#like some strange last attempt at being relatable

[madeofsunbeams]

why does lana want 2 cosplay as middle to lower middle class so bad

[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

CHAPTER II - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapter: [x] Word Count: 3.4k+ words (unedited). Genre/other tags: Angst with some fluff. Jealousy. Fem pronouns used. Warnings: Swearing. Self-deprecation. Manipulation (on Alastor's part).

It had been nearly over a week since you and Lucifer last talked – it had also been a week since Lucifer was last seen around in the hotel. Angel, being the gossiper he was, relayed everything that had transpired between you two to the others the following day. Seeing the sensitive and sad shell of a person you were left in, everyone remained cautious and had started walking on eggshells around you. Of course, you were quick to pick up on that, as embarrassing as it all was (minus Alastor, who continued on with his usual theatrics and mischief). 

Charlie in particular was the most concerned out of them all, since this was her dad we were talking about. She knew with certainty that he was confining himself in the castle to distract himself from what happened – likely something involving his rubber-ducky obsession – instead of facing the problem head on. It was his pride that sometimes got in the way of his better judgement.

Not only that, but Charlie clearly saw the massive toll it took on you. If you weren’t distracting yourself with work or doing something related to the hotel, you would lock yourself away in your room, only coming out to quickly grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. Charlie even made efforts to strike many conversations with you from time to time, but was either excused or was only given one-worded responses. She knew not to take your dismissive behaviour to heart, but she couldn’t help but fret over you.  

So it came as an absolute surprise when out of nowhere, Charlie received a call from her father. She messily scrambled for her phone on her desk, fumbling and nearly dropping it in the process before violently tapping on the small screen. “H-Hello?! Dad, hey!” She answers a bit too enthusiastically while nervously combing her hair with a free hand. “Uh, hey Charlie!” Lucifer stiffly greets from the other line, “I just…um, thought I’d give a call to, uh, see how everyone’s going at the hotel!” The Princess noted how much hoarser his voice was than usual, but decided not to comment on it aloud. 

“Well, y’know how it is! It’s been busy and lively as always–everyone’s been working really hard and all,” she answers vaguely, nervously chuckling. “Err, yeah! Right. That’s a–that’s a relief to hear. Yep,” he hums. There was a brief, awkward pause that ensued soon after, the both of them not knowing what to say next. The whole exchange was becoming increasingly painful that Charlie resisted the urge to pull her hair. She then clears her throat. “H-How about you, dad? What’ve you been up to? You’ve been gone for a couple or so days,” Charlie finally musters, “are…are you doing alright?” 

“Me? Oh yeah, psh! I just got, erm…a lot of things going on at the moment. It’s not so easy being the big boss of hell after all! Got a lot of important things to do! Plus, I’ve got heaps of paperwork to do for the hotel. You should know how tedious that is,” He says, adding an exaggerated groan. 

The princess furrows her brows. “Oh, that’s…strange. ’Cause I could’ve sworn you left all the papers here…y’know, the ones you told me to revise over?” Charlie replies, side-eyeing the said documents stacked neatly on her desk. A startled yelp escapes his throat. “O-Oh...did I?” He stammers.

Charlie couldn’t help but wince at the evident panic that began to set in as she listened to her father make incomprehensible noises from the other line. It was a poor attempt in reasoning, which ultimately became useless in the end. Lucifer let out a long sigh, caught red-handed. “Oh, who the hell am I kidding? You guys probably already know what happened–which by the way, Charlie, you shouldn’t be lying to me about!” He pointedly remarks. 

“I-I’m sorry, dad! It’s just…I’m really worried about you,” she reasons, before shortly adding, “...The both of you.” 

There was a small pause. “...How is she, by the way?” He then asks quietly. Charlie nervously tugs her bottom lip with her fangs. “Well, she’s keeping herself busy. Constantly, as a matter of fact. And I know she’s trying hard to convince us all that she’s holding up okay, but…she doesn’t look too good, dad. She seems really upset.”

