him. a small smile lit up his usually stoic face. as you spent more time together, shoto had managed to get more and more comfortable with you, and that could only warm your heart.

« sorry for the delay, the traffic was heavy. »

he went to sit on your bed after taking off his shoes. a worried expression grew on his face when he saw that you said nothing.

« if you're tired, we can meet again next week. i know it's tiring with exams right now. » he said in a kind voice.

could he stop being an angel, just thirty seconds, you said to yourself silently. in just a few steps, you crossed the room and placed a long passionate kiss on his lips, and it was with great pleasure that you felt him respond with the same ardor. you had to feel it one more time before you put an end to this whole mess.

his lips tasted minty, and they were angelically sweet. addictive, that's what his kisses were like. you felt his tongue asking for permission to find yours. and for a few seconds, a feverish waltz settled between your two mouths.

you felt as if long hours had already passed. and you still wanted more to be added, or for time to stand still. but you wouldn't let him go.

and yet.

you shifted from him. he was a mess, his hair untidy from your hands that had to find a support, his face was a dark red.

a small laugh escaped his lips.

« what's this ? a goodbye kiss ? »

you looked away from him. and that's how he understood.

« what ? tell me something. »

« i want to stop this. I'm not interested in our evenings together anymore. »

you didn't need to see him to understand that he was sad now.

« did i do something wrong ? »

his hand came to yours, its warmth melting you.

« no, not at all. i just want to stop this. »

you knew him now, and you knew he'd try to figure out what the problem was. you just needed him to be angry with you, so your feelings for him, the first to be touched, could surely fade. at least you hoped so.

« it's gotten boring with you. you faced him, your gaze now cold. i've grown tired of you, so find someone else to satisfy you. »

his eyes reflected a melancholy that you had never seen in him before.

« y/n, i didn't stay 6 months with you just for sex... i like talking to you. »

your heart skipped a beat. of course, shoto, as a friend.

« that's not my case, todoroki. you were a good lay in bed, and you helped me forget the stress of college. but that's over now, get your shoes and get out. »

despite your command, he didn't make a move. his eyes analyzed you carefully, before his sigh echoed in the room.

« you found someone, didn't you ? you thought you could hear a little regret in his voice, but why ? sorry, i won't bother you anymore then. i'm happy for you. »

he got up and walked to the entrance, where his shoes were.

« i- no... »

how could he not see that you only had eyes for him ? that the other people who were just accosting you, were immediately raked ? a sincere anger went through your body now. you were angry at him now that he didn't notice your love for him.

« i love you. » you said in a quiet voice.

you saw him stop, his back was to you. fuck, that wasn't part of the plan.

« i don't want to see you anymore because i love you. because i know it will never be reciprocated. so please leave. »

he turned around just enough for you to meet his eyes, full of sorrow. a stranger might have thought it was you who had just broken his heart. or maybe you had really broken it ? you'll never know.

« no, y/n. i can try, we can try. it doesn't have to end like this. you're not like the others, i don't want to let you go. »

« i know you can't love me like i love you. don't make promises to me. »

« but i don't want to leave yo- »

the fact that he refused to leave you, to end the relationship, only gave you false hope.

« get the fuck out ! »

your sudden irritation startled him slightly. but he knew you were right.

« i-... i'm sorry y/n.- »

« stop apologizing, it's not your fault. »

« i wish it had ended differently. »

and silently he left your room, leaving you alone with your tears.

your old discussion with your roommate came back to you

« [...] he's known to break hearts this guy. but i have to admit that he's charming, anyway i care too much about my heart and my feelings to make love to him. » said your friend from the bathroom.

« i don't fall so easily, f/n. and stop it, you sound like my parents. you say laughing. »

i wish you would have told me i love you too, shoto todoroki.

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 5 (Nessian AU)

A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, an angry Nesta and a heart-broken Cassian

2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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

Nesta had never been one for small talk but in his presence she spoke as if she was excellent in small talk. They spoke of all unimportant things and ended up forgetting the important stuff; their names. Again.

Feyre sent an invitation for her first anniversary party as she did for every other occasion. The only thing different was that Nesta never bothered to pay heed to her invitations before. After the day in the alley, however, she decided she was going to turn over a new leaf. This was her first step.

She checked her reflection on the side-mirror. She tried to keep her outfit and make-up as simple as possible. She only wore a white ruffled-sleeved blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her hair was braided into a coronet. She looked good, but not as good as she’ll look if she took her own time to do a detailed make-over. She let out a breath and braced herself for the inevitable little chat with her sisters.

“Nesta?” a bewildered voice breathed. She whirled around to face her younger sister, Elain, looking up at her, a small smile playing about her lips. “You’re here,” she said and flung her arms around Nesta. Nesta automatically wrapped her arms around Elain’s smaller frame. Eventually, Elain pulled back.

“No offense, but I really thought you wouldn’t be coming,” Elain said.

Nesta felt as if the smile on her face couldn't be wiped out for the next few hours. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd come either. But here I am.”

She nodded and pulled Nesta to the garden the party was held at.

“I did this,” Elain said. “This garden, I planted and groomed all this.”

“No wonder why it looks so beautiful,” Nesta replied.

She flushed and said contemplatively, “You're so different now, Nesta.”

“I hope in a good way. Where's Feyre?”

“Let's go meet everyone first.”

Nesta shook her head. “I— I need to talk to both of you before I meet everyone else. ”

Elain hesitated then said, “Can you wait in that room? I'll fetch Feyre and come.”

Nesta nodded and headed to the door at the end of the garden Elain pointed at. The room was classy, much like the exterior of the house. She was struck by the simple yet grand theme of Feyre's house. She knew he and his brothers were rich but she just didn't understand the extent of their wealth. Till now.

“What are you thinking?” Feyre wasn't the type to blindly trust people. It took more than coming for her anniversary to persuade her that Nesta's intentions were good.

Nesta faced Feyre, her youngest sister, who stood before her, gorgeous yet fierce in a simple but elegant blue gown. She shrugged, “Just thinking that I'm glad my sisters were well-provided when I couldn't take care of them.”

Feyre’s face didn’t change, she just gestured towards the couches. “Have a seat,” she said.

Nesta sat down, “You both look splendid,” she said. Feyre said that the gown was a gift, Elain thanked Nesta and offered the same.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I need to tell the both of you something. Many things, actually.”

Elain nodded encouragingly. Feyre said, “Go on.”

So Nesta spoke. She apologised. For how she wasn't there to fulfill the role of an elder sister. For how she failed to attend Feyre's marriage and many other occasions. For all the rude words she spoke to them. For shunning them. She apologised for being self consumed. For everything else.

She also promised. To try harder. To become better. To be a good sister and sister-in-law. To be with them at all times, especially when they needed her. And they listened.

“I know these words aren't enough, but I'll try to make it so,” she finished, her hands clasped with both her sisters on her sides.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. We will too,” Feyre said.

“I see a very bright future ahead of us,” Elain said.

Nesta couldn't help the tears anymore. She folded her arms around her sisters and tucked them close. Her sisters. Her beloved sisters she now knew she'd do anything to protect.

“I see a very bright future too,” Nesta said.

Nesta pulled back after what felt like an hour and looked at her sisters' tear-streaked faces.

“I love you,” the three of them said simultaneously. Nesta giggled. Elain laughed. Feyre stared.

Nesta gently brushed the tears from both of their cheeks. “I don't want to see any of you crying.”

She hugged them again, willing the hug to convey everything she didn't say out loud.

“Now, now, enough snuggling. We've got a party to attend and people to meet, remember?” Feyre said.

***

Cassian was anxious. He had always hoped Nesta, his sister-in-law, would come for the gatherings they had; be it family dinners, or birthday parties, or the random meetings they had when they just got tipsy and played games. He hadn't seen her face-to-face before. All he knows about Nesta are from the descriptions from Feyre and Elain. That, too, was minimal. One of them would quickly change the topic to something pleasant the moment traces of an emotional breakdown were visible. Every time he hoped, he was let down. She never came. He vowed he would stop hoping and instead just go about and act as if she didn't exist. But that never happened. Every time his family met, his treacherous heart would start hoping only to have a chunk of it fall off when she failed to attend. Today was no different.

Then there’s the woman who he’d been talking to the whole afternoon. He was a tangled up mess of emotions and doubt and confusion. He had been sort-of pining after Nesta. She was exactly the person he’d like. Apparently she was drop-dead gorgeous, witty and… feral. Feyre said that. Feral. She’d be someone worth seeing. She was totally a worthy opponent. It’d be fun. But the other woman? Mother above, she was ethereal. More than ethereal, in fact. Words can't contain what he had to say about her.

He was damn near killing Az for calling him right when they were about to exchange names. He really can't believe he was a hairsbreadth away from knowing her before it was all ripped away. Now they were back to square one. He didn't know anything about her.

Azriel clapped him on his back so hard that he almost stumbled and fell. Or probably that was because he was too distracted. “All good Somm?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied noncommittally. He busied his hands with re-rinsing the champagne flutes and wiping them clean again. He did this two times already. Still.

“Mood is sour today, Cass?” Az teased, mock-frowning.

“Nah,” Cassian said wryly, “it's as sweet as honeydew. Especially today, when my chat got interrupted.” He glared at Azriel.

“Now, now, that is a story for another day. For now though, I think I've got something that can cheer up your brooding self.”

“What is it?” he mumbled.

Az grinned. “Nesta is here.”

***

Feyre and Elain took Nesta on a quick tour around the house. Feyre’s paintings were hung on the walls throughout the whole house. Nesta grimly noticed that there wasn't a single picture of her. There were even paintings of their father whose heart had long stopped beating. But none of hers. If only she didn’t push herself away, Nesta would’ve been a happy part of her sisters’ lives.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Feyre took her hand in hers. Elain tucked herself to Nesta’s side, wrapping her arms over her slender shoulders.

Nesta already met Mor, a stunning blonde woman, and Amren, a slightly intimidating and short person. Now she only had to meet her brother-in-laws.

“Let’s go meet the boys!” Elain said brightly.

We walked back to the garden. Feyre seemed to get more and more elated the closer we got to the garden. Huh. Probably falling in love would do that to someone. Anyway, as long as her sisters were happy.

They stepped through the doorway. The garden was decorated with more banners and streamers hung on the back of chairs and on the low branches. Again, it looked opulent in a simple way.

There were three men in the centre of the garden, gathered around a table. They all were slightly similar, broad shouldered, tapered waists, muscular limbs. Three of them wore formal shirts and pants clinging to their frames. The one in the middle was Rhysand, she supposed. She smirked internally. Of course Feyre ended up with this guy. She's got a good taste. Must've gotten it from the oldest sister.

The one on the right, though. His figure felt familiar. Very, very familiar. She couldn't quite put a finger on it yet.

“The one on the left is Azriel, the one on the right is Cassian,” Feyre said, and Nesta nodded.

The boys must be really engrossed with their conversation. They hadn't noticed the three of them yet.

The guy she thought was familiar threw his head back and laughed. She gasped. That laugh. She'd know the laugh anywhere. Indeed, when he angled his face so that she could get a glimpse, she knew she was done for. She swallowed with much difficulty.

“I need to go,” she said quickly.

“Go? But— but we haven't cut the cake yet. It's still early. We've got lots more fun stuff,” Elain said.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. Only, this doesn't feel like 'trying',” Feyre said.

They sounded… hurt.

Mother above, I'm doing this wrong.

“Nesta?” Elain asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” Feyre added, “you look pale.”

“Y-yeah it's f-fine. Kinda. My head hurts,” she said, accidentally clutching her stomach. “I-I mean, yeah my head hurts. Very badly. I gotta go.” She looked helplessly at both of them. “I'm so sorry. I really am. It's just— I think I need rest. I'll recompense. Probably dinner in three days?” They both shared a look and agreed.

Nesta was already walking away. “Love you both,” she threw over her shoulder.

***

“Feyre!” Rhys called. He beckoned Feyre and Elain to the table. He didn't see Nesta.

Cassian lightly kissed Feyre on her cheek once they made their way to the table and said, “Gorgeous as always. Happy anniversary!”

Feyre grinned, but it showed traces of disappointment.

He frowned. “Hey, what's wrong?”

She just shook her head and mumbled, “Nesta.” Rhys's face hardened. His brother was never fond of Nesta. He said that she was why Feyre was always worried.

“Where's Nesta?” Az asked, craning his neck to see behind farther.

“She… left,” Elain pointed, revealing a figure disappearing behind the gates. A figure he knew all too well. Shitshitshitshit.

His head snapped back to his brothers. “That is Nesta?” he damn near shouted.

Rhys scowled, “Yeah.”

No wonder why she's so beautiful, he thought dumbly before running after her with a quick “I'll be back.”

***

Nesta was wrong. In all her happiness of being reunited with her sisters, she completely forgot how even a small thing can break one's smile. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She kept her calm demeanour, but inside, she was a raging storm of emotions.

One step in front of the other, she kept reminding herself.

She kept walking. Even when she heard footsteps. Even when the steps got louder. Even as he got close enough to cease running.

But not when he called her name. She halted. Locked up her emotions. She knew she shouldn't but she turned around anyway.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Nesta,” he breathed. She tried to hold back her shudder. It was from the night air, she told herself.

“If you have nothing to say, do let me know. I'm not going to wait forever,” she said. Harsher than she intended to. But she didn't care, at least, that's what she told herself.

Cassian winked, “I'm honored you came, sweetheart. I'll pass the credit to my influence on you. ”

She ground her teeth against the truth threatening to fall off her lips. Yes, I came here because you made me happy. And I thought that if I tried, as I did with you, I can rebuild my relationship with my sisters.

***

Cassian did something stupid. He grabbed her hand. Her eyes snapped to his, burning with anger. Like the day they first met.

He gave her a crooked grin that he knew would drive her mad. Well, more than she already was. He tilted his head to the garden, “The party is that way, love.”

She snatched back her hand at continued walking. Like a fool, he followed. “I spoke to my sisters. Told them I won't be staying tonight. And that we'll have dinner in three day's time. Does that satisfy you? Now, can you stop following me?”

“Something's wrong. What's wrong, Nes?”

“One,” she ground out, “don't call me that. Two, I'm a grown-ass woman; I know how to take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter.”

“You did. That day,” he said quietly.

She whirled on him, “Is this you taking back favours? Because I'm not interested. You want money? Take it. Tell me your price and fucking take it! Don't tread on my heels because you helped me, okay? I've got way better things to do.” She paused, “And don't follow me, Cassian.”

She turned and stalked away.

You want money? Take it. 'Take it.' As if he were a beggar, asking for alms. As if they weren't laughing at each other's jokes not more than an hour ago. As if he didn't spend a week taking care of her as if she were a part of his soul. Maybe she was.

But that was before, Cassian thought as his heart cleaved into two perfect halves. No— it smashed to a million tiny pieces.

He waited till Nesta was out of his line of sight. He turned and walked back to the garden, leaving his heart behind.

taglist: @shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from Oliver & Company

Now, it's always once upon a time in New York City.

It's a big old bad old tough old town.

Let me have one, please.

Right away, you're making time and making friends

If they pick you out, you're on your way.

Get out there and go and try.

Why does nightfall find you feelin' so alone?

Dreaming is still how the strong survive

Keep your dream alive.

Got to look out and open your eyes,

You're in the fast lane

What's the matter with you? I said get outta here.

I don't eat cats. It's too much fur.

I've been watching you, and I think you're in serious need of some professional guidance.

I'm an expert at these things.

All you gotta do is learn some moves.

This city's got a beat.

When are we gonna get those hot dogs?

I hate to break it to ya, but the dynamic duo is now the dynamic uno.

Our partnership is herewith dissolved.

You're not being fair!

Fairs are for tourists, kid.

Consider it a free lesson in street savoir faire

Hey, wait! I helped you get those! Half of those are mine!

Why should I worry? Why should I care?

I got street savoir faire

You can wear the crown!

Everything goes.

Everything fits.

They love me at the Chelsea, they adore me at the Ritz!

Stop that racket! I'm trying to watch this show.

Shut up, you little rodent.

Come on, let's watch some boxing. I wanna see some action

You think this place is big enough?

What we need is some good quality stuff

Oh, shredded leather.

You insulted my pride! That means death!

It was your turn to get the food today!

You remain our preeminent benefactor.

It was tough. Only I could have done it.

I love a story with food in it.

Enter the opposition.

Gang war! Gang war! Watch out! Here comes a gang war!

Take cover!

It's just a cat.

I followed this dog.

He's lying! He's lying! He's lying! He's lying!

Oh, boy! Dog pile!

Don't let me down!

What do you got?

Let's see what you got.

I was just on my way out.

Actually, I've got something much better than money.

Some luxury items that should make a considerable dent in my debt to you.

Oh, my! You waxed your car, didn't you? Did they use the buffer on it, because I can see myself.

I don't think you grasp the severity of the situation.

Now, I lent you money and I don't see it.

People like you get hurt.

I can't figure out why you'd rather hang around a dump like this when you could be living uptown with a class act like myself.

Isn't it rather dangerous to use one's entire vocabulary in a single sentence?

You bad, man.

Hey, you got something to say to me, fat boy?

Why don't you pick on someone your own size?

Oh, I'm having a bad day!

I like cats. I like to eat 'em.

Your master's calling.

Come on and say it to my face!

How am I ever gonna come up with all that money?

It's hopeless.

That took a lot of guts.

All right. Time for bed. We've got a big day tomorrow.

We've got two days to do or die.

You got a lot to learn. And if you don't learn, you don't eat!

But if you're tough, and always use your head, you'll be right at home, on the street.

When you got talent, everything is free.

You're gonna see how the best survive.

These are streets of gold.

You'll take the town, and you'll take it with style.

You're in charge of electronics.

Hey, but what about me? What do I do?

Ready? Go!

What have I done? Poor thing.

You oughta be ashamed of yourself!

Run along, little fellow. Go on, now. Shoo.

Be a lookout.

I only got one more wire, okay?

Oh, you poor kitty. Here. Let me help you.

Where's the kid?