A shaky exhale sounded from his end. “I…I really am hopeless, aren’t I?” He mumbles defeatedly. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could picture him burying his face in his hands. The image caused Charlie’s eyes to soften. “Dad, no. It’s not too late. You still have a chance to make things right,” Charlie gently encourages through the speaker, “you just need to talk to each other–”

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a bright, blazing portal manifests from thin air – from it, emerges Lucifer himself who appeared extremely dishevelled, effectively catching Charlie off guard. 

“But, hun, y-you don’t understand! I messed up big time!” He exclaims, tugging on his unkempt hair as he aimlessly paced around her office. “I-I mean, look at me! I’m a fucking mess and a coward! Why would she ever think to take me back after what I did!?” He chuckles humourlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “I-It’s like no matter how many times I try to redeem and convince myself that everything’s finally going right in my life, I just continue to fuck myself over and over again. And it’s just– ugh! It’s pathetic! I’m fucking pathetic!” 

Charlie’s chest tightened considerably as she watched her father self-destruct before her. Strands of his golden hair were sticking out here and there, his dress-shirt tousled, and his eyes were glossed over and red, from both a lack of sleep and crying. He looked utterly devastated. Chucking her phone away, she immediately sped towards and enveloped Lucifer in her arms, who immediately broke down into heavy sobs. Seeing him like this brought tears to her own eyes, but she firmly told herself to be the stronger person in this situation, for his sake. 

“Hey, hey. Dad, listen to me, okay? Everyone deserves a second chance. You of all people should know–you were the one who taught me that, remember?” Charlie rubbed his back soothingly, trying to ease the jumpiness of his shoulders. “And that also applies to you. I…I know you’ve been through a lot, especially with mum…” She couldn’t help the way her frown deepened as she spoke, “...and I miss her too. I miss her a lot. But…I think it’s finally time for you to move on. It’s been years, dad. You deserve to be happy and you’re allowed to be in love again.” 

“[Name]’s an amazing person, and there’s no doubt about that. She’s proved that more than many times already. I’m certain that once things ease over and you guys finally talk things through, everything will turn out okay; she’s very understanding and kind like that. You’ll both be okay.” Charlie gently pulls Lucifer away and with the sleeve of her blazer, she wipes his damp, reddened cheeks. “I know for a fact that she loves and cares about you deeply – we can all see it as clear as day. You…you love her too, don’t you, dad?” 

For a brief moment’s contemplation, Lucifer suddenly recalled the times you spent together, from your initial meeting to now. He had always thought you were a strong and independent soul, with the way you carried yourself. You just had something about you that naturally drew in those around you, including himself. When Lucifer got to know you in a deeper level, he was enthralled by how kind and understanding you were – you were always there to listen to his many tales and endless nonsense; you would always seem genuinely interested in his rubber-duck-esque inventions, offering some input and critiquing his creations; and you would always be so, so supportive of all his plans and ideas, no matter how extraordinary they all seemed.

If he hadn't known any better, Lucifer would've thought you were an actual angel. You were the saviour that wore off the darkness in troubling times, and the one who pulled him out of the void that Lilith had left him in. That and more, as you continuously gave him a real reason to remain hopeful. You were proof personified, that he was able to open his heart once more, and to love again.

“I-I do, I really do,” Lucifer affirms in a heartbeat. Charlie smiles warmly, relieved by his answer, “then that’s all you need to say.” At that moment, Lucifer's chest swelled in overwhelming pride for his daughter, knowing that despite not being as present in her life until recently, she grew up to be the good and strong-willed person he had hoped for.

“O-Oh, jeez. Since when did you grow up so big? I should be the one comforting you,” He tearfully jokes, sniffling whilst returning her smile, “but thank you, Charlie. Really. I’m…I-I really am grateful to call you my daughter.” The two royalties then shared a heart-felt moment and a bone-crushing hug, with the King's heart being filled with a new-found determination. Because, just as he always says: The show must go on. 

Earlier on:

On the other side of the building, you were drowning yourself in your own self-despair as you overlooked the balcony by the front entrance of the hotel. Your eyes lazily scanned the new hotel patrons below, who were engaging in some trust exercises led by Vaggie, who came in to cover you just moments ago. Every once in a while, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone, silently hoping to receive some sort of notification from Lucifer, or even an inkling of his whereabouts. But you received nothing, which only fuelled your growing anxiety.