We can't just take in a stray off the street.

Don't worry, kitty. I'll take care of you.

Your public awaits.

Girl, we've got work to do

Pass me the paint and glue.

Perfect isn't easy

When one knows the world is watching, one does what one must.

See how the breeding shows

Sometimes it's too much for even me!

But when all the world says "Yes", then, who am I to say "no"?

Don't ask a mutt to strut like a showgirl

Perfection becomes me, ne c'est pas?

I'm beauty unleashed!

So classic and classy

They're barking up the wrong tree!

I have your hearts, and you have my pity

Pretty is nice, but still it's just pretty!

I wouldn't go in there if I were you.

What is the meaning of this?

I guess I'll have to handle this myself.

And do you have any idea whose home this is?

Isn't he cute?

What in Heaven's name are we waiting for?

Alas, our beleaguered benefactor bearing the brunt of our futile endeavours.

Cool it!

Our mission begins at daybreak.

I don't hear any practicing.

Oh, you wanna practice too!

We two can be good company.

You and me, just wait and see.

I'll handle that ruffian.

Body slam! Body slam! Oh, come on, you fool! Hit him! Hit him!

Come back here!

Huh, this place looks pretty nice. I mean, how bad off could it be here?

Chagall. Matisse. These are all masterpieces.

Hey, man, if this is torture, chain me to the wall.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down.

Don't come any closer! I knew this would happen one day.

It's not you I'm after.

Not good enough for you?

I mean, do you even know who I am?

GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU LITTLE BUG-EYED CREEP!

Something's not quite right here.

Shh. Quick. Before he comes back. Follow me.

I mean, let's just forget the whole thing.

No, no, you can't do that! You don't understand. The poor dear's so traumatized.

What is going on here?

Hurry. Use the fire escape.

Ooh, I could've danced all night! I could've danced all night!

You were very good.

I was rather good, wasn't I?

You okay, kid?

I have another home now. And someone who loves me.

You're in the gang.

I just wanna go back.

You wanna leave? Fine! There's the door.

You lighten up!

Oh, it's hopeless.

Looks like you're doing all right for yourself

So that's where you've been!

Feel it. That's it. Very good.

This is an airtight plan

I'll even toss in a little extra for your patience.

It's my final offer. Take it or leave it.

I said, push!

No, you don't kill 'im yet.

Did we bring something green and wrinkly to make me happy?

I'm getting your money tonight! It's coming tonight!

Hey, I think there's hope for you yet.

Yeah, you're starting to think big.

It's creepy down here.

I drew a perfectly good map.

A child could read that map.

I didn't do it! I didn't do it! I was framed!

This is a tough neighborhood. You'd better go home.

I came to find my kitty.

You brought a piggy bank.

What kind of a person would steal a poor little kitty?

I'm so scared. I don't know what to do.

I found a little lost kitten.

No! No, wait! You can't do this!

Keep your mouth shut.

Stop! Stop! Time out!

There's gotta be some way in.

Peasants.

Well, it's nice to see that one of you has some manners.

After you, my little croissant

And remember, quiet.

Oh! I broke a nail.

Oh, balderdash.

Freeze!

I don't think you really appreciate the situation. Somebody could get hurt.

You smell that?

It's party time!

Where are those dogs?

I thought I'd never see you again.

What's the occasion? Come to rescue your little friend?

All right! What a woman!

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go

This has all been very entertaining. But the party is over.

Hey, man, you're ugly!

Aah! Save me!

Hey, get off my back, woman! I'm driving!

All right, anybody want some cake?

Murder him! Twist his arm!

The gifts were great.

We'll start with a bath.

You know, you're not so bad for a bug-eyed little creep.

You come back here this minute!

Tell me why should I care

What a delightful scoundrel.

[oftenderweapons]

Girls’ Night — a girlfriends’ tale

Characters: OCs (Vixen, Princess, Lace), small Namjoon intromission

Wordcount: 12.2k

Genre: slice of life with discussion of BDSM themes, conversation

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello doves! As I announced the other day, I have been working on extra pieces that I really loved as a concept. This one — I must admit — is especially dear to me since it covers topics that I consider extremely important. This fic discusses mature themes. Please minors, do not read or interact.

Quick recap: (read Jimin’s Love Talk if you want to know the whole background for this story) Princess — Jimin’s girlfriend — has ventured into the world of BDSM after Jimin expressed his interest in being dominated and spanked. A few days after her first brief session with Jimin, two old acquaintances come to her help: Vixen — Namjoon’s girlfriend and Princess’ high school classmate — and Lace, Vixen’s best friend, Princess’ university flatmate but also Taehyung’s latest crush. (Tae and Lace met through Vixen at Taehyung’s housewarming party). The girls meet for dinner at Princess’ apartment and after some confessions and girl talk, they explore the most important rules and procedures a person should know before dominating their partner in a basic impact play scenario, with special contributions of a trained domme and an experienced brat. 

The piece is written with the girls as characters described through the POV of an external narrator. If you want to get to know the characters a bit better, you can find their headcanons here (Vixen — Princess — Lace).

On a lexical note: throughout the text I’ve used the word “dom” both as in short of the verb and of the noun. Even though the feminine form is usually “domme”, I’ve considered it gender neutral, as a short term for both “dominator” and “dominatrix”. 

On an ethical note: I wanted to raise awareness on how a safe, sane and consensual domination works. These days there’s an increasing number of BDSM pieces coming out, and very few of them mention the level of emotional connection that is necessary in these circumstances. Most of them focus on the scene, without showing how pre-session negotiations, aftercare and post-session feedback work. I wanted this piece to be educational and I wanted to show the “background work” on how I plan each BDSM-themed piece before I write it. Though I’ve done a lot of research on handbooks, websites and forums, I am NOT a BDSM educator, so I would recommend reading more in-depth manuals in case you ever decided to venture in this world, and possibly speak with an expert first.

On to trigger warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, obviously there is in-depth discussion of NSFW and BDSM themes with focus on impact play. Discussion of hard limits, negotiations, SSC (safe, sane, consensual), safewords, aftercare, bruising, cutting/puncturing (connected with cane and cat-o-nine-tales whipping), marking, pain kink, punishment, drop (both for subs and doms), anatomy of impact play (where to hit, how to hit), sex toys (spanking, face slapping, paddle, riding crop, slapper, strap, whip, flogger, cane). That should be all. In terms of angst, there is some insecurity, jealousy, and slightly traumatic past experiences. Lace recalls one time she “dropped”, Vixen recalls a series of quite intense scenes. There are mentions of Vixen’s second relationship (toxic relationship with a man who called her out for her sex drive, kinkshamed her and forced her into becoming exclusively vanilla). Both Princess and Vixen mention abandoning some friends since they couldn’t trust them close to their boyfriends, or not respecting their privacy. Lace mentions traumas that lead her to learn domination. She also explains her insecurities about possibly dating Taehyung.

Word count: lengthy. 12.2k words. Reading is not necessary but recommended since a lot of pieces stem directly from this one. 

Here is my masterlist!

Enjoy 💖

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EDIT: You can find part two here

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Lace came through with the loud stomps of the heels of her boots, the bag on her shoulder swaying heavily. It looked like she was ready to enter Cat Woman mode, wearing a cropped leather jacket rimmed with a thick black-fur neck. Her wondrous thighs were clad in tight, high-waisted jeans, her black leather knee boots completing the look. She impeccably wore her part.

As she neared the door, she checked her watch, noticing that she was a couple minutes early.

Five minutes later, always fashionably late, arrived Vixen, her hair falling perfectly around her pretty face, her lips tinged with a deep wine red, her doe eyes as inquisitive and wide as usual. It was exactly the girl she had met two years before on the other side of the counter of her shop, it looked like she hadn't aged a week.

"Hello!" She greeted her friend.

"Hi there! Look at you, you look like the best girlie in the world." Lace hollered back.

"Because I am." Vixen replied, basking in the attention and the praises.

"That self esteem is thriving! Freshly fucked and ready to misbehave?"

"Unfortunately not freshly enough, but you know me, I'm always ready to misbehave." Vixen winked before making her way to the entrance of the building, pressing the buzz for Princess' apartment.

"Isn't your big boy attending to his duties?" Lace asked, curious about the whole situation. She had personally met Namjoon and had seen the two of them together. They looked like the it-couple and she would gladly bet big money on the pair. Plus she knew about Vixen's collection and Namjoon's taste in terms of lingerie and negligees: in her honest opinion that's a solid base for a lasting union.

"He's attending, yes, but I don't want to vex him with my continuous cravings."

"Baby, not all of us are like that slut-shaming bastard of your ex. Stop thinking that needing to get laid more than once a week is a shame."

Princess voice sounded from the intercom. "Hi! It's floor 16 number 41!"

"Thank you!" Vixen replied before pushing the door open.

Lace slapped her hand and held the door as Vixen walked through. The other followed. "It's just that… He's been busy, plus he keeps saying he likes to come back early so we can have dinner together, he's always rushing from the studio to the dorms to his apartment. He looks like he'll get drunk on motion sickness before the tour even starts."

Lace stared at her feet as you both stood in the lift. How could she start something serious with Taehyung if they were going on tour? By the time she would get used to him he would be travelling on the other side of the world.

"So he stays at the dorms?" Lace fixed her bag on her shoulder.

"Often, yes. He stays at the apartment when I'm around, but he prefers the dorms when he's by himself or working."

The lift dinged and you exited, heading down the hallway "Thirty-eight, forty, there!" Lace chirped, noticing the open door.

There stood Princess, hair in a ponytail, wearing a fashionable white turtleneck and a thigh knee-length skirt. She looked classy and smart, just like she had appeared during previous meetings.

"Hello girls!" She waved at the pair, gesturing at them to come in.

"Hi there!" said Lace, "long time no see."

"We don’t see each other in ages and then two times in less than a month." Princess replied while hugging her. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we reacquainted?”

Vixen nodded with a cute smile. "It would. I must say it was a surprise to meet you at the party with Jimin." Vixen took off her shoes as Princess offered her a pair of slippers.

"It seems like fate brought us back together." Princess replied.

“Indeed.” She commented, thinking about how they would get even closer if she gave in to the preternatural connection with Taehyung. Lace tugged at her boots, fighting with them a little before finally removing them, lost in her thoughts. She clumsily tried to avoid Vixen’s stare. She knew the girl would spot her secret in a second. Not now, she told herself. With the slippers on, Lace still looked like Catwoman from the ankles up, but her feet were clad with a pair of pink panther slippers that gave the outfit a hilarious twist.

"Let's move to the kitchen," Princess said, leading the way. "The apartment is small, sorry."

"Don't worry sweetie, with a view like this I would gladly live in a shoebox." Vixen commented, looking out of the window. "Plus you live pretty high up."

"It was accidental. I just needed something close to my office."

"What did you end up doing?" Lace asked as she looked at the prints on the wall.

"I work for a fashion magazine. Usually I do model casting and a little bit of everything about organising photoshoots." Princess replied.

"That sounds great!" Lace exclaimed, grinning.

Princess clumsily opened a bottle of wine, but fortunately no damage resulted. "What about you?"

"I'm a shop assistant in a lingerie shop." Lace replied.

"Don't diminish yourself like that." Vixen said, looking away from the window. "She works at the La Perla boutique in Gangnam, plus she has her own studio where she creates customised orders." The woman patted her friend on the shoulder. "She's amazing."

Princess lit up. "So you managed to make part of your dream come true!"

"A small part. I'm still far from having my own shop." Lace exhaled.

"But she's getting there." Vixen added with a positive note.

"I ordered in a little bit of everything." Princess said, taking the food out of the oven. "I didn't trust my cooking skills knowing this one." She pointed at Vixen. "I've heard you're almost a chef."

"I just took lessons." She shrugged. "I just really like everything that feels like home."

Sniffing at the air, Vixen sparked up, getting cozy at the smell of bulgogi. "This smells very nice."

"A little bird told me it's your favourite." Princess winked.

"Do I know that little bird?"

"He knows you very well." Princess said, admiring how the polished, elegant woman-girl turned completely smitten.

"I'll make sure to thank him."

Lace snickered. "Do you need help?" She offered, while Princess laid out a bunch of smaller plates and bowls with side dishes. "I got some dumplings, pancakes and our baby's favourite: braised potatoes."

Vixen clapped enthusiastically.

Dinner proceeded calmly, all the partakers digging in quietly, chitchatting between one serving and another, catching up on the various mishaps that had happened during those years apart.

"So you studied in Europe, right?" Princess asked Vixen.

"I spent almost two years between France and England, yes." She replied politely, sipping her wine composedly as if she hadn't devoured her serving of potatoes like a very smug wolf.

"Cool. But you came back here." Princess continued.

"Yes, I missed home. And I missed jajangmyeon." Vixen grinned. "Food in general. I like my life here. Living in Europe to me felt like being continuously on the sidetrack of something. Catching up with the culture is seriously a challenge, especially when you're in the art world."

"Right, you're an interior designer." Princess reminded herself.

"Exactly."

"I've heard you met Namjoon because of that."

Vixen smiled. "Yeah, well… The usual. We met at a gallery, I had a meeting with the artist and he accidentally participated. The artist and the director of the gallery accompanied us through the exhibition and at the end he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee. At the beginning I thought it strange that he hadn't booked a private visit, but he said that because of a last minute plan he had begged the director to book him in anytime. Since I'm friends with the director and I have strict privacy agreements at the firm, the curator thought it was a good idea."

"Who would have thought, uh?" Lace chirped in, laying her chopsticks on her empty bowl.

"Y'all, soju?" Princess asked, now that they were all done with the food.

While Vixen nodded, Lace held back. "I think I'll take just a sip. It gets me bloated."

The table was clean, the small cups for soju laying on the table as Princess shook the bottle and poured it according to tradition.

"Cheers to your taken asses and my single one." Offered Lace, the three of them laughing and downing the liquid. Princess drank it without even blinking, Lace taking it in a small measured way while Vixen downed it and scrunched her nose, shutting her eyes tight and shaking her head as she processed the burn.

"You're still a doll." Princess commented.

"And you're still otherworldly cool." Vixen replied, smirking. "You were the most bad ass girl of the class. I had lots of respect for you, but I was so scared of approaching you."

"You were so tiny and shy." Princess gushed. "You were everyone's crush but you were so smart. And a bit strange. It felt wrong to even think of you like that."

Vixen shook her head, "It feels strange to bring up those memories. After university and being abroad it feels like another life."

"Because many things changed in the meantime." Lace argued. "I've known you since you started working, two years ago."

"I spent half of my first paycheck at your shop."

"You did. And I asked you for coffee because I liked your sense of fashion."

"I thought you wanted to date me." Vixen laughed.

"Well, when you're done snuggling your big bear, you know you can come to me." Lace winked.

"My bear is pretty big so it might take me a while to be done with that." Vixen joked. "Plus I'm pretty happy. I haven't been this happy since I was nineteen. I'm content. Satisfied. Taken care of. Loved. I'm thriving." She closed her eyes and shrugged, smiling.

"My bad." Lace patted her own shoulder in support. "What about you and Jimin?"

"Oh, we met during a photoshoot. I assisted in his shoot and when he was done he asked to see the pictures that would feature on the magazine. That's when he asked me out for dinner." Princess said, her eyes shining as she remembered the event.

Lace noticed the two women staring at her. "Well time for my story… Me and my dildo met at the store, he was cute, I was needy and I invited him to my bed. That's how we first met and we've been happy ever since." Lace told emotionally. The other two burst out laughing, Vixen holding her belly while Princess leaned on the table.

"Oh goodness." The smaller one said.

"I think it's time we face our main topic. Would you like to start?." Lace asked Princess.

"Okay. I'll be very direct." Princess warned.

"Don't worry, we're all grown ups here. You're safe, darling." Vixen stretched her arm out to caress her forearm. "And we're pretty open minded, trust me."

"Okay. Basically, Jimin would like me to get a bit more rough in the bedroom. Namely, we tried spankings the other week. He sort of power-bottomed? Like he gave me instructions on how to do it."

Lace nodded.

"I am worried about how to handle this. I want to do it, but I don't know how to do it right. I don't want to hurt him." Princess said with a frown. “And I’m a little worried I liked it so much.”

Lace’s lips formed a small conspiratorial smile. “At the beginning there’s always a little bit of fear. And a bit of… Shame.”

“Yes.” Princess confirmed. “But it’s not something that bothers me. Like, it’s there but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t think it will persist. When I think about what we did… Well, I’m almost proud.”

Lace smirked and nodded. “That’s good. What would you like to work on? Is it just impact play — you called it "spanking" — or is it also domination on a broader sense?"

"Well… Wait, I took notes." Princess looked around, walking towards her bedroom and coming back with a small notebook and the guide.

"It's the book!" Lace exclaimed.

"The book." Vixen wiggled her eyebrows knowingly.

"You, vixen." Lace smirked. "Namjoon is right calling you that."

"You have no idea." The other replied. "Now, let's see."

"I'll return you the book." Princess reassured her.

"You can keep it for another bit. You'll need it again with Jimin."

"We have our own copy, don't worry." Princess replied, with a quick smirk. "Well, I think I can dom pretty fine — as I read the book I realised I already have some of those behaviours. However there are some practices I might have to learn in person."

"Normally we teach how to dom through subbing: what you experienced the first time with Jimin was subliminally subbing." Lace took the reins and explained. "It is one of the most sophisticated forms of domming — being a power bottom — and the fact that he did that should suggest you that A — he's a very skilled sub, or B — he's generically a very smart person with good manipulative skills."

Princess listened to the explanation quite raptured. "Personally, I don't know how far he's gone with his exes but I would say he has taken the lead before and he's quite used to speak up and order me around a little, so his behaviour might come from that."

Lace nodded. "I would recommend that you talk to him and try to design a specific plan for the two of you. As I hinted before I have taken lessons on BDSM practices in a club here in the city. I have received almost two years of training and I have taken part as an assistant to a teacher for another two years, that's why I might sound academic and serious. You can stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable or when you need to ask a question." That's when Lace shifted. Her whole position changed: her back got straighter and her hands splayed on the table, somehow squaring her position.

"Okay." Princess confirmed.

"You know that during university I took that course on acrobatic yoga?" Lace asked.

Princess frowned. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, it wasn't exactly acrobatic yoga." Lace shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "At the beginning I did do some acrobatic yoga lessons but then one of the students introduced me to this BDSM course and I left yoga for… yeah, you know." Lace laughed.

Vixen listened quietly, observing Princess' reaction.

"Would you consider taking lessons from an expert?" Lace asked.

Princess shrugged. "I think that the book was very good on general analysis. Personally, I've never considered meeting an expert mostly because I wouldn't know where to look for one. Plus, I've only had a week to think about this."

Vixen looked at Lace. "I'll be very blunt here, darling. I think that the best thing to do would be discussing the whole book thing with Jimin. Have pre-session negotiations. Discuss stuff. Find out what you want to explore and go there together."

Lace raised an eyebrow. "However, it is perfectly okay if you want to practice by yourself. Being a good dominant means that you can convey control and safety through your stance and behaviour. That requires practice."

Vixen nodded before adding, "It's okay if you want to take some steps by yourself before bringing him into the equation."

"Okay, so I reckon you have quite some knowledge on the theme. Maybe you could teach me something?" Princess asked Lace, a bit shy but fully determined.

Lace smirked. "That's why I came prepared. However, I must remind you I have been a co-trainer, and that doesn't mean I am a teacher, therefore I can only cover the basic stuff, which for now will suffice."

Vixen's eyes burned expectantly.

"Our girl here might help you see stuff through a submissive's eyes, right?" Lace questioned.

Vixen nodded and smiled, reassuring Princess by placing a hand on top of hers.

"Okay. Let's talk about general principles. BDSM is an acronym for Bondage, Domination, Sadism and Masochism. But I guess you read this in the book." Lace presented.

Princess nodded.

"The golden rule is SSC: Safe, Sane, Consensual. Use protection and make sure that you're both tested and clean if you go without a condom or dental dams. Also, keep your toys clean. Do not start anything if your judgement is clouded — by alcohol, drugs or violent, instinctual emotions. Make sure that both you and your partner want the same things. Explain what is going to happen and negotiate before each session — at least for the first few times. This is also the right moment to talk about safe words."

"Me and Jimin covered these already." Princess noted.  

“Then you’re already halfway there. The biggest part of training is making people always aware of all the steps that could possibly go wrong and make sure that you’re prepared for the worst case scenario.”

Vixen nodded. “As a sub, it is important to feel safe. An anxious sub is a sub who can hardly feel pleasure, and that invalidates the experience as a whole. We only do it for pleasure.”

Princess listened carefully and thought about it a little. “How… How does it feel…To be a sub? I mean, I’ve sort of subbed with Jimin but… Yeah.”

“Well, I’m leaning-sub. That means I rarely dom, and when I do I’m a power bottom — that thing that Jimin did when he gave you instructions on how to dominate him. Being a sub has a lot to do with feeling cherished and taken care of. Some of us are not comfortable with power and responsibilities. Some of us simply like to be told what to do and please. I like doing what Joon tells me to do and do it perfectly the way he wants it to be done, because I know he will praise me and reward me. I know that he loves me regardless of me doing what he wants, but it pleases me immensely to use my submission to show him how far my trust and love for him go. I feel safe when I'm in his hands. And I like punishment, it helps me deal with guilt. When I make a mistake, I always torture myself with guilt and self-hate, but punishment makes me feel like I've made a mistake and I've paid for it. The point is not the punishment, but rather the forgiveness and the sense of atonement afterwards." Vixen spoke with a composed attitude, however her eyes wandered around nervously, as if trying to avoid meeting the others’ gazes.

"In that case the dominant is supposed to be attentive in terms of how far the submissive pushes themself. A sub looking for forgiveness is a sub willing to go further than normal, which means that they might inadvertently reach their breaking point — which shall never happen." Lace highlighted.

"The golden rule is to always leave hungry. There is a fine line between satiety and nausea. The moment you overstep and reach nausea is the moment your sub might hurt themself." Vixen said, tight lipped.

Princess nodded. "I'm glad we can have this conversation. It's not something I can quite talk about with my friends since the whole situation with the boys is pretty delicate. I had to close some of those friendships to keep Jimin safe. I realised I couldn't trust some of those people and I'm glad I realised before it was too late."

Vixen’s leg started bouncing. “Same with Joon. I don’t have that many friends in the city, mostly because of the time abroad and the fact that all of the friends I had by now are married and/or with kids. I couldn’t trust many of them, but you —” she said, gesturing towards Lace, “and when I introduced you to Namjoon I told him you were one of the most discreet people in the world, because you value your privacy and other people’s privacy because of your, uhm, lessons.”

“It feels good to have someone to share this burden with. I’m pretty scared of the tour.” Vixen looked down. The poised young woman seemed to crumble, giving space to an insecure little creature. “We’ve been dating since last November, but our relationship hasn’t really begun until late February. To be honest I’m terrified.”

Both Lace and Princess reached out for her.

“I’m scared.”

“Have you told him?”

“Yes, he knows.” Vixen sparked up for a minute. “We talk a lot. He always asks me how I feel about things. Lately I’ve been spending all my time away from work with him. It’s been… maybe three days since I last went back to my apartment. And in the last month or so I’ve slept alone maybe three or four nights. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s away.” Vixen’s eyes welled up with tears before she smiled classily and recomposed herself. “But that’s not relevant.”

“It is, baby.” Princess rubbed her shoulder. “You have my number. You can reach out to me anytime.”

“I’ll be there too, you know. I know I’m not your Big Bear, but I can cook and I’m an excellent vintage movie marathon partner.” Lace rubbed the other shoulder, catching the few tears that had fallen. This was a further confirmation that Namjoon was the right man for Vixen: he had reached out to Lace a few weeks after they had been introduced, asking her if it was cool if he asked her updates on Vixen during the tour, mostly because he knew she would put up her strong, charming face in front of him, but secretly she would be worrying over his absence. That brought them close; it felt good to create this safety net for Vixen and it felt even better to know her in the hands of a man worthy of her, attentive despite his busy schedule and strong work ethic.

“Thank you, girls. That’s really sweet of you.”

“You’re the one who made this possible,” said Princess, gesturing to the three of them sitting at the table together. “I owe you. And I reckon this is a good time to make amends for not making friends with you in high school.” Princess laughed. “We’ll all need each other. We could have a group chat with Jin’s girlfriend too. Plus Jimin mentioned Yoongi is seeing someone.”

“Yes, Namjoon mentioned too. I’ve heard she’s a lawyer. He’s got this insanely huge crush on her.” Vixen giggled. “I haven’t met her yet but I’ve heard they were supposed to go out tonight.”

“Maybe we’ll see her at the next gathering.” Princess wondered. “I must admit I’m curious.”

“I am too.”

Lace felt a bit out of the conversation. “Me and Taehyung have been texting.”

Vixen blinked and turned to her. “What?” She had this face that read perfect confusion. “How long? And you’ve never told me? I mean, I gave him your number but I didn’t—”

“It’s because I haven’t been really taking him into consideration until recently.” Lace replied. “Normally I would reply to him with small texts, just to avoid sounding rude.”

“You mean to tell me you have Taehyung wrapped around your little finger — Kim Heartthrob Taehyung — and you weren’t even interested? Have you been doing drugs too?” Vixen looked outraged. “Fucking insane.” She shook her head.

“You know me. I value my privacy. Do you know how fucking un-private it is to potentially date that man? What if they find out about my extracurriculars?” Lace pointed out.

Vixen exhaled and formed a tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t give me the disappointed mom look.” Lace replied. “Plus I’m the same age as you, you have no right to turn judgemental.”

“Of course.” Vixen nodded. “Your safety first, love.”

“It’s just that I want to, but I can barely imagine how fucked up that could be.”

Princess breathed out. “Jimin and I have been extremely private about us and me being so close to the press means I am risking so much.” Princess opened her arms wide. “But it would take a catastrophe to take him away from me.”

“Give him a chance. Tell him about everything outright and let him choose. He’ll take his chance. Don’t choose for him.” Vixen pointed out. “That’s how I did with Joon. We talked and clearly said ‘this is what I need and what I can give, can you comply? Are you okay with it?’ It’s a bit of a bet, but I think the prospect of gain outweighs the actual risk of it.”

Lace nodded. “And then there’s the tour.”

Vixen and Princess nodded. Vixen tried to keep her insecurity and jealousy at bait. All those girls drooling over him, all those female staff members travelling with him. She propped her elbows on the table and pressed her forehead against her palms, her lovely hair falling forward.

Princess, sitting beside her, rubbed her back. “What if you just give him one date. Tell him your situation both about your, uhm— hobby and your emotional state. I’m sure he will understand. His emotional intelligence is impressive.” Princess stated, nodding, her hand still rubbing Vixen’s spine.

“He’s the kind of man I would gladly be a sucker for.” Lace explained. “I knew I was a dom since I was eighteen, but Jesus, I know I would sub for him.” Vixen seemed to awaken at that comment. “I’ve seen his stages. He is insane.” Lace bit her lip. “But I need time to trust him. And it would feel useless to get cosy with him only to have him leave for the tour.”

“Just tell him.” Vixen encouraged her. “He will surely work with you on a compromise.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Are you okay?” Lace checked in on Vixen.

“Yup. Just a sudden jealousy rush.”

Lace frowned. “He would never. Don’t worry about that.” Lace cocked her head to the side. “He worships the ground you step on.”

“Girls throw thems—”

“He throws himself at you.” Lace remarked. “Plus he loves you. You love him. That’s all that matters. He gave you the passcode to his house, basically made you move in, what else do you need? I bet he’d gladly handcuff himself to you if you asked kindly enough.” Lace joked.

“Scratch that ‘kindly enough’. He’d cuff himself to you without you even asking.” Princess remarked.

“Can we move back to the BDSM introductory lessons?” Vixen asked, shaking her head, but with a tiny smile on her face.

Lace saw that was a good sign. Princess smiled beside her. “Okay, I’ll go with my request. I know I told you I wanted to get to know more of impact play and if we could focus on that...”

“Yes, I get where you’re headed. Let’s get it. But we’ll need a clean table for this.” Lace explained.

“Let’s do this.” Princess stood up from the table, beginning to clean up everything. It took the girls only a couple minutes to get rid of dirty dishes, empty boxes, the glasses and the soju. Even the fruit basket the guests had bought was moved on the kitchen counter.

“Do you have any sanitizer, perhaps?” Lace asked.

“Isn’t it better if we move to the sofa?” Suggested Vixen. “Use the coffee table?”

Princess shrugged. “Same to me.”

Lace nodded convincedly. “Let’s prep the coffee table. Sorry for the main table.”

Princess shrugged. “Needed to clean it anyways.”

A few minutes later the girls were all sitting around the coffee table, Lace’s bag placed at her side while Vixen occupied her other side, Princess sitting in front of them.

“Let’s do an impact play in depth analysis. What you need is one — a dom, two — a sub, three — optional, — supplies.” Lace listed. “Let’s go a bit at a time. First, the dom. A dom must be sober, lucid. No alcohol, drugs, and most importantly, no impulsive, instinctual emotions. If you’re furious, don’t go there. Violent emotions can cloud your judgement. Don’t let those lead you. Of course you might be angry or aroused, but that must not take the lead. If your anger makes you want to give them fifty spanks, but normally your sub can take twenty, you can negotiate maybe twenty-five. Be judicious, never hungry.”

“Good.” Said Princess, focusing on every single one of Lace’s words.

“Once you’re sure you’re in a coherent, calm mindset, you should negotiate with your sub. Remember: safe, sane, consensual. Safe, in this case, involves that your supplies are clean and cannot hurt your sub, both in terms of cleanliness and state of use. Check for loose threads, scratches on leather that could possibly host bacteria or dirt, splinters in case of wooden devices, porous surfaces. We’ll talk about this more accurately in the supplies section. Sane means to check your mindset and your sub’s mindset. Same rules as before: no alcohol, drugs, violent emotions.”

Vixen made eye contact with Lace, silently requesting permission to speak. “Small note on that, may I?”

Lace nodded.

“Your sub might come to you while being emotionally unstable. They might need you for comfort or atonement. Make sure to heal that emotionally before dealing with it sexually. It means to discuss what caused the upset state of mind in order to identify the real entity of the problem, correct the perception of it and negotiate the atonement.”

“Excellent point.” Replied Lace.

Vixen smiled cutely.

“Can I have an example?” Asked Princess with a frown.

“Of course. Let’s say I fucked up at work, I booked the wrong artwork and the artwork they wanted is no longer available. I manage to find an alternative but I somehow feel like I let down my client. I go home and I am scolding myself because I didn’t deliver what was asked of me. My dom may spot my disappointment or may recognise self-punishment. Also, I might explicitly tell my dom I am not feeling well due to a sense of guilt. This leads to my dom asking me why I am upset or why I am punishing myself. I — along other perfectionists like Jimin — tend to overestimate my mistakes, making them a bigger deal than what they actually are. My dom corrects my perspective through objective analysis, underlines my successful abilities in dealing with the issue and suggests potential improvements on those things I didn’t manage to solve. Perfectionists have a strict inner judge that scolds them and punishes them. Therefore their psych is divided into victim and punisher. This fracture obviously causes discomfort. The dom’s goal is to heal this fracture, especially since the perfectionist’s “punisher” side — so to say — is very strict and usually overestimates the damage and subsequently overestimates the punishment. After correcting the perception of the mistake, the dom gives an appropriate price for atonement.”

“So the goal is to stop the guilt trip mechanism?” Princess asked.

“Yes.” Vixen confirmed. “But this is just one kind of spanking. There are other cases. It can be educational or simply sexual. Educational is when the dom corrects the sub’s behaviour because they violated a rule or an order. In that case it’s mostly dom-initiated—”

“Unless the sub willingly misbehaved to earn a punishment.” Lace added.

“That sounds Jimin.” Princess commented, rubbing her forehead.

Vixen smiled widely.

“That’s not funny, you brat!” Lace scolded her.

“When you find your sub willingly misbehaving, you should talk to them very clearly. Usually they do it to attract attention. Ignoring them might hurt them or bring them to further misbehaviour, which can turn dangerous. I normally recommend conversation.” Lace explained. “Pay attention to them and ask why they broke the rule, what they were trying to get out of it. You can give them the punishment they were asking for — for example if your sub disobeyed because it earns them spanks and they like spanks, you can either give them spanks or punish them with something that they really don’t like, for example edging.”

Princess nodded. “That’s interesting, thank you.”

“Any remark, Vixen?”

She shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What about sexual spanks?” Princess questioned.

“Those can be incorporated into foreplay. Some people are simply aroused by pain.” Vixen shrugged. “It puts the sub into a vulnerable position, and it underlines a power imbalance. It makes the sub feel smaller, powerless — or almost so — and sometimes humiliated.” Vixen explained.

“Exactly. I would add that it stimulates the circulation of blood to the pelvis region, which means that skin is more sensitive, arousal increases and the whole perception intensifies. It builds trust and sometimes, according to personal history of each sub, it can send them back to childhood memories, mimicking the power imbalance between child and adult who disciplined them. It has strong disciplinary and educational value, back to the punishment scene.”

“Oh, about punishment!” Vixen exclaimed. “We forgot the most important part of it all. But it refers to all sorts of spanking, to be true. Negotiation. Once you have identified the fault, tell your sub how many hits there will be, how you will deliver them and with which instrument, which position they will have to assume. Repeat safewords. Make sure that they agree fully to every detail of the spanking. If they do not agree to some parts, ask to find a compromise, a middle ground between your and their needs. Once you have the green light, you can talk your sub through the whole experience as the scene actually develops. Once you are done with the scene, say a code phrase that means that the scene has finished.”

“Okay, me and Jimin did this stuff our first time trying this.” Princess confirmed.

“Wonderful. Was it a positive experience? Did you have any uncertainties, questions?”

“It was a very positive experience, both in mine and his opinion. We talked it out the morning after, since I preferred to have some time to elaborate my personal feelings about the scene”

“That’s okay. As a dom you can experience mixed feelings, especially after a first scene, with activities that are usually misjudged by society”. Lace explained, gently patting Princess’ hand on top of the table.

“I think that Jimin’s positive reaction and guidance helped me feeling positive about the whole scene. He was truly supportive through all of it.” Princess smiled softly.

“That’s a good partner. Both for life and for play”. Lace smiled herself, glad that Princess’ first experience went well.

“There were very deep emotions of care and support and love during the whole scene. A kind of affection and vulnerability I had never experienced with anyone else. I hope I can go there again with him, but next time I want to be more reliable and secure and experienced. I thought that a general introduction, especially about supplies, could help me, since Jimin was interested in that.”

“Okay, let’s just finish the general intro. We were saying safe, sane and consensual. Safe means toys, safewords and aftercare supplies. Sane means both parties know what they’re doing, the dom is aware of the sub’s mental space. Consensual means negotiation about number of blows, technique, position and eventually toys. Make sure that your sub always knows about the motive of the spanking. The natural response, especially to pain, is ‘why’. Make sure they know. Eventually, remind them. Once more remind them of safewords and the final sentence.”

“Do not ever stop unless they safeword.” Vixen said. “If they repeatedly tell you to stop, remind them they have their safewords if they want to. As a sub I’ve said both ‘stop’ and ‘why’ at least a hundred time during a spanking. ‘Stop’ and similar are pretty recurrent. Just say ‘You know your safeword, love’. If they really need them, they will use them, trust me. Just remind them all the time. You could maybe need to slow down, make sure that they aren’t panicking and they do actually remember their words.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Lace confirmed before turning to Vixen. “Have you been studying?” She joked.

“I’ve been reading lately.” Vixen confirmed, with a very happy smile on her face.

Lace mirrored her expression. She knew Vixen had been pushed into quitting BDSM activities by her ex boyfriend. Knowing that she was finally back to something she liked, something she was comfortable with made her happy. “I’m glad you’re back on track, sweetie.”