You felt awful leaving the way you did that night, especially after dumping so much onto Lucifer. You felt like you were being completely selfish, and had cornered him into making a big decision. And because of that, your relationship was on the line. You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing angrily at your face.

Little did you know however, that you had some company lurking nearby, watching you in silent amusement. 

“Now, don’t you look as miserable as ever?” Alastor mockingly chimes in, stepping out from the shadows to make his presence known and joins you by the balcony. You roll your eyes at the deer-demon before turning your head the other direction. “Yeah, and what about it?” You scoff, leaning in to rest your arms against the rails, “Can’t you go bother someone else, Alastor? I’m certainly not in the mood right now.”  

“Why, I wouldn’t be a good hotelier if I left a dear co-worker of mine so down in the slumps!” To your dismay, Alastor reappears in front of you, obstructing your field of view, "And might I add, it's not healthy for you to be all cooped up in your room all the time – stay there any longer, and it can do silly, little things to your head!" He emphasises his point as he spins a finger in a circular motion by his temple. You shot him an irritated look, slowly growing fed up by his prodding. 

"Listen, I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I’m more than capable of deciding that on my own,” you growl, straightening up to cross your arms firmly against your chest. “Hm...no, I don’t think so!” Alastor hums, shaking his head disapprovingly, “The unfortunate affair that took place in your courtship with the King has left you in such a vulnerable, and problematic state. And I’m sure you’ve taken note of how everyone’s been acting around you – constantly walking on their tiptoes in fear of setting you off on a hissy-fit. You’ve caused them to worry a lot about you, dear. Poor ol’ Charlie, especially.” 

You open your mouth to retort back, but nothing came out. A strong pang of guilt struck you as his words began to sink in. Seeing this, Alastor’s grin widened a faction as he stepped forward and levelled himself with you, now facing you eye-to-eye. “And as the executive producer of this fine establishment, might I critique that your behaviour is affecting our team’s morale and performance…and we mustn’t have that now, should we? Especially not since we’ve all been more preoccupied recently with our guests!” He…had a fair point, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…know…” Your voice began to trail off, shoulders slumping in realisation of how selfish and contemptuous you’ve been acting this whole week. You recalled the fretful expressions of your friends and your dismissive attitude towards them. “I-I didn’t mean to make everyone worry…” you quietly say. Alastor’s words only made you feel immensely worse about the whole situation, leaving you sniffling on the spot. 

“Now, now. As long as you realise your mistakes, then you shall be forgiven,” he coos, softly patting the tuft of your head. At that, you couldn’t help but send a doubtful glance his way. “W-wait a minute…why do you care all of a sudden? What exactly are you playing at?” You suspiciously question as you rub at your eyes. 

“Oh, how you wound me, dear! Why must you always question any act of kindness I display? Is it really that hard to believe?” He adverts, evidently feigning hurt. You deadpan. “Yes, it is,” you reply almost instantly. Alastor chortles at your bluntness, “Haha! You’re quite a work of art, aren't you, dear? Now, let’s go out for a walk, shall we?” 

Before you could’ve processed what he had said, Alastor had already spun you around, pulling you with him as you both headed down a flight of stairs. “Wha–Alastor, where are we–where the heck are you taking me?” You asked, trying to keep up with his long strides so as to not trip down the stairs. “Hm? Did I not already specify? It looks like your brooding has impacted your hearing, dear. That’s a shame,” he slyly comments, now dragging you towards the entrance, “We’re both going for a walk around town, it’ll help clear that cloudy head of yours!” 

“Hold on-Stop! Just what makes you think I’d agree to go out with you?” You shoot back, retracting your arm from his hold and stopping metres behind him. Alastor sharply turns around and pulls out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper out of thin air. Your eyes dart towards the sheet, seeing a familiar hand-writing across the page. 

“Why, I just knew you were going to question me – you're so predictable. But might I add, we’re not going out without purpose! No, no! Our lovely Charlie has composed a list and requested we fetch a couple items in town!” Stepping forward, you swiftly snatched the paper from his clawed hand and briefly scanned the list, noting that it largely consisted of decorations and party items. “She wanted to organise a heart-warming celebration for the wayward souls here who have accomplished some milestones on their journey to redemption! An anniversary ceremony of sorts, if you will,” Alastor explains, lightly patting the non-existing dust off of his suit.