“Thank you.” Vixen closed the small exchange with Lace.

“Once a scene is closed, your sub might have different responses. They might ask to be left alone. In that case, make sure that healing supplies are ready for their self care. Remind them to check for abrasions. If the skin is damaged on a surface level — that means it is not only bruised, but also broken — you will need disinfectant and probably band aids.” Lace explained.

“But that happens rarely, right?” Vixen asked.

“With average spanking, that is quite rare. Normally you need specific instruments specifically meant to cause abrasions.”

“Like canes and spiked toys?”

“Yes, but not only those. I’ve seen pretty heavy damage caused by an apparently regular flogger.” Lace commented, shuddering at the memory.

Vixen blinked, a bit shocked. “Okay, back to aftercare.”

“Yeah,” said Princess, exhaling and looking away.

“So, unless your sub wants you to leave, you stay around. Provide for them. Rub lotion first. Some subs store specific lotion for this kind of stuff. To ease the burn, the sting, or lessen the bruises.”

Vixen interrupted. “I must say, most of us like the bruises and the reminder-sting, so they don’t really do much about it. Still, it depends on how far you’ve gone and how the sub feels. Usually, my favourites are a cold cloth, lotion and if I went particularly far maybe a painkiller. Normally herbal lotion and muscle relaxant are an excellent solution. They’re softer and safer, especially since you never know how a sub might react to medicines. As usual, make sure that whatever you use on them is safe. Let them prepare their usual medication. Make sure you have plenty of time to ascertain that they are emotionally stable. Do not leave them alone unless they request so, and tendentially it is good etiquette to stay in proximity, in case they change their mind.”

“Thank you so much for all the head ups.” Princess said, true gratitude shining all over her face. “I feel more comfortable knowing that we followed those lines during the first time too. It’s not something absurd. Youjust really need to use your common sense.”

Vixen nodded. “Being smart sure helps, but it’s not everything. You can only truly learn it by making it a routine.”

“You mean practice?” Princess questioned.

Lace nodded. “Yes. Once you actually start practicing, you’ll immediately find out your forte and potential weaknesses. Be comfortable with those: you can ask us or look it up on the guide, or on BDSM blogs. I can send you reliable sources, if need be. I would say you can reach out to my dungeon, it is a safe and discreet environment, but I fully understand your position, and I get that you might prefer to have a private approach to this. You can eventually book personal appointments with an expert. Those normally include non-disclosure agreements and Jimin could be protected from the public eye, as far as it can go.” Lace explained. “We have had many, many clients who have requested so. It would be perfectly normal.”

Princess thought about it and nodded. “I’ll discuss it with Jimin.”

“Perfect. As you can see the key to this is communication.”

“Indeed.” Confirmed Princess.

“Now, let’s get down to the actual business.” Lace opened the bag but left all the contents inside. “Impact play can happen on different parts of the body. Vixen?” Lace called.

Vixen stood up gingerly.

“Tie your hair, doll.” Lace reminded her.

The woman fished a ribbon from her pocket and did a soft ponytail.

“Good. I’ll show you.” Lace fished out a long, silky bag from her weekender; untying the ribbon, she pushed her hand in and extracted a long stick. A cane, Princess corrected herself.

Lace didn’t pay much attention. Its purpose was that of a pointing stick at that moment. “Number one, the derrière.” Vixen turned and Lace let the wooden instrument hover over the girl’s ass. “You know what to do to hit here?”

“Find the tailbone and place your non-dominant hand over it to protect it. Alternate sides, rub between a spank and another. Hit the lower region, far from the nerves up high. Where the flesh swells, that’s where I can hit. Also the back of the thighs.”

“Excellent. That’s all.” Lace congratulated. “Other spots are the back of the legs, more precisely the back of the knees and the calves. However, knees are delicate, so you can only deliver delicate blows with a restricted selection of toys. I would not recommend it. The back of the calves also offer a limited selection of toys, but it is slightly safer to go there. Still, the surface is limited and the knees and ankles are close. The risk of missing your target is high. Since you’re a beginner I would not go there.”

Princess nodded. “What kind of toys can I use?”

“We’ll cover that later. For now let’s just run through anatomy.” Lace answered calmly. “Are you good, Vixen?”

“Yup.” The other replied.

“Perfect. Turn to your side profile.” Lace asked and Vixen quickly provided.

Lace pressed the cane in a line connecting the peaks of each of Vixen’s glutes. “From here—” she moved all the way down to her mid thighs “— to here it’s good. The peak to the midthigh.”

“Great. Got it.” Princess replied. “There are other places? Like…?”

“Would you like to talk?” Lace asked Vixen. “You're the expert.”

“May I?” She asked.

“Of course, sweetie. You’re the expert in this.”

Princess raised an eyebrow at the comment, but still she stayed focused. To say she was intrigued was a big understatement.

Vixen’s sweet voice began speaking. “Other than the backside, as we’ve just mentioned, there are other spots that can be involved in impact play. While the back of the thighs and the butt can stand harsher beatings with almost all toys intended for impact play, other areas are more sensitive, more delicate or consist in a smaller expanse of skin, therefore they shall be treated differently. Both the palms and the back of the hands, just like the soles of the feet can be involved, especially when matched with instruments with a smaller surface of beating, like a slapper, a riding crop and a cane — for example. They shall be treated lightly, since they have lots of nerve endings, bones and tendons exposed.”

“What’s a leather strap?” Princess asked.

Lace lifted a finger as a sign to wait, before digging her other hand in her bag and extracting a small device, of maybe twentyish centimetres of length and five or six of width; she placed it on the table to let Princess observe it. “Handle and slappers.” She pointed. “Very noisy, actually pretty innocuous. The leather bits slap against each other and create a single impact that sounds like a double.”

“It sounds scary, though.” Vixen noted. It always made her blood curl in her veins, the heavy smack turning into a torturous feel as the hit didn’t match the noise. Fear worked, but the sensation didn’t. It was not something she liked, usually.

Lace nodded. “I haven’t used it much. Usually people like the cane on the back of the hands. Because of old school punishments.” Lace explained.

“Right. Thanks.” Princess nodded.

Vixen waited for a sign before moving on. Once she had both women’s attention, she proceeded. ”Thighs are generally all good, if they’re fleshy and plump enough. Make sure that you don’t go too hard when hitting close to private parts. While a vulva can handle a fair bit, the penis is generally more delicate in the structure. Thighs can handle all toys, just like the ass. Paddles, slappers, straps, riding crops, whips and canes. For private parts I recommend the riding crop.” Vixen smiled politely.

Princess interrupted. “The strap is that kind of… like?” She gestured a long and thin rectangle with her hands, looking for words.

“It looks like a belt bent in two, with a handle. Maybe I have it…” She rummaged in her bag. “No. Sorry. I think I left it at home.”

Princess waved her hands. “Don’t worry, that’s okay, I think I visualised it pretty well.” She smiled. “There’s more?” Princess said, marvelled as Vixen began talking again.

“Well, yes. Oh, first a small warning — before I forget. You must absolutely stay away from the belly and the stomach. Same for the lower back.” Vixen showed the various spots on her body with precise gestures of her hands. “Too many vulnerable organs left unprotected there.” She took a small pause and then moved on.

“Some people can handle hits on their shoulders and upper back, where the internal organs are protected by the ribcage and other bone structures; however I would talk with a professional about that kind of scene since you need to flawlessly master advanced equipment — people tendentially use whips and similar, or the strap.” Vixen stopped for a second, looking at Lace as if asking whether she had anything more to ask. Lace shook her head, inviting the other woman to proceed.

“Now, about delicate parts: some people like being slapped in the face, but then again, that must be clearly stated in the negotiations. I’d say you should only use hands, but maybe I’m projecting.”

“In four years, I’ve only used and seen other use hands. Also, riding crops, but usually that’s just to direct head movements or to pat the face, rather than slapping it.”

Vixen nodded. “Great. About interesting stuff, nipples can be gently stimulated with small, very delicate pats. Riding crops are excellent for this use. Also slappers. Maybe canes in some cases.” — Lace did a so-and-so motion with her head. Vixen continued, — “Some people can go very hard on nipples and technically — just like with the butt — women who have bigger breasts can stand more intense stimulation”.

“Oh, that yes. You can use, as usual, riding crops, but also paddles, straps and whips — if you’re experienced.” Lace added.

Princess nodded with an interested expression. She could mention that to Jimin. Imagining him with a riding crop, standing at the side of the bed, rubbing the leather bit against her nipples before whipping them harshly had her losing focus for a second, taking in a big breath and biting her lip.

Vixen grinned. She could practically read the other woman’s thoughts. “For women with smaller breasts and men, I would say to stay on the more gentle side for the first few sessions and eventually — once you know each other and once you know your sub’s pain threshold — you can get more heavy-handed, so to say. As I said before female private parts can handle pretty harsh whippings, especially since arousal tends to make the labia plumper and therefore protect the skin better. Still, you should start slow and work your way up. Male crotch area is a lot more delicate, however the shaft can take a medium-intense whipping. I recommend riding crops and small leather straps.”

Lace raised her eyebrows at Vixen with a proud grin. “Nothing to add. This should be all.”

“Wow.” Princess was a bit excited. If Jimin had looked that good with a few spanks, she could only imagine what he would do once she got more experienced and learned what actually drove him crazy.

“That’s a lot of stuff, I know.” Lace reassured her.

“I’m actually excited. Like, it sounds very interesting. There’s a lot of trust and knowing each other. I really like that. I think it brings the partners very close.”

Vixen nodded. “It does.”

Princess bit her lip. “I don’t want to pry but… Do you do all of that?” She looked at Vixen with a slight blush.

The woman giggled. “Not anymore, no.” She took a meditative pause, like she was reminiscing something. It felt strange that a girl so young could feel so old every now and then. That dark cloud that obscured Vixen’s doll-like traits disappeared, leaving only a fond grin in tow. “Now I do the bits I like best.” She grinned.

Lace looked at her with a bit of worry before smiling again.

“Before we actually start with tools I need to make sure that you know all you need about aftercare and drops.” Lace said seriously.

“Yes, please.” Princess said. “May I recap what we said about aftercare?”

“Yes, sure.” Lace invited her.

“Prepare the stuff before. Check for abrasions: if there are, then disinfectant and band aids. Next cold cloth, lotion and eventually painskiller. Use medicines that my sub takes regularly. Make sure that they’re okay emotionally. If they want me to leave, I do, but I stay close.”

“Amazing. Quick learner.” Lace cheered.

“Those were also in the book.” Princess commented, diminishing her feat. “Plus I did it already. Sort of.”

“I’ve seen people take weeks to put all of that together. You did a good job, stop doubting yourself.” Lace corrected her. God, these two insecure creatures would be the death of her.

“Aftercare is not only physical, but mostly emotional. If your sub wants you close, cuddle them. Jimin looks like the type to want cuddles and reassurance afterwards. Make sure you give plenty. Would you like to explain the drop Vixen?”

“Yes, of course.” Vixen intervened before addressing Princess. “I always like to talk about this subject because it can affect anyone, without any need to get involved in BDSM. ًWhen experiencing an orgasm, our bodies produce an incredible quantity of hormones that make us literally ecstatic. What happens sometimes, especially after long or intense scenes is that our bodies get high on these hormones, experiencing a sense of withdrawal once the rush is over. Such withdrawal, so to say, can cause pretty intense sadness that can lead to numbness, indifference, or even hate and depressive or aggressive behaviours. A good way to slow down this sadness is providing the body with other hormones that usually calm us and relax us. Cuddles and sugars usually are a good way to help the body produce oxytocin — commonly named ‘the hormone of happiness’. It’s the same hormone that spikes when mothers are breastfeeding their babies.” Vixen smiled fondly.

“This is incredible.” Princess said, completely amused. “So cuddles heal both the sub and the dom, I assume.”

“I think so, yes. Usually I’m the cuddler while Joon is the cuddlee during aftercare. Both subs and doms can experience the drop since both suffer the shift in hormones. It’s really about mutual care. Usually though, there are people who suffer more.” Vixen commented.

Lace spoke shyly. “Once I went so hard on a sub that I felt awful with myself after the scene was done.” Lace said. The silence felt heavy, like in some part of her mind Lace was still seeing that scene. “Usually the dom is expected to give the sub water, sweets and a cozy blanket — water for the body fluids, sweets for rebalancing the sugars after an intense effort and the blanket for emotional safety. I remember that one time the sub used the aftercare kit on me. It took me almost an hour to get back on a neutral state of mind.” It was Lace’s turn to be comforted. As Vixen rubbed her friend’s back, Princess spoke.

“So I might experience guilt and sadness afterwards and that’s normal?”

As Lace was still thinking, Vixen spoke up. “It happens, though usually, if your partner reassures you and supports you properly, you should be able to deal with it together with quite some ease. I myself have shouted slurs at my dom in the past during punishment, but that is because pain or anger make you do that. I may have sent him into a drop once, and since that time I always make sure that I praise and cuddle my dom once the scene is over. It’s important that you remind yourself that what is said during an intense scene is due to the sub’s sensations in that moment, therefore you shouldn’t give it much importance. Still, once you have your post-session chat you have every right to say ‘that hurt me, please don’t do that again’. It’s etiquette.” Vixen said with a serious note.

Princess nodded. “So cuddles, water, sweets and a good comfort blanket.”

“Normally, yes.” Vixen replied. “Sometimes shower or bath together, wash your partner clean or have them wash you. For some people physical cleanliness is also spiritual cleanliness. It eases the mind from whatever ‘dirty thing’ you’ve done during the scene. The rest is really what you would normally do during self-care, but with your sub. Facemask? Junk food? Lotion? Massage? Tea? Whatever you like as long as you do it with affection.”

Princess nodded. “This is really helpful. I just need to do anything that Jimin likes, and do it with him.”

“Yes, if he wants you close — which I assume he does, knowing the two of you.” Vixen smiled.

Lace added her own contribution. “If possible, remember to schedule a post-session chat. Whenever it feels comfortable. Normally you wait until all parties have fully recovered before saying ‘let’s talk about it together’, but some subs are already okay talking about it during aftercare. Just make sure that you know how your sub felt about the stuff that you did together, and that you tell them how you felt yourself. This is not one-sided. Power imbalance is limited to the scene: once you’re done, You’re equal again — that’s why a final sentence is necessary. It breaks the power imbalance and repristinates equality. All parties are equally entitled to support and communication.” Lace said, making sure that Princess grasped the concept. That’s where most couples went wrong: communicating.

“Thank you girls.” Princess said gently. “Thank you for the insights, and for your personal experiences.”

“You’re welcome.” Lace said heartily before grinning. “Now, let’s discuss supplies.”

Vixen cheered with a small ‘yes’ at which Lace replied murmuring ‘painslut’, chuckling playfully.

“Let’s start with these.” Lace showed her hands, letting the sleeves of her shirt fall a little, exposing her wrists. “These are your main instruments.” She showed the palms, then the backs. “You can use them everywhere. You can use your whole palm, flat, for a sting and cupped for a thud.”

“What’s that?” Princess asked.

“Vixen.” Lace called.

“A sting is when it prickles and bites, a thud is when it reverberates and goes deeper. You go with a quick, fleeting swat when you go for a sting—the palm must be flat and there must be a bit of wrist game. To deliver a thud, you should let your hand cup slightly and hit hard, keeping your hand pressed where you hit. It’s a matter of angle and speed.” Vixen replied readily, as if she were being asked what is two and two.

Princess grinned and nodded. “I see. Jimin mentioned something about it, but I don’t remember clearly. Which one hurts the most?” Princess asked Vixen.

“Well, it depends. It’s a different kind of pain and it depends on one’s sensitivity. Personally I prefer thuds, because usually it’s the muscle taking most of the impact, in case of traditional, over-the-knee butt spankings. Stings make my eyes water a little, because it hits a smaller area of skin with more pressure. But it really depends on what your sub feels.”

“It is all in the way it is delivered.” Lace stated.

Vixen bit her lip, nodding, and moved on.

“Hands can be also used to slap the face, as we said,— that should be especially clarified during negotiation — but also nipples and genitalia. Also, thighs, calves, hands and feet — though in some cases they might be too mild. Always remember that it is good manners to try the toys on yourself first, especially if it’s a toy you’ve never used before. Get familiar with its weight and density and grip, so you know how it affects you before affecting your sub. Make sure to start slow and eventually intensify, always asking your sub if they’re okay in the first place. Be careful with your sub’s pain threshold: since you don’t have direct perception of how much you’re hurting them, try to increase force and pattern a bit at a time.” Lace explained.

Princess felt sure about the directions. Common sense and the guide told her the same things, which reassured her about the fact that she would remember all the complicated passages. Sure, it would be easier to have an actual practical exercise.

But for now she would make do.

“You ready for the next?”

“Yes.” Vixen replied.

Lace tutted. “The question was not meant for you, menace.” She said, reprimanding a grinning Vixen.

Princess cackled. “Sure.”

Lace picked up another object from her bag. “Here we have a paddle. It can have different shapes and textures. Some contain small indentations, or even spikes. The main features are the handle.” She showed the part. “And a flat surface, used to hit the sub. In terms of tenacity and resistance, mine has a hardwood interior covered in a leather exterior. Oh, and it’s branded.” She showed a red leather heart sewn onto the black leather cover. “It leaves a mark.” Lace smiled cutely. “Best used on wide, fleshy surfaces. Questions?”

Princess shook her head. “Oh, yeah. How much is it?”

Lace twisted the object in her hands. “A good one is around thirty five thousand won or so. If you want something that lasts and that is actually covered in true leather, the price might be higher. I could recommend a shop that sells excellent gear.”

“Thank you. Also, you said it comes in different shapes.”

“Yes. A dom in my dungeon has a pretty extravagant one in a cherry shape.”

“With a double sting?” Vixen asks, eyes almost glittering.

“Yup.”

“Amazing. I had spotted it once but I never bought it. Maybe I’ll have it commissioned.” She mused.

“Joon would?” Lace asked, eyebrows raised.

Vixen shrugged. “I just need to be good — or bad — enough.”

“See, darling, this is a brat.” Lace addressed Princess, pointing at the other girl in the room. “Their anatomy is five percent manners, five percent playfulness and ninety percent utterly smart evil.”

Vixen smiled before cocking her head to the side prettily. “Yes, that’s me.”

Princess bit her lip and smiled. Vixen was a lot more interesting than she thought. All those cute manners and polished looks could not entirely shade the dark magnetism of her eyes. She would pay good money to see what ruckus she could cause with Namjoon in the bedroom. And it would be even more interesting to see what poised, calm Lace could do to teach her how to behave.

Lace put her paddle down before fishing something else from inside her bag. “For tonight let’s cover only the basics. I’ll keep more lowkey devices for another time. Or maybe I could show you what I have and you ask me about what looks interesting to you.”

Princess nodded. “That would be lovely. Plus I’m sure you’ll have to get back to Joon since he’ll want to see you before they leave tomorrow.” Princess asked Vixen.

“I don’t know if I’ll see him— oh, that one looks lovely!” She said, looking at a riding crop from Lace’s collection and distracting herself with it. “Yeah, I told him he should stay at the dorms and rest. His week has been hectic with all the briefings for the press conferences and tv shows.” Vixen explained as she picked up the crop, studying the red, heart-shaped bit.

“Yeah, I figure. Jimin and I are meeting for an early breakfast tomorrow, before they leave.” Princess explained.

Vixen’s fleeting gaze moved away. She seemed visibly unsettled. Still, her mood changed once more as she collected Lace’s paddle from the coffee table, the other woman not even noticing one of her devices had attracted Vixen’s attention.

Vixen rolled it in her palm a couple times, shifting it to feel the weight distribution and the texture.

Princess looked at how she studied the object, carefully taking in every detail. Vixen’s perfectionism showed in that exact moment, in the undisturbed, slow way she felt every ridge and stitch with her fingers. If she could think of an adjective it was ‘thorough’, in the first place. ‘Sensual’ in the second.

Raising an eyebrow and biting her lip, Vixen opened her free hand, lifted the paddle and delivered a heavy thwack.

A shiver ran down Princess’s spine. She could almost feel how Jimin would moan after a smack like that.

Lace turned around, looking at Vixen. “Like it?”

Vixen simply nodded with a wicked smile. “Do you know what wood it is?”

“Not sure, possibly birch or cherry tree. Soft wood but very elastic.” Lace sat upright as she was done taking out all of her collection.

“And the leather is splinter-proof.” Vixen commented.

Lace hummed in confirmation. “See anything interesting, Princess?”

Princess creased her brow. “What about the riding crop?”

Vixen smiled mischievously as Lace wrapped her palm around the handle, lifting the object. “Here. This is a personal riding crop. It has been commissioned specifically for me. It’s my favourite and somehow my brand.” She smiled fondly as she studied it. “However, I would say one should never grow fond of a vulnerable thing such as a riding crop. They break fairly easily. Anyway — the general traits of a riding crop are the shaft, the handle and the tip. In terms of length, I normally recommend minimum sixty centimeters, to increase flexibility and impact strength. The shaft should be elastic, but not too much or it loses impact strength and a submissive usually doesn’t want the whoosh without the smash.”

Vixen giggled at her side.

“What is that?” Princess asked, frowning.

Opening her palm, Lace calculated the distance and whipped the leather bit hard against the soft flesh at the base of the thumb. Princess clearly recognised the sound of air whistling before she hit her skin with a thin clap. “That’s what I meant.”

Princess nodded with eager eyes, keeping an amused silence.

“Fiberglass is a good material for beginners. If you’re buying one in person — which I recommend for the first time — make sure that it can make a forty-five degree angle when you bend the tip towards the handle. A forty to fifty degrees with a fair amount of resistance means it’s flexible enough, just make sure that it’s not too close to the breaking point. The handle is normally made of leather or very good rubber to improve the grip. Some cheap riding crops — also, the ones not intended for BDSM purposes — come with a strap to slip your wrist into. I recommend you don’t use the strap or that you remove it completely because first, you shouldn’t need it and second, you should avoid everything that keeps you from interrupting the scene and comforting your sub as quickly as possible. Sometimes even a couple seconds can be very important when it comes to subdrop. Remember this at all time, in all scenes. Remove everything that could keep you from helping your sub.”

“Okay. But if my riding crop falls?”

Lace smiled darkly. “Trust me dear, you’ll hold on to that as if it were the sceptre of England.” Princess laughed. “And if it falls, it’s usually a sign of poor mastering of your tools. Train yourself. You can use a dense pillow to learn the variety of strokes that a crop can deliver. It can be used for sensation play, simply rubbing your sub’s skin, caressing it, spending some time to arouse them before the whipping starts—”

Vixen purred at that.

Princess thought of Jimin biting his plump lips, eyelids fluttering at the gentle touch of the leather tickling his body.

“Are you with me?” Lace called for Princess’ attention, an amused grin on her face. Lace almost wanted to congratulate her for staying focused for so long.

“Yeah, just — thinking.”

Lace exhaled and wore a grin on her face. “I get that. Let me just finish this and we can take a pause. The tip is the important part of the crop. Mine has a fancy, heart-shaped tip, however, the best standard ones have triangular or rectangular tips that are a couple fingers wide on the very tip and restrict around the head of the stick.”

“Sounds nice.” Princess said.

“It is.” Vixen mused. “As Lace said, riding crops aren’t excessively difficult to use, if one has the patience to learn the basics and take some time to experiment. They can offer plenty of freedom to the dom in terms of use since they can be incredibly harsh, but also extremely light and gentle. You can use them on most spanking areas: breasts and nipples, feet, thighs, ass, shoulders and genitals, both male and female. Also the face, if you’re being light-handed enough.”

“Jesus, you’re wicked.” Lace snickered.

Vixen shrugged. “Says you.”

Princess looked at the exchange quite amused. “Okay. I think I got it. Oh, isn’t that a flogger?”

“Yes, it is. But that is for your sophomore lessons. For now, let’s stick to the beginner deals.” Lace said, slowing down Princess’ enthusiasm.

“Oh.” The other answered, taken aback.

“The bigger the toy, the more difficult it is to use it. Floggers, also called multi-tailed whips, are unpredictable because the whips are really flexible, usually made of leather, and very light. You must have excellent wrist flexibility and great spatial awareness. Once you can use your crop with your eyes closed, then you can consider learning the basics of flogging.”

“Okay. I assume canes and that fancy thing over there are off-limit too.” Princess noticed.

“Isn’t that a cat-o-nine-tales?” Vixen said, wide eyed. “It’s been years since I last saw one. Since my training.” Vixen shivered. “He had silver studs on the tips.”

“Did he ever use it on you?” Lace asked, very serious.

“Once. I didn’t speak to him for a week afterwards.” Vixen said, gaze empty. “I’ve never seen one like that in my life, though. Are those flowers?”

“Yes.They have a silver bead in the middle with some petals around it. The effect is very unusual, or so I’ve been told.” Lace answered with a chuckle. “It was a gift from one of my students. Lovely girl. Kinkier than hell.” Lace smiled and took the toy. “See. Those are meant to hurt. Mark or scar even, in some cases.” She showed the appendage to Princess.

“I don’t like that.” She replied with tiny hesitance.

“The cane is also a vicious one.” Lace suggested.

“The first time I safeworded was with a cane.” Vixen said with a meditative smile. “It hurts like hell. Normally I can take around forty to fifty spanks. I couldn’t handle ten with a cane.”

“I don’t think I like that either. My favourite so far are the paddle and the riding crop. I think Jimin likes the paddle, or at least the idea of it. The riding crop is… for personal reasons.”

“Excellent choice.” Lace grabbed a glass of water and drank, easing her mouth and throat after all the talking. “A riding crop can really gratify a dom at their first experience. You can study it, if you want to.” Lace encouraged Princess to hold the toy and look at it from up close.

Princess thanked her before lifting the crop from the table. “It’s very light.”

“Indeed. It’s a lot lighter than a paddle, that’s why it’s a personal favourite to most female doms. Plus it can be used to praise and to punish, making it a tool of great versatility.”

Princess studied the handle, with a thick leather band wrapped around the stick to grant a good grip. Lace, previously standing, bent down behind Princess. “The leather has been treated so to reduce any slipping.” She corrected Princess’ grip around the handle, placing her hand wrapped tight around it and fixing her thumb. “Like this.” Next, she placed the tip on the flat of the opposite hand. “Always make sure that there are no loose stitches here. Make sure that the spot where the tip meets the stick isn’t rough or hard or juts out in a way that could cut the skin.” She fingered the spot, tracing it. “Also remember to check the flexibility, see?” Lace made Princess’ fingers wrap around that spot, making her push it towards the butt of the handle. The sensation was extremely elastic, with a bit of give still, but far more resistance. “That is good elasticity for a versatile crop. Try it on your forearm.” She suggested, pushing Princess’ shirt upwards.

A bit hesitant, Princess lifted her dominant arm up. Lace corrected her stance, repositioning her elbow. “You only need to do a slight rotation of your forearm for now. Keep your elbow still and smack your forearm down, like you were arm wrestling but with more snap.”

Princess nodded, her eyes closing before she let her arm snap. First she heard the ‘whoosh’ of the stick cut through the air, and then the snapping sound, like a dry cracking.

“Good one. Did it hurt?”

Princess tutted. “Not too bad. The bite was pleasing.”

The sound awakened Vixen from her trance. She had been staring at the paddle for a few minutes, thinking.

“Try using it feather-light now. Like it was a make-up brush on your skin.” Lace placed the tip of the crop on Princess skin with the lightest pressure, the touch so soft that the tip didn’t even bend a little to accommodate the skin. It was simply lingering, grazing.

“I really like it. I think I’d love to own one.” Princess said enthusiastically. “Would you come with me if I go buy one?” She looked up to her friend.

“Yes, sure. You have my number, we can arrange someday this week, or whenever you like it.” Lace smiled genuinely. Her cheeks puffed up in round apples.

“I think you should check on Vixen.” She whispered.

The girl was being too quiet. It meant she was thinking. Overthinking, if Lace knew her friend well.

“Are you okay?” Lace moved towards Vixen, looking at her vacant stare, her skittish mood and the insecure nibbling on her lower lip.

“Yeah, I was just thinking...” Vixen replied, still unfocused from her surroundings. “I don’t know if Princess is okay with this. It’s her home, after all.”

“What is it?” Asked the other one, immediately alarmed.

“Would it be awkward if we tried a small simulation? Not a scene, just an exercise. For practice.” Vixen proposed. “If you’re all okay with it.”

Lace studied Vixen’s expression. “What about Namjoon?”

“I could ask him. I think he’s awake, I’ll text him. Ask him if it’s okay with him. This is nothing sexual. It’s just for learning purposes.” Vixen shrugged.

A part of Princess’ brain was already seeing it happen, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “If it’s not too much of a bother, I think it would be really helpful to me if you and Lace tried. I don’t think I want to do it myself, but I’d like to watch.” She admitted.

“Are you in the right mindset to do this, sweetie?” Lace asked. “You’ve been on mood swings the whole night. Are you sure?” Lace asked, seriously concerned.

“Yes, I’m sure. Trust me,” Vixen said, reassuring her friend with a kind smile. “I just need to ask Joon.”

Lace thought about it. Doing such a thing with Vixen of course could be extremely helpful to Princess, showing her how a scene worked, however Vixen’s mood swings suggested that she was looking for reassurance, that she was hoping someone would literally spank her negative thoughts out of her. She probably wanted Namjoon instead of Lace, but maybe this mechanism of simulation and education was what she needed to rein in her insecurities. Vixen was a smart woman, extremely aware of her emotions and the mechanisms to handle them. Lace decided. “Okay. Call him.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.” Vixen stood up and reached for her phone at the dining table. “Thank you”, she said to Lace before unlocking her phone and finding Namjoon’s number on her shortcuts.

“Put it on speaker.” Lace told her.

The three women waited expectantly as the ringing echoed through the small room — Lace with cold ice settling in her veins, Princess with ebullient anticipation and curiosity, Vixen with a certain emptiness in her gaze, her free hand toying with the small pendant laying between her collarbones while she rubbed the flat of her upper chest.

The ringing stopped, followed by a couple seconds of silence.

“Hello?”

-----------------------------------------------

Part two here

[lizzybeth1986]

I don't think you play TRR/TRH anymore but you should see what they did to Kiara in the newest chapter. It's so dumb and makes me so angry, especially considering the current climate of events. I've already seen people on Reddit be like "but we helped her overcome her trauma" (we didn't lol) and someone called her the c-word, very classy. Honestly PB's been low key racist in the past but all the stuff right now makes it high key...

(Apologies for the long post and not being able to place this under a cut)

I'm pretty glad I got these anons because truth be told I wasn't sure how many people - besides the few that I already knew were constantly speaking about Kiara's treatment in the books - would care enough to ask any questions about this. Most of the posts I saw expressed a disturbing eagerness to throw her under the bus, without exploring nuance or asking questions, and at this point I'm not very surprised.

I've always maintained that the treatment for Kiara is what happens when both the writers and the fandom are heartless, and these past few weeks have only been proof of that.

There are questions you could raise about this finale re: Kiara - questions almost no one seems to bother asking. I have three:

1. In this Coventus Nobilis...how is it that I see four Heads of House, and only one heir? 

2. If Kiara - who is not head of house - is supposed to represent Castelserraillian instead of her father Hakim (who presides over that estate), why do I not see Madeleine? Why do I not see Penelope? 

3. Why are we suddenly seeing Adeleide  popping up out of practically nowhere to rep Krona/Fydelia, and Landon conveniently rep-ping Portavira?  

Some of the answers to these questions lie in the questions themselves. Why else would Madeleine and Penelope not be present in this meeting - if it weren't to purposely distance them from this awful moment? After all, both of them have inbuilt subplots ready for the next book that would require interactions with the core group. How else do you think the writers could ensure we kept coddling them and pandering to them in Book 3, except by distancing them from this "betrayal"?

Why else would the narrative choose to pit Kiara - the lone woman of colour we'd been shitting on for most of this series - against Olivia - the white woman who has been given innumerable individual PoV scenes and her own mini-book (and whose reputation we had to help rebuild in said mini book whether we cared about her stupid duchy or not). 

Why else would they force Kiara to alert us mere minutes before the meeting begin, if not to distract us with crumbs ("See? At least we wrote her as warning you. Of course we don't hate her!"). 

Why else would you have Olivia and Kiara pitted against each other like this - if not to show these two women side by side, on opposing ends -  and compel us to believe that the white woman we spent 4.5 books propping up and pampering, is the most loyal one.  When in fact we have done absolutely nothing to deserve any fucking loyalty from Kiara or her family to begin with! (Ezekiel and his white bride notwithstanding).

What we finally got as a result, was a narrative that (as @queen-of-effing-everything summed it up when I discussed this with her) in one full sweep "glorifies Olivia, shields Madeleine and Penelope and sets up Kiara". Very few of us even noticed. And even if we did notice, is there any guarantee that we would care??

Remember how I mentioned in my last ask that I wished we expanded the same energy that we did with Aurora, to speak up against the ill-treatment of other black characters? Kiara was undoubtedly one of those.

After this, we as a fandom will speak very easily now of her "betrayal". We will call her the b-word and the c-word. We will boast of how we will "take her down" along with Adeleide and Landon and Bartie Sr. We'll boast about how we "never liked her" to begin with, as if doing so required some...idk exemplary foresight. We will make memes about how Olivia was "the only bitch we ever respected". We will make huge, sweeping claims about how Kiara was our "friend" and how (as you've mentioned, anon) we "helped her overcome her trauma" (!!!!) and claim by that token that  we were entitled to good treatment from her. I'm pretty sure when TRH3 finally comes out, her every word and action will be screenshot, put up on blogs, mocked and torn down just so we can write essays on how awful she is. 

Yet I saw very little of this energy in Book 3, where the MC could first emotionally manipulate her into supporting the Unity Tour, and where we actively suspected her  at a time when she was traumatized. At most there was some lukewarm acknowledgement of how she "deserves better", all while people still continued to write fanfic that positioned her as creepy and obsessed and villainous.  Almost no one had a problem with Savannah not acknowledging Kiara's earlier support of her, and in fact I'd seen posts that clubbed her with the other ladies of the court who likely "treated Savannah badly". Her father Hakim was made to join the tour alongside her by default, without the expectations that Landon/Emmeline and Godfrey/Adeleide were allowed to have, and the fandom was mysteriously silent about Hakim being made to "bow to his knees" in a way the others did not have to. Very few people even bothered to  notice or talk about how often Penelope was allowed to hold the MC's baby, or how Kiara was never really allowed to hold her even once. Which "friend" treats someone like this??

When I finally published this essay on the treatment meted out to Kiara especially in Book 3, what I got was a lot of neat, but ultimately hollow, little platitudes about how Kiara "deserved better" (How and in what way? Who knows, who cares). Out of those many many people who reblogged and responded, only a handful held the MC and Drake in particular (and Maxwell, who thought it appropriate to joke about "one suspect down") accountable for choosing to suspect and interrogate just her, and for showing ZERO remorse in forcing her to reopen those wounds. How is it that we can judge Kiara for this latest "betrayal", yet pretend that the MC and Drake had nothing to do with the pain THEY caused to her? How is it that this fandom was so fired up over her comments, yet would have such a weak, muted, carefully-generalized response to the screenshots where Drake was openly suspecting her and optionally  minimizing her trauma? 

Following that, why should we be entitled to good treatment from Kiara when we never really gave her even half as much?? Why is it so easy to divorce characters from their words and actions in Drake/MC/Maxwell's case, but so hard for a character like Kiara? (One may claim this is because Drake and Maxwell are potential co-protagonists, but the aforementioned essay already proves that you as a main character can get punished for not treating a mere side character with kindness).

Another thing that fascinates and repulses me even further is how the fandom has created myths around this one character, and how PB has constantly leaned into these "characteristics" even though the text itself tells an altogether different story:

1. Kiara is a snob. This is especially hilarious considering that she is established in Book 2 as being the only person who befriended Savannah before her departure and cared about what happened to her when she left. Never once in the books has she looked down on us for class-related issues, or outright mocked people for not knowing the languages she knew. In fact, she was the first person to acknowledge our skills if we showed any before Lythikos in Book 1. On the other hand, Penelope can be uppity and look down on us in Book 1 (there is even a dialogue option in Chapter 10 that leads to her calling us a "commoner wench") if we don't do well, and yet she's a cinnamon roll.  Olivia can engage in snobbish , entitled behaviour without the fandom having a problem just because she's their favourite. Madeleine can look down on us and pretend for 3/4ths of the social season that we're not worth her time yet somehow Kiara is the snob. Okay. Okay. 😐

2. Kiara is "obsessed with" Drake and constantly comes on to him. This is said by the same group of people who saw Olivia fucking Nevrakis plant a WHOLE FUCKING SMACKER on Liam's mouth, and said..nothing. Kiara on the other hand, has admired Drake's abs once, mentioned she'd always liked Drake once, spoken normally to him about his sister once, flirted with him once (Paris tea party), and ordered a wine from him when he was bartending. In the next book she either looks at him wistfully or admires his suit. Yet somehow she's the creepy, annoying, stalkerish. Okay. Ooookay. 😑

(This one was particularly damaging, because post the TRR3 hiatus, all efforts from PB were focused on reversing Kiara's position as an alternative LI. This included "confirming" on livestream that her affections were one-sided, at a time when Olivia was finally allowed to have some romantic moments with a single Liam, pushing forward a buildup scene to Drake's eventual secret wedding that had him acting extremely rude and confrontational to Kiara mere minutes after suspecting her (while she was expressing joy at his upcoming wedding in his playthrough!!!), and involving a subplot where he openly and by default suspected her. Sure, he spends a minute to be nice to her and chat about trauma if the MC chooses. But that's like a drop of sewage water floating in an ocean of shit).

3. Kiara Pretended to Be Our Friend And Then Dropped Us: This is false. Kiara only ever promised to put in a good word for us to the rest of the court, no more, no less. And she fulfilled that promise. Otherwise she never pretended to be friends with us nor made friendly overtures either way. In fact if you're going to accuse anyone of duplicity, you have Penelope and Madeleine. Yet somehow Kiara is the dishonest one. Okay. Okay. 🙃

4. Kiara Was Insensitive To Penelope and Didn't Understand Her. I'm not sure how Kiara is supposed to magically understand something that her friend isn't telling her. Plus this argument deliberately leaves out the fact that she stood up for Penelope when people chose to be mean to her, and even explained to the MC that she employs "tough love" because she can't always be around to protect Penelope. It also leaves out how one-sided this friendship is and how Kiara is made to do most of the heavy work in this friendship. Meanwhile, at Kiara's most difficult time period, in Castelserraillian, Penelope says absolutely nothing as the MC forces Kiara to join the Unity Tour, while making bedroom eyes at Kiara's brother. In fact the only reason Kiara's brother even exists is to give Penelope a love interest. The Kiara-Penelope friendship practically revolves around Penelope. I have never really seen Penelope look out for Kiara or attempt to actually support her in any way, and Kiara was the one who got the knife wounds. Yet somehow I'm supposed to believe that Penelope's the better friend of the two. Suuuuure. 😡

And this steaming pile of crap doesn't just make its way into shitposts and short opinion posts. It creeps into fanfic and fandom opinions. It finds its way in the tags and in other social media. It eventually even finds its way into the books, even though nothing in the earlier narrative ever really supported these extremely stale takes. 

Because PB didn't care for Kiara the way they cared for their white characters, they had no problem framing her narrative the way this fandom so desparately wanted it. Book 3 has the MC claim behind her back that Kiara is stuck-up and acts like knowing ten languages makes her better than everybody else, even though this is not backed up by the text, and in fact you will never see any acknowledgement of how Madeleine forced Kiara to make herself sound "exotic" in Book 2, or of how Madeleine and the MC (optionally) could downplay or question her skills unless they wanted to use her. Also, Penelope is never allowed to be talked about like that no matter what she's done. PB even had a scene (in the Hana playthrough) where they aggressively retconned the events of Madeleine's bachelorette party, where Kiara supposedly shouted at Penelope until the latter cried, and Madeleine was the one "having fun". Kiara was literally being thrown under the bus to make Madeleine look better. Madeleine. Imagine that. Madeleine.

Given how desparate the fandom was to nitpick and overdramatize everything Kiara said and did, is it any wonder that the team got away with the writing they gave her in Book 3? Considering that all the false arguments I stated above have made a resurgence in the past few weeks or days...is it any wonder that the only "support" this fandom is capable of re: Kiara, is lukewarm platitudes, cold takes and rank hypocrisy??

Yes, we can hold PB solely/largely  accountable for the treatment meted out to Kiara now. They made these choices over and over, and continue to do so, while tossing us occasional crumbs of faux-sweet behaviour from the MC. And they did this in insidious ways, which were so hard to catch that even a Kiara stan like me had to observe multiple playthroughs just to unravel even half of what they'd done.

But let's not pretend a huge chunk of the fandom was just as responsible for this - with their unfounded opinions, their disgusting bias, their favouritism of white characters, their refusal to observe anything besides their favourites, and their godawful fanfiction where Kiara is a creep or evil or killing the virtuous main character. Out of the huge body of fanwork that I've seen for TRR that features Kiara - at least 90% of it features her stalking Drake, or harming the MC (particularly the Drake MC), or in cahoots with the villains, or generally being referred to as a creep (why Olivia, who kissed Liam without his consent in Book 1 and was entitled enough to be angry about him not returning her feelings in TRH1, never got this sort of writing - I fail to understand). There is a tremendous gap between the vitriol dumped on her when she does something the MC doesn't like, and the milquetoast response when harm is done to her. There have been times when I've had to comb through pages and pages of hate just to read even one positive post on Kiara in her own goddamn tag.

When the next book arrives, I know you folks will continue to gas up the white women in this book every chance you get, and mask your racist vitriol for characters like Kiara (and Hana, let's not forget the way y'all treat Hana) behind the same self-righteous judgements and the same tired, stale takes. I know that PB - despite what I will still believe is their hollow promises today - will write every single one of those stale takes into existence. All because it will be "justified", because Kiara is a "bad person" or "untrustworthy" or "fake". Whatever. Y'all can stick to Olivia The Black Hole and babysit Madeleine and Penelope, I guess. Kiara always deserved better than these writers and most of this fandom anyway.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Bonjour ! How are you doing ? I've read you're depressed, I've been through it too, feel free to talk to me whenever you want ! Since you're my favourite writer, I've got an imagine request for you ! Imagine Leviticus Cornwall's young wife has been kidnapped by the gang. She's a classy british girl and she is very pretty, but she is not arrogant and is friendly with the gang. Arthur and her fall in love but Dutch want a ransom and doesn't want her to stay. You can choose the ending.Thank you :D

Awe thanks friend! My depression is luckily on the down low and I am in therapy to learn how to control it, but it’s awesome to hear that we support each other. If you need to talk, I’m here as well!

Sorry it took so long to do this one. Honestly this request could have turned into a multi-chapter fic! That being the case, it’s really long (only 20 pages lol). Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(Author’s note: Arthur doesn’t have TB in this scenario) 

Word count: ~10,500

You look over at your husband across the breakfast table with disgust. Although it’s a rather rare occurrence for him to join you for your morning meal because his schedule is so full, you’d rather he never did. Of course, you’ve no say in any of this. You’re just his wife, his property. He’s made it clear more than once that he’s no interest in your feelings, your hopes and dreams. 

You’d grown up in London. Your father was and still is the owner of a prominent bank. When you were in your late teens, your father and mother decided to move to New York and start a new bank there. Your father saw the ocean of opportunity there. New York was a fast-growing city, and although it didn’t have the wealthy history of London, it had new sources of money that had yet to be tapped. Your father raved about the correctness people used when they called the area New England, for it was like it in many ways but so many of the people were “new money” and your father loved it. Within only a few years, your father’s new bank in New York took off so well he even built another one in Boston, which was where he decided to permanently locate you, your mother and younger brother. 

When you first arrived in America, you knew very little about the country and certainly nothing about the American West. The little you had learned about the country was mostly in regards to the Revolutionary War a little over a hundred years ago. How the Americans had basically won against the British with little more than varmint rifles and their unique strategies of outsmarting their rivals. You learned in school that thirty years ago America suffered a Civil War, something to do with slavery. You had no idea though that many of the states had wanted to become their own separate country. 

Your mother was aware that your knowledge of America was flimsy at best. Hers was the same way, so she encouraged you and your brother to go and learn about the history of America in order to appear knowledgeable about it despite being a foreigner. However, she wouldn’t let you study at Boston’s library. She insisted that, coming from a wealthy family, you should read from the University’s library and study with their tutors. Only common folk went to the public library, although you thought it would be a wonderful source to observe American culture firsthand. Per her wishes, you went to the University’s library with your brother, but you didn’t like it much. You felt that its books would have been no better than the library’s and the tutors were so stuck up and over-educated, it made you miserable. 

In London, you were constantly surrounded by the wealthier folk since they were the only ones your parents would let you be around as a child. When you moved to Boston though, you were old enough to disobey them and mix in with a different crowd. You found yourself enjoying the company of the middle class. They were not concerned with manners and etiquette. Many of them had a sense of humor you enjoyed and because they were not so caught up in their wealth, they had a sense of community the wealthier folk lacked. They cared about each other. That was something so unique to you that you absolutely loved. It made you openly disobey your mother and you went to learn about America in Boston’s library. They offered tutors as well, and they were friendlier and had a richer knowledge in basic history, not just the history in politics and the prestigious like the University’s tutors had. Some of the tutors had even been involved in some of the events you studied up on. One was a former doctor during the Civil War and he told you some awful yet intriguing stories about it. 

As you learned about America, you found yourself divulging into the American West. Of course you’d heard and learned a little about it as a child, the hot deserts with their cacti and the cowboys. However, as you learned about it now, you realized your previous knowledge had been minimal. You knew nothing of the true wildness of it. The outlaws, the sheriffs that were just as tainted as the criminals they sought. The tough ranchers who fought wars against wolves. The heartbreaking histories of the Natives that had lived and been treated like less than vermin by the settlers. The Mexicans who came and brought pieces of their own rich culture. It fascinated you. You’ve known nothing but civility and the West sounded like the opposite of it. Of course, you read a little about the wild gangs that flourished there and had no interest in experiencing them firsthand or even from a distance. 

Your husband wipes his mustache and beard with a napkin and stands up without looking at you. His servant Bradley comes forward, holding a book open for him to read. You know this book very well. It contains your husband’s daily schedules. You have one as well. You’re used to living by a tight schedule, having done it most of your life. Your husband studies it for a moment and then says something to Bradley. You don’t hear it, not that you care. Without a glance in your direction, your husband turns to leave when the butler, Mr. Blomsbury comes in. 

“Mr. Cornwall, the mayor of Saint Denis is on the phone for you.” 

“About time that wretch finally returns my calls,” Leviticus says. “I’ve been needing to discuss matters with him for far too long. He’s an idiot and I’m a fool for ever getting into business with him.” 

He leaves the room, followed by Blomsbury and Bradley. You sigh and finish your meal, your servant Marie comes forward to clean your plate. “Mrs. Cornwall, you have an appointment with your tailor in an hour. He is expecting you in the…” 

“Yes, Marie, I am aware of this,” you say kindly. “Please make sure the room is ready to receive him.” 

She curtsies and heads off. You dismiss the rest of the staff to do their other chores and head off to your own personal library to read a bit before the tailor arrives. You don’t want to go to this pointless party you’re being dressed for, but you’ve little choice in the matter. 

On your way to the library, you bump into Leviticus Cornwall. Your miserable husband. You apologize for bumping into him as you know it’s the last thing he will do. 

“Y/N, make sure you actually choose a flattering color to wear this time. That purple you wore to the last event washed you out. I had many people ask me if you were ill.” 

“You were the one who told me to wear purple, Leviticus. You wanted us to match, remember?” 

He ignores your remark. “Just pick something that actually looks good on you, Y/N.” He continues on down the hall to his study. 

You sigh. How you hate him. Being born with a silver spoon in hand, you thought your entire childhood you’d be able to afford the luxury of finding someone you loved to marry. In your early twenties, your father and mother took that opportunity completely out of your hands. All the other women your age they knew were already married and some were even mothers. Your father was at least generous enough to want to find you a husband who was wealthy enough to let you live comfortably the rest of your life. Soon after, Leviticus Cornwall became a client of your father’s. They talked much and your father found out that Leviticus was a widower. His wife had passed away some years ago from complications during her first childbirth. The baby hadn’t survived either. It was arranged shortly after your father met him that you two should at least become engaged. 

You were not happy when you found out. You’d recently met a young man at the library you were rather fond of. You knew your father would never accept him, he came from a middle class family. But he was your age, funny, attractive and very sweet. Just before you’d gotten the nerve to ask him out on a date, your father told you about your arrangements with Leviticus Cornwall. The man himself had been present when your father told you this, for Leviticus wanted to make sure you were at least pretty enough to be his fiance. When he saw you, he didn’t smile but he nodded approvingly. 

“She will do,” he said after circling you and assessing your body. “You didn’t tell me she was so young.”

“I have no control of her age, Mr. Cornwall,” your father replied. 

“No I suppose not,” Leviticus answered. “Still. You are lucky that I am a busy man and have no time nor patience to care for the opinions of others when it comes to my lifestyle. I hope she does not either, for some will think it inappropriate a man my age have a wife so young. A mistress, sure, but not a wife.” 

“Of course, Mr. Cornwall. But she will make a wonderful wife,” your mother assured him. “She’s smart, she went to the best girls’ school in London. She also has many skills, she learned to paint and sing from a young age. She’s also finely accustomed to riding a horse. Properly of course, not that uncivilized way some women choose to ride with a leg on either side.” 

Your mother was really selling you to him. Of course, you had learned how to do these things, but it didn’t mean you liked them. As far as riding side-saddle went, you detested it. There was little that was more painful than doing it that way, but of course you’d never ridden the way men did. 

After much discussion, mostly on the matters of your dowry, it was settled. You were to be married to this man whom you barely knew. Three months later, you became his wife, despite him still being mostly a stranger to you. He’d had so little availability during your engagement he rarely visited and when he did, all he talked of was the things he had to do, his businesses and the problems that came with them. How he was interested in buying stakes in certain companies or outright buying them altogether. 

When Leviticus became your husband, you moved with him down to Pennsylvania. He had the largest estate of any person you’d ever known. His mansion sat on over a hundred acres, some of them finely manicured but most used for livestock or farming. His stables themselves were huge and he even had an indoor riding arena, a rare thing to see. Leviticus bred horses on the side, although he did little of the business himself. 

You head off now to the parlor where you are meeting the tailor. After over an hour of measuring and discussing styles, you finally give the tailor the final order on your dress and head out of the room. Marie meets you in the hall and holds open your schedule. 

“Mrs. Cornwall, Mr. Cornwall has just received urgent news from New Hanover. His train traveling through Ambarino has just been robbed.” 

“Well, good for him,” you say, growing tired of hearing about nothing but your husband’s affairs. “I have other things to attend to.” 

“Actually, that’s just it, ma’am. Mr. Cornwall will be travelling later this evening to New Hanover in order to speak with the investigators. As he will be travelling, you are to accompany him.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he wants you to go with him. It’s not because he loves you, hell you’re just another possession of his. You’ll be there strictly for appearances. Marie does not wait for you to respond.

“Your things are already being packed, Mrs. Cornwall. Be ready to leave by this afternoon.” Without another word, she leaves.

You’ve had enough of this. Over the past few weeks, you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about a simpler life, one without schedules and a loveless marriage. One that doesn’t mean you’re surrounded by money but by opportunity. People won’t tell you where to go, how to dress, walk or talk. One where you’d be allowed to just be you. All your life, you’ve been told how to act, how to be. But before you got married and were still studying in the public library, you had all those friends who your father called “common folk”. Although they had undeniably less money, they were happy. Happier than your parents, happier than your husband surely. They were free to go where they wanted and be who they were. You’ve never had that luxury. 

Not only that, you don’t want to go with Leviticus on another boring trip to investigate nonsense with his business. What does it matter if his train got robbed? The criminals likely only took a few thousand dollars and Leviticus had enough to buy a small country if he wanted. Still, you know that if he lets this slide, he’ll feel he’s made himself a target and a fool. As you know, he is all about appearances. You come to the decision to talk to him about you staying here.

You find Leviticus in his study, going over some papers. Bradley stands attentive before him as Leviticus murmurs things about his train being robbed. 

“Mr. Cornwall,” you say as you rarely address him by his first name. 

“Not now, Y/N, I have something more important to see to.” 

“Mr. Cornwall, I want to talk to you about tonight,” you say, sounding more bold than you feel. 

He throws down the papers and glares at you. “What? What could you possibly want? Did you not hear that I have just been robbed?”

You stare right back at him. “I heard, but I don’t know why you’re making such a big ordeal of it. They couldn’t have taken more than a few thousand dollars. Do you not take more than that on a daily basis from the people who work for you?” 

His eyes darken. “I will not be told how to run my business by my own damn wife. Bradley, get out.” 

Bradley bows and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Leviticus stomps up towards you, his teeth bared. You stand your ground. He simply puts his face inches from yours and breathes hard, clearly trying to intimidate you. After a moment, he takes a step back. 

“Now go get ready. I want to leave in an hour or two.”

“I am not coming with you, Leviticus. You can deal with things on your own. Hell, I’ll just be shut up in some damp and poor excuse for a manor anyways. It’s not like you need me there to impress a governor. You’re simply overseeing an investigation of your own affairs.” 

Without warning, Leviticus turns and slaps you hard. You flinch and cup your cheek. Of course, this wasn’t unexpected. He’s hit you several times before, but most of the time he’s been decent enough to put your bruises in places others won’t see. 

“I said you’re coming with me and that isn’t changing just because you don’t feel like it,” he hisses. 

You lower your hand and glare at him again. “No I’m not, Leviticus. It’s completely pointless for me to go with you. You can’t make me-” 

He slaps you again and this time you feel your lip burn. Pulling your hand away, you see a spot of blood on your finger. 

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he snarls. 

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” you say, your eyes watering from the stinging of your face. He raises his hand again but does not swing. 

“If you think what you feel now is pain, you’re in for a surprise, Y/N. Now go get ready. I won’t tell  you again. I’ll drag you out to the carriage by your ears if you don’t come willingly.” 

You take his threat seriously. His servants will not hesitate to force you into his carriage, they’re just as frightened of him as you are. Everything in his life he rules over with an iron fist. His eyes flash as you stand there and you quickly dart out of the room, knowing that to stay means further abuse. 

When you arrive in your dressing room, Marie applies a powder to your face to hide the red welt rising on your face. She says nothing to comfort you though and then she helps you into a dress suitable for travelling in. When you’re done, you dismiss her, claiming you need some time alone. She curtsies and leaves, closing the door. 

You’re done with this. This life, this marriage. You want no part of it. Of course, your parents aren’t a help. They’re the ones who arranged this marriage for you in the first place. You’re going to escape though, and this trip is the perfect opportunity. You know there will be ample opportunities to escape, after all your staff aren’t that tough. They simply take care of you, not act as a guard. 

Quickly, you grab a bag and stuff several items of jewelry into it, knowing you can trade them for money. You won’t go east or north towards Boston or New York. When Leviticus discovers you’ve gone, he will search for you and those directions will be the first place he looks since they’re the only places you’ve been. You’ll head west. Maybe you’ll act as a house maid or something of the likes, except you’ve no workable skills. You’ll work out those details later. Right now you focus on your escape and how you’ll be able to afford living on your own. 

You head into your large closet and grab a small black box behind a rack of overcoats. In it is stored a few thousand dollars Leviticus always keeps in case of emergency. You swiftly empty it, stuffing the bills into your bag. Then you tuck the bag under the skirt of your dress. With a belt, you secure it around your waist where no one will notice its presence. 

A few moments later, Marie enters the room again. “Mrs. Cornwall, the coach is ready. Mr. Cornwall reminds you that you are obligated to accompany him.” 

You nod and grab your gloves, slipping them onto your arms and following her out. Once outside, you hold your head high and Stanley, your coachman, offers his hand to help you inside it. Once you’re settled, you wait a few minutes before Leviticus joins you. You ignore each other as the coach moves.

You’re taken to the train station where you ride inside Leviticus’s personal car and head down to Annesburg. There, Leviticus puts you on another coach but does not accompany you as he wants to discuss buying a stake in the Annesburg mine. You don’t care, of course. Soon his business won’t be any concern of yours. 

The coach leaves Annesburg and heads west in New Hanover. Stanley explains  you’re to stay in a small manor near the border of West Elizabeth. The coach travels further away from Annesburg.

The sun is setting and the coach travels along long grassy plains. Deer dash away from the trail at the sight of your coach. The coach travels over some tracks and then comes to a halt. The driver explains the horses need to rest and feed. Stanley gets out of the coach in order to stretch his legs. You wait for a moment, knowing he’s going several yards away in order to smoke. The driver of the coach is not paying you any attention either as he fiddles with the feed sacks, attaching them over the horses noses. 

Now is your chance. You swiftly look around for anyone who might be watching, but no one’s around. Two men are playing dominoes on the train platform but they don’t even glance your way. A train rumbles up and then stops, preparing to take on passengers. As quickly as you can manage with your heavy gown, you dash out of the carriage and onto the train, not bothering to buy a ticket. Just as quickly, you settle into a seat on one of the finer cars, knowing that you look the part of someone who belongs there. You fidget with your hands, afraid someone spotted you. You keep a close eye on the driver of the coach and Stanley, who’s still smoking. Before either of them even start looking towards the carriage, the train’s whistle blows and begins to move. 

You breathe a sigh of relief as the station disappears behind you and you check again that your bag of stolen money and jewels is still attached to you. You’ll get off at the first station, knowing that a ticketmaster is likely to come around and see everyone aboard has paid. Almost on queue, he comes into your car and starts making his way around. When he gets to you, you slip a ring with a large ruby on it in order to bribe him. He nods and goes on his way. You realize you should have asked him that he’d never seen you on this train, but he’s gone at this point. Oh well, he likely won’t remember your face anyways. 

The train chugs north. You know by this point Stanley knows you’re gone. How could he not know? The coach had only stopped for a few moments. You’re sure at this point they must know you’re on the train. There was nothing else around that could whisk you away so quickly. Now you’re beginning to see the flaws of your plan. At least you have it in your favor that a train is much faster than a coach. 

A little over an hour goes by and the train begins to slow after coming out of a long, dark tunnel. It stops at an old military station, the name “Bacchus” written above a rickety door. Some men, dressed in army uniforms, stand on the platform. When the train stops, you see men begin moving some boxes and barrels off a flatcar towards the rear of the train. Now is the time to leave.

You head outside, glad that none of the other passengers questioned your movements. Once off the train, you travel south, following the road but staying off it in case the coach happens to come along this way. 

You’ve never been this far west before, but the country is beautiful. Tall, wispy aspens flutter their leaves in the gentle evening breeze. An elk lifts his proud head from a berry bush and stares at you, almost as though he knows he’s far more of a threat to you than you are to him. He goes back to browsing as the sun dips beyond the mountains. 

Now you’re faced with another predicament. You’ve never slept outside and you don’t know the first thing about how to start a fire or find shelter. However, in a cluster of trees just south of the road, you see flickering firelight. Approaching it, you see a wagon and near it, surrounding the fire, is a blond man, his wife and two children, a boy and a girl. You approach slowly and the man looks up. 

“Ah, hallo, gnädige Frau!” he says. You swallow. Of course, you took German when you were younger, but it’s been many years. 

“Guten Abend,” you respond. His smile is warm and his family looks at you kindly, though they have already noticed how out of place you look in your heavy dress, feathered hat and high heels. You ask them if you could use their fire for the evening and they agree brightly. 

You sit down, thanking them and the boy hands you a plate of Bratwursts and the girl offers you some German bread. You thank them again and eat, feeling quite hungry. As the sky grows darker, the family talks in their native tongue. You’ve forgotten most your German lessons, but still manage to pick up a few words. 

“Ich haben ein Fragen,” the woman says to you. You recognize the word Fragen: question. You nod in recognition. “Was machst du hier?” 

“What?” you ask, not understanding that line. 

She gestures your clothes and then the fire. She wants to know why you’re here. You’ve no idea how to translate your predicament into their language. The young girl tugs on your sleeve. 

“Ich kann etwas Englisch sprechen.” You nod.

“I am running away from my husband,” you say slowly enough that the girl can translate to her parents. “He is very rich but I am not happy with him.” 

“Bist du schon lange gelaufen? Bist du mit dem Boot hierher gekommen?” The girl looks at you.

“Have you been running long? Did you come here by boat?” 

You realize they must be confused by your accent. Although you’ve lived in America many years now, you still retain a decent amount of your British accent. 

“No, no I only just ran away. I came here on a train, but my stagecoach driver and servant will be looking for me and they know I took the train.” 

The parents nod, understanding now how you came to be at their fire. 

“You are welcome to stay with us tonight,” the girl translates for her mother. “We are headed for Valentine tomorrow and can drop you off there.” 

You thank them again and finish your meal. Not longer after, they show you a place under a canopy they’ve stretched over a spot of grass next to their wagon you can use. They’ve nothing to offer you except an old blanket. You take off only your shoes and hat and fall into an uncomfortable sleep. 

 **********************

In the morning, the family takes you to the small town of Valentine. There, you say your goodbyes and head into the general store where you trade in some jewels for money and buy some shirts and pairs of jeans. You’ve never worn pants before, but you figure the less you look like yourself, the easier you can hide. By this time surely, Stanley will have found a way to reach your husband and tell him of your disappearance. Leviticus may see you as nothing but property, but he will want you back, so you know he will begin a raging hunt. You desperately hope he never finds you as you hate to think what he’ll do to you if he does.

After buying clothes, provisions and a satchel to store things in, you head over to the stables and buy a tall cherry bay Thoroughbred named Willow. Only when the stablemaster comes out holding a heavy saddle do you realize another problem: you’ve never ridden with one leg on each side of the horse, only side saddle. Still, when you lead Willow out of the stables, you climb awkwardly into the stable and try your best to secure yourself in it, though it feels very foreign to you. You almost decide to buy a pistol from the gunsmith but realize that’s a foolish decision. You don’t know the first thing about guns and could very well end up shooting yourself. You decide it’s best to try and keep heading west, further from your home. 

As you head south and away from Valentine, only going at a walk since you’re unaccustomed to riding this way, Willow snorts and stomps her foot, coming to a stop. You try urging her to walk on, but she just snorts again. Looking on the ground, you see a rattlesnake on the path, coiled and rattling its tail at her. Willow suddenly rears up and throws you to the ground before darting off into the trees. The snake slithers off, but your shoulder hurts terribly from where it slammed into the ground. 

“You a’right, ma’am?” a voice asks. 

Looking behind you, you find the picture-perfect example of a cowboy sitting astride his horse. His dark gambler’s hat shades his eyes from the sun and his blue shirt is worn and dirt. He looks at you, his face tanned and dirty from days of being in the sun and the wild, his jaw stubbled with a short beard. You notice his blue eyes. 

“Yes, I’m alright,” you say, standing up and clutching your shoulder. “My horse was spooked by a snake.” 

“I saw,” he says, dismounting his horse. “You need help catchin’ her?” 

“Could you help?” you say, grateful he’s offering. “That would be lovely, sir.” 

He tips his hat and then runs off into the trees where Willow went. You hear him talking to her in a gentle voice. A moment later, he leads her out. You thank him and then try mounting up, but what was a difficult task before is even harder now that your shoulder’s hurt. 

“You need help, ma’am?” he asks again. 

You nod and with a wavering voice explain that you’re new to this. He huffs a small laugh. “New to ridin’ a horse, sounds like ya just came here from London or someplace. You sure you’re doin’ a’right?”

You realize he’s not asking about your physical being, but more about your situation. 

“To be honest, no sir. I’m… well, I come from a wealthy family but my husband died in a… a bad way and I had to run. Only I don’t know the first thing about being on my own.” You hope  he doesn’t hear the lie. 

“That much is clear,” he says, his hands on his hips. He looks rather attractive as he does and you blush and look away. He sighs heavily. “Well, sounds like you need help. Now I ain’t exactly clean in my own history, but I’m willin’ to offer you help until you get settled. Come on.” 

He helps you into your saddle and then leads you further down the road and into a large cluster of trees where a large camp is nestled. Over the next few hours, you’re forced to sit by the horses as the man who helped you discusses with two other men whether you should be allowed to stay. In the end, they agree you can with the warning that if you mention them to anyone, particularly lawmen or Pinkertons, they will not be forgiving. 

“Trust me,” you say to a tall man with a large black mustache and dark eyes. “I’ve no interest in speaking with lawmen. My husband will likely have them in his pockets, so they are just as much my enemy as they are yours.” 

The man nods and walks away, asking a middle-aged woman with a thick bun on her head to help you set yourself up.

*******************************

Over the next few weeks, you learn that the camp you’re living with is a gang of outlaws, led by Dutch Van der Linde. His second in command is Hosea Matthews and the man who brought you here, named Arthur Morgan, is his right hand man. 

Your introduction to the rest of the gang was not the smoothest as the matriarch, a woman named Susan Grimshaw, went into a right fit when she learned you have no domestic skills. “I never heard somethin’ so ridiculous in all my life!” she said. “Can’t even wash clothes!” 

The other girls were kind enough to teach you how to do the chores around camp. You knew how to sew at least, not because you ever had to repair your own clothing but because you’d learned as a child how to embroider and knit. Luckily, sewing up the gang’s clothing is similar work, though with little art. 

You like learning how to cook with a man named Simon Pearson. He’s quick to tell jokes, although he tells a lot of stories about his days with the navy and he only knows how to make a few things. You do somewhat miss having three-course meals three times a day, but you know you won’t starve here. 

Most of the people in camp are kind and curious about you, although you tell them nothing of your husband’s real identity. You’ve told them all he died and never mentioned his name. For some reason, you get the feeling that to let slip the fact that your husband is Leviticus would be a bad thing. Cornwall’s got a lot of business out this way and he’s made a lot of enemies. You simply tell the others that your husband and you moved down here from London a few years back but he’s always been an abusive, hateful bastard and because you’re in America, the land of opportunity, you finally had a chance to get away from your life after his death. The others scoff at you calling this place the land of opportunity, saying there’s little of that to go around for people like them. 

*******************************

You’ve become quite close to this gang that has quickly become your family over the last few weeks. Although most of them have their own sordid pasts, they’re good people. They have a sense of family you’ve never seen before, considering they come from a background your father would call “degenerate”. You’ve never seen people work so quickly and with such a sense of duty. Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t have their problems with each other. Arguments do break out, but most of them seem to be for show and rarely end in physicality. 

Only a week after you’d shown up, Arthur and some of the others came back with a red-haired man named Sean. You instantly knew he was Irish the moment he spoke. Since you both came from across the pond, you became close friends. You would have liked to get to know a woman named Molly O’Shea better as she was also Irish and she clearly came from a privileged background, but she didn’t seem interested. 

The person who was most interested in you though was Arthur, the man who’d brought you here. Of course, you were extremely interested in him too and it didn’t take long for you to get feelings for him. He works the hardest out of all of them and he cares about everyone. You saw him bring Mary-Beth a fancy fountain pen one day after she’d mentioned she wanted one. During his rare breaks when he was in camp, he’d often come find you. He claimed he just wanted to make sure you were settling in fine, but you noticed he stuck around you more than the others. He asked a lot of questions about your past, what your childhood and marriage was like, why you left. You told him everything except who your husband was and the fact that he wasn’t really dead. 

When you mentioned you lived your entire life being waited upon, he told you it sounded awful. “How did you not feel like a prisoner?” he asked. You were caught off guard by the question. Before you’d run away, you never felt that way. Now that you’re out here though, completely responsible for yourself, you realize you might as well have been a prisoner. You feel slightly envious about the others, realizing that even though none of them (except perhaps Molly) grew from well-off families, they’re wealthier in something you missed out on in life. All of them have tradable skills that you’re just now learning. Not only that, none of them have to put on a mask, hide who they are. Karen’s not shy about her drinking habits. Tilly used to run with a vicious gang and sometimes she talks about what that was like. No one in camp has ever had to pretend to be someone else. Something you were never allowed to do. 

You sit now with the girls, reading aloud from a book Mary-Beth gave you. Although you often worked with them, they liked you to read aloud. Something about your accent, you suspected. Just as you’re reading a rather romantic scene from the almost sickeningly passionate story, Arthur walks over to your group, clearly wanting to see what’s going on. He has a habit of doing that, which you find endearing. You hide your smile and continue reading as he stops, his hand on his gunbelt. He smiles as he listens, his eyes soft. 

Just as he’s about to say something, John Marston walks over and punches his arm. “Come on, Arthur. Got a job for ya. We’re gonna steal some sheep but need to go to Valentine for something.” 

“Fine,” Arthur says gruffly. Not long after they leave, Dutch and Strauss head off too. 

An hour or so later, the four men come back looking sweaty and angry, Strauss’s leg is bleeding. You’re washing some plates by Pearson’s wagon and Hosea marches over to them. 

“Dutch, Dutch what happened?” 

Dutch dismounts his white horse. “Turns out old Leviticus Cornwall don’t take too kindly to being robbed.” You freeze when you hear the name, but Dutch doesn’t notice. “He came up and tried to kill us, wants us to stop robbing him. We’ll have to leave this place, we had to shoot half the town in order to escape.” 

You follow Dutch into his tent, staying a few steps behind as you listen to him and Hosea. They talk a little more about what led to them being shot at, but neither of them mention knowing Leviticus has a runaway wife. You breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know, and if they do, they don’t know it’s you. 

******************************

After fleeing Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur and Dutch both agreed you needed to learn how to rob, ride a horse properly and shoot a gun. Arthur took it on himself to teach you those things and he was an incredible instructor: patient, knowledgeable but not arrogant. The more time you spent with him, the deeper your feelings got. A nagging suspicion settled in your gut that he liked you too. It was just the soft way he spoke to you, how his hands lingered on yours when he taught you how to shoot a shotgun. One time you slid right off Willow’s back and he came over to help you up, but his hands stayed on your arms too long. 

It didn’t take long for rumors to get out that you and Arthur were sweet on each other. Of course, you tried denying them, more to protect Arthur than yourself. No way could he want to be with you: a spoiled rich girl who didn’t even know how to sew a button on a shirt when he met you. He never treated you like a spoiled brat and he mentioned to you time and time again how sweet and honest you’ve been with everyone. 

One night after Arthur, Karen, Bill and Lenny robbed the bank in Valentine, Dutch demanded a party for their success as they brought back a lot of cash. Everyone drank and sang together, but it wasn’t long before Sean, Uncle and Lenny started needling Arthur for having a crush on you. He denied it again and again until John came up and joined the fun, stating how obvious it was with a list of examples of his behavior that proved he liked you. 

“I bet you ten dollars, Morgan,” John said, “that if you went over there and kissed her on the mouth right now, that girl would be blushing like crazy and wouldn’t even be mad. I know she likes  you.” 

“Shut your damn mouth, Marston,” Arthur retorted. That was until the other boys joined in on the bet, which climbed up to fifty dollars. All he had to do was kiss you in front of everyone right now. He’d had a lot of whiskey and his face was bright red, but when he looked at you sitting at the round table singing with Grimshaw, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter. You looked so beautiful in the light of the lantern, your cheeks pink from your own drunken state. 

“Go get her, son,” Hosea said. Arthur looked at him and then got up, walking slowly over to you. He fidgeted with his hands, terrified but fueled by drink. When he got to your table, he stopped. 

“Y/N, I got somethin’ to say to ya,” he said. 

You smiled and stood up so he could address you. “Alright, Mr. Morgan. What is it?” 

He stammered for a bit, his face growing redder. He hid his eyes beneath his hat and his hands were shaking. God, he was cute when he was nervous. 

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed you and bent you slightly backwards, his lips planting on yours. Out of all the things Arthur could have done that night, that was certainly the last thing you expected. You almost pulled away, but his lips were warm and rough against your smooth skin. He smelled nice too, like pine and leather although you could taste the alcohol on his lips. Forgetting that you had an audience, your hand wove up behind his neck, pulling him closer. Your chest grew warm and a light feeling overcame you, making you kiss him back. 

Someone whistled at you and Arthur, followed by several people laughing. That brought you back down to the present and Arthur pulled away from you and then straightened you up. His face was horribly red, but he was smiling. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I hope I didn’t frighten ya.” 

“Maybe a little, but I liked it,” you said, your hand still on his chest. You glanced at the onlookers as they continued to laugh and tease you. You bit your lip and looked up at Arthur. “What say you we go somewhere more private and try that kiss again?” 

He quickly grabbed your hand and led you off into the trees and then onto a moon-bathed beach by the lake. There, you two ended up doing much more than kissing, although that’s how it started. Encouraged by your drunken states, you were the one who got carried away and stripped out of your clothes in order to swim in the lake to relieve the heat of the air and your body. Arthur followed soon after, but you remember the way he watched you swim. Not long after, you ended up lying with him on the beach, his body glowing silver under the moon. You climbed onto him just to kiss him, but as you were naked and alone, it didn’t take much to end up going further. 

Although the only man you’d slept with before had been Leviticus, it was never on your terms and he only did things with you for a moment before he reached his satisfaction and was done with you. However, Arthur was so different. He touched you in just the right places, his rough hands gliding along your naked back and hips. He felt amazing inside of you as well, almost as though your bodies were molded for the other’s. He’d gotten you to release first then followed shortly after. You never knew sex could be so passionate and emotional, but Arthur made you feel and think things you’d never experienced before. 

The morning after had been a bit awkward when the two of you woke up naked on the beach, still wrapped around one another. You had a pounding headache and knew Arthur did too. When you remembered what you’d done together, you both panicked a moment. Had you really slept with Arthur the same night you found out he loved you back? The two of you dressed but stayed on the beach and talked things out. You came to the decision that what had happened had felt right and you wanted to stay together. After that, you were very open with your relationship to Arthur with the rest of the gang. 

That all happened weeks ago, and you’ve grown to love him more than you thought possible. You’d dreamed of finding a man to love as a child, but had no idea it felt like this. Even as a child, the men you’d imagined you’d love couldn’t hold a candle to Arthur. He’s thoughtful and secretly sensitive, but protective and strong. You remember the way he held you when Sean died, almost crushing you as you sobbed into his chest. Another time in Saint Denis, a man on the street had said something rather rude about you and Arthur punched him in the jaw. “You don’t get to say shit about my girl, ya hear?” he roared as the man fled. You couldn’t dream of a more perfect man to love than Arthur Morgan. 

You were crushed when Hosea and Lenny died and most of the gangs’ men, including Arthur, ended up on a boat and stranded on Guarma. You never thought you’d miss anyone so much, but during the couple of weeks that he was gone, you felt physical pain in his absence. You spent many nights lying on his cot clutching one of his shirts, willing his scent to stay and offer you some level of comfort. When he returned, it was like you could breathe again. Shortly afterwards though, the Pinkertons forced you and the gang to flee Lakay and into Beaver Hollow, an old Murphree hideout. 

That’s where you are now. While things with the gang have always had rough patches, now they’re worse than ever. People fight constantly and Dutch seems to be losing his mind. He’s changed from the intelligent, cunning but caring man into someone who’s still intelligent and cunning but enjoys killing. It doesn’t help that Micah constantly hisses into his ear. 

Over the past few months of travelling with the gang, you’ve heard relatively little from and about your husband. Somehow you’ve managed to avoid the patrols he’s likely sent out to look for you and you only saw your name show up once in an article in the Saint Denis paper about your disappearance. However, with tensions in the camp running higher than ever and Dutch acting so mad, you’re beginning to fear things are about to come to a head with you at the center. 

Micah strolls into camp, holding a newspaper under his arm and followed by Bill. They’ve just come from Annesburg, having scouted there for possible leads on scores. You’re standing at Pearson’s wagon, preparing tonight’s stew. Micah gives you a knowing and dark smile that you don’t like as he heads to Dutch’s wagon. A bad feeling comes into your stomach and you follow behind him a few steps. 

“Dutch, I just found somethin’ out. Somethin’ that could be real useful. Somethin’ with ol’ Cornwall,” Micah simpers at him. 

Dutch lowers his cigar and looks at Micah expectantly. Micah rubs his hands together. 

“Did you know ol’ Cornwall’s married and his little wife ran away right after we robbed his train up in Ambarino?” 

“How is this any use to us?” Arthur demands, having been attracted by the name Cornwall. “Not like we’re gonna find her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, cowpoke. Turns out we already found her and she’s right there.” Micah spins and points right at you. Everyone in camp stops and stares at you as your blood runs cold. 

“Shut up, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking up to your side to protect you. “Y/N’s husband’s dead.” 

“Or is he?” Micah retorts. He flings the newspaper at Arthur. “Read it and weep, Morgan.” 

Arthur furrows his brow but opens the newspaper. “N-no, don’t!” you plead, but too late. There’s a black and white photograph of you standing arm in arm with Leviticus Cornwall, your unsmiling faces staring up at Arthur. He reads the first bit of the article aloud. 

“Leviticus Cornwall, executive of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, Cornwall Rails blah blah blah has released a new statement regarding the disappearance of his wife. Back in May, Mr. Cornwall’s train was robbed in Ambarino by the notorious Van der Linde gang. In order to investigate the robbery, Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N came down from their home in Pennsylvania. Mr. Cornwall last saw his wife in Annesburg when she left to stay in his residence in New Hanover. It was reported that she did not arrive at the home but her stage driver and chauffeur, Mr. Stanley Wilcox, claimed she was missing shortly after arriving at Emerald Ranch. It was unknown then if they had been involved in her disappearance or if she’d been kidnapped by other means.”

“Earlier this month, a citizen of Saint Denis stated he’d seen Mrs. Cornwall in the city. ‘I’d just visited the Cornwall manor a week previously on business with my brother,’ Mr. Henry Larson reports. ‘I saw a painting in a hallway of Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N. I recognized her immediately. She was dressed like a farm girl but it was definitely her.’”

“A few days after this incident was reported, authorities had reached Mr. Cornwall about his wife’s appearance, but before he could arrive, the Saint Denis Massacre occurred in which the previously mentioned Van der Linde gang attempted to rob the city’s bank and a shootout between them, the city’s law enforcement and the Pinkerton Detective Agency occurred. The gang of outlaws has since fled the area, but rumors speculate that Mrs. Cornwall is among them. If anyone holds any information towards her whereabouts, they are greatly urged to come forward. Mr. Cornwall has offered a considerable $20,000 to anyone who can find his wife and return her safely.” 

Arthur lowers the paper, his eyes dark. Your hands are trembling. The cat’s out of the bag now and you’re in big trouble. Micah sniggers as Arthur looks at you, his eyes tell you the betrayal and pain he feels. 

“You’re Y/N Cornwall,” he says as a tear slides down your cheek. 

“Only on paper,” you say. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

“Oh because it was so hard to say ‘hello, I’m Y/N Cornwall, you just robbed my husband but do you mind if I run with you fellas a while’ when you first arrived?” Micah taunts. Dutch’s eyes are narrowed slightly, the way they do when he’s got a plan coming together. 

You look around at everyone staring at you in shock. Some look like they have a hard time believing it, Mary-Beth and John for example, while others look angry and hurt. Arthur is among them. He drops the newspaper and takes a step back from you.

“All this time,” he says quietly. “All this time and you never mentioned once you’re his goddamn wife!” 

Another tear falls. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Everyone, I’m sorry. But how was I supposed to tell you the truth? You robbed my husband, he tried to kill you. Not only that, I was never married to him by choice. My parents basically sold me to him and he’s never made me happy. Maybe… maybe I was just happy to finally be around people who didn’t associate me with him for once.” 

You clasp your hands in front of you, willing any of them to understand. Dutch walks slowly towards you, his jaw set. Micah follows behind, looking excited.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall. The man who has been hunting us for months. The man who holds the ticket to our freedom from this cesspit of a country. I think I have a new plan.” 

His eyes narrow, glittering. You suddenly realize what he’s thinking. 

“Dutch, please don’t take me to him. I’m begging you. If he finds me again, he’ll kill me. I don’t even know if he’ll pay you for me. Dutch, he hates you and your boys more than anything, you were the only ones stupid enough to rob him. I know for a fact he’s paying the Pinkertons to hunt you down.” 

“How do you know this?” John asks, standing next to Arthur.

“Because I know Leviticus better than any of you,” you say. “He obviously figured out pretty quickly that the gang from Blackwater were the same ones to rob him. He also must have found out the Pinkertons were looking for you, so I’ve no doubt he contacted them and started putting money into their pockets.” 

“Or you’re the rat we’ve been looking for,” Micah sneers. “Maybe you’re the one telling the Pinkertons our every move. Think about it, Dutch. All our problems with them started right after we took her in. She’s been lying to us from the start.” 

You don’t know what to say in your defense. Since you have lied to them from the start about your true past, there’s nothing you can do to say you aren’t lying to them now.

“Dutch, please,” you whisper, your lower lip trembling. 

He sighs and stares hard at you. “Tie her up.” 

Before you can move, two pairs of hands grip you tight and throw you down, your hands and feet being tied up. People are yelling, you hear Sadie screech and Arthur roar. You start trying to look around to ask someone for help, but a black cloth is tied around your head, covering your eyes. Someone shoves another cloth into your mouth, preventing you from speaking. You can still hear though. 

“Dutch!” Arthur roars. “Let’s talk about this! We can’t take her to Cornwall! Like she said, ain’t no guarantee he’d pay us after all the problems we given him.” 

You feel yourself thrown over a horse’s back as Dutch says, “This is the right move, Arthur. I don’t like it, but she’s used us and this is our best shot at getting out of here. Heyaw!” 

The horse beneath you suddenly begins to run and you can hear the pounding of other horses. Arthur still yells at Dutch, trying to make him think logically, but Dutch ignores him. 

After a while of heavy riding in which you feel like all your ribs and your stomach have been heavily bruised from the horse’s movements, they stop. You can smell the thick coal dust and the smell of polluted water. Someone’s hands grab you and you’re set on your feet, the ropes cut. The bandana and gag are removed and you see you’re standing on the pier of Annesburg, a boat docked. The name of it is The Soaring Emily. Leviticus named it that after his first wife. 

“Cornwall!” Dutch hollers, keeping a painfully tight hold on your arm. “Cornwall! Get out here! My friends and I have a proposal for you!” 

Looking behind you and Dutch, you spot Bill, Micah, John and Arthur. Arthur looks at you, pain in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this, but nothing can stop Dutch in his roll. 

A door on the ship’s deck opens and Leviticus Cornwall steps out, flanked by a group of men, all holding rifles. His eyes glare at you and then to Dutch.

“My friend,” Dutch says. “I heard tell that your lovely wife got away from your clutches. Well, just so happens, she’s been stowing away with me and my boys for the last few weeks. Rumor says you’re wanting her back, so we’re here to make a deal. You give me and my boys that $20,000 and a boat. You get your wife back and we’ll stop robbing from you. In fact, you’ll never hear from us again.” 

Leviticus just laughs. “Mr. Van der Linde, I admire your determination and your daring, but if you think I will give you a single penny, then you’re sorely mistaken.” 

“How about now?” Dutch responds, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at your temple. He pulls the back the hammer, your heart pounding in your ears as more tears fall down your cheeks. Dutch wouldn’t kill you, would he? After all the time you spent in his camp, helping feed the others and bring in money, he’s just going to kill you. Something tells you he will if he doesn’t get his way. 

“Dutch,” Arthur hisses a warning behind him. He’s ignored.

“Now Mr. Cornwall, I know what it’s like to see the woman you love die by the hands of your greatest enemy. Now while I doubt poor Y/N here is the love of your life, you obviously value her in some way. Which would you rather keep? Her life or your money?” 

Cornwall glares back at him, his teeth bared. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Van der Linde. Business doesn’t care for feelings or love. Shoot her if you must, but I will not give you anything!” 

Your stomach drops as you realize that this is it. Dutch is just crazy enough that he won’t care about shooting a member of his own gang. You’re not surprised at all that Leviticus is willing to let you die. To him, you’re replaceable, a mere object. Still you thought you mattered to the others, to Arthur. 

Before anyone can do anything to save you from Dutch’s grip, Dutch nods. “You sure? Fine, I prefer it this way.” He suddenly swings the gun forward and shoots Cornwall, the bullet piercing his chest. He pushes you down as Cornwall’s men begin firing, the others shooting back. The gang begins to run as more men come out from the boat, leaving you where you’ve fallen. You start to scream, begging for help, but it seems no one can hear you amidst the gunfire. 

Suddenly a pair of hands grabs your arms and cuts the length of rope binding them, then they lift you up. “Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur’s rough voice says as you stand. 

You’re shaking hard and you want nothing more than to throw your arms around him, but now isn’t the time. Sharp gunshots litter the air, echoing off the buildings. Arthur grabs your hand and runs north on the train tracks. When you reach a bridge going over a sharp dip in the land, a path running through it, he stops. 

“You go, darlin’,” he says, breathing hard. “Go, don’t come back to Beaver Hollow. It ain’t safe for you there.” 

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” you say, thinking he’s pushing you away because he’s mad. 

“Just go, darlin’. I’ll come find you when I can. But you can’t come back, ya hear? You do and you’re dead.” Before you can say anything else, he’s running back down the bridge towards Annesburg to rejoin the gang. You know he can’t leave of course. Not now anyways. Dutch and the others still depend on him too much. 

You flee from Annesburg, having no idea where you’ll go or what you’ll do. Your horse is back at Beaver Hollow, but luckily all your money and the few pieces of jewelry you stole from Leviticus are in your satchel. You run north towards Willard’s Rest and then stop by the wide river where you finally break down. The past few weeks come rushing through you, the good and the bad. You know since Guarma, Dutch has gone crazy but you never thought he’d turn on you like that. Not when he’s spouted for weeks about having loyalty and faith to anyone who would listen. Your life has come crashing down around you so swiftly, you aren’t sure how to process it. 

You stay here for a few hours, going between sobbing, missing the gang (especially Arthur) and feeling numb. As the sun begins to set, you look down the path and see Arthur riding up, your horse in tow. When you see him, you begin to cry again. You don’t run to him though, knowing how hurt he must be. 

He dismounts and walks over to you, pulling you into a tight hug which surprises you. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” you wail into his shirt. “I never meant to hurt you.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. “I know why ya lied. Hell, I probably would’ve too. But everything else you said, was it true?” 

“Everything is. The way I grew up, how I was sold to him. I promise his name and the fact that he wasn’t dead at the time was the only parts I hid.” 

He sighs and pulls away. “Well, I guess one of your lies came true today though. Darlin’, I’m so sorry.” 

Over the next few hours, you and he discuss what will happen now. He comes to the decision he won’t leave the gang, he can’t. He knows now that there’s no saving Dutch, but maybe he can help the others get out. You, on the other hand, would be handed a death sentence if you stepped foot into the camp. He asks what you want to do and you admit that you just want to live somewhere alone with him and have a quiet life, begin a family with him. He blushes but agrees that’s what he wants to. 

The next day, he takes you to a small cottage he’s seen on the borders of New Hanover and Ambarino, not far from the river. It’s secluded and well hidden in the trees. You have plenty of money to set your things in order, so you’ll be well off here. It’s also far enough from the gang that they won’t find you but it’s not far enough for him to not come visit you. 

Over the next couple of weeks, he visits every couple of days. You manage to take care of yourself quite well having learned through him how to hunt and skin animals. You bought some materials and seeds from the store in Valentine and are determined to start a garden, although you’ve never taken care of plants before. It’s a lot harder than you thought, but you manage to get a few plants sprouting. 

When Arthur visits, he tells you of the things he and the gang has done, how much crazier Dutch gets. Arthur himself is growing angry and mistrustful of him, but he’s determined to help the others escape with their lives. Sometimes you read about the gang’s activities in the paper in Valentine, like Bacchus Bridge being blown up, Colm O’Driscoll’s hanging in Saint Denis followed by a deadly shootout, tensions growing between the Wapiti and the army. 

One night Arthur shows up at your little cabin late into the night. He’s exhausted and there’s blood on his hands. “I’m done, darlin’,” he says when you open the door. “I ain’t ever goin’ back there. I’ve wasted my life livin’ the preachings of a crazy man.”

“What happened?” 

Arthur explains how the son of the Wapiti chief went and did a raid on Cornwall’s oilfield in order to retaliate for them forcing his people off their land. You know Arthur has had many dealings with them, trying to help them in their struggles against the army. Arthur then describes how, after getting bonds from the foreman’s office, he got knocked down by a burst pipe. An officer pinned him to the floor and nearly overpowered him. Dutch had seen it all and even had the chance to kill the man, but Arthur watched him walk away, sealing his fate.  

“If Eagle Flies hadn’t come, I’d be dead. Then that asshole Colonel Favors shot him. He’s dead now, and all because Dutch didn’t care if I died. When I accused him of such, he lied in front of everyone and said he’d done no such thing. I’m done, darlin’. I’m done fightin’ his battles for him just so he can leave me to die. I wanna start a new life with you properly now.” 

“Arthur,” you say, cupping his cheek. “That’s all I ever wanted.”