“But couldn’t you just…I don’t know, teleport the things here?” You blatantly ask, raising a brow at him. You knew he was more than capable of doing such minuscule tasks within a span of seconds. “And waste such a beautiful day outside? Now, why would I even consider doing that?” Alastor states matter-of-factly, “And like I said, the short trip will help clear your troubled mind! Consider it a gesture of compassion from yours truly.” 

There was clearly something off about all this but you couldn’t see any reason for an ulterior motive. It was just…simply a manager looking out for the well-being of his work-colleagues, as uncharacteristic and off-putting as it sounded out loud. Already exhausted, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to question his actions any further.

“You’re really not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” You ask. Seeing the way Alastor’s grin widened had you sighing in defeat. “Shall we then?” Alastor questions, offering an arm out to you. Rolling your eyes, you loop one of your arms through and follow him out the hotel. ‘A small walk wouldn’t hurt…’ you think to yourself as the doors shut behind you. 

Currently:

Lucifer tiredly dragged himself to his designated room in the hotel, to rest for a while and take a much needed bath as per Charlie’s advice. He gave himself a lengthy pep-talk in front of the mirror as he brushed his teeth, deciding to approach you tonight to finally talk and clear things out. Yes, he was absolutely terrified about the possibility of things going south during the confrontation, but he didn’t think he could handle another second being without you. And he needed to make that loud and clear. 

After putting on an outfit and neatly slicking his hair back, Lucifer looked at his reflection once more in the bedside mirror, inspecting himself up and down to flatten any remaining creases of his clothing. But it wasn't until his gaze landed on his left hand that he tensed up. Peering down, he brought his hand into view to inspect the very wedding band that caused it all. With a shaky sigh, Lucifer slowly pulled the ring off of his finger. He took a moment to examine it, eyes filled with sentiment before kneeling down to open his bedside drawer, where its designated ring-box sat. The moment he encased the ring in its box and locked it away in his drawer, it felt like a breath of fresh air. To his own surprise, Lucifer found himself tearfully laughing – he felt...genuinely happy. Proud, even. It was at this very moment that he felt like he was finally ready to move forward.

After patting the stray tears away from his face, Lucifer slowly made his way down to the front lobby. There, Charlie and Vaggie were talking amongst themselves by the lounge area, whilst Angel and Cherri chuckled away by the bar, with Husk tending to their beverages. The King didn’t give an inkling of care as to where Alastor had gone, and he was certain that Nifty was hiding somewhere in the small crevices of the hotel, cleaning away. All in all, there was no sight of you whatsoever, visibly disappointing him. 

Seeing his approaching form, Charlie waved his father over towards them. “Hey, dad. Are you feeling a bit better now?” She asks with a comforting smile. “Yeah, totally. Thanks, dear,” he says, patting her shoulder affectionately before turning his attention towards her partner. “Hey! How’s it going, Maggie? I’ve heard you’ve been working real hard lately, huh? Good on yah!” He commends, playfully nudging the said demon. “Oh, um…it’s–it’s Vaggie, sir. And uh, thanks,” she nervously chuckles, rubbing her arm. “Mhm, yeah…that’s–that’s great,” Lucifer distractedly hums, all the while scanning around the room. Noticing this, Vaggie shared a worried look with Charlie. 

“Erm, dad, she’s not here at the moment if that’s what you’re wondering,” Charlie starts, alerting her father. “Oh? Well, is she up in one of the guest rooms?” Lucifer asked, gesturing upstairs with a thumb. To his confusion, Charlie appeared somewhat nervous, her hands fidgeting with her suit. “Uh, no, she’s actually not in the hotel at the moment,” Vaggie steps in, “she’s been out doing a couple of errands for us.” Lucifer raised a brow at the slight edginess in her tone, eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. “...Um, alright. What the heck is going on right now?" He asks, pointing an accusatory finger at them both, "You guys are acting sketchy as fuck. Are you...are you guys hiding something from me?" He narrows his eyes. Charlie sucks in a breath, brows pinching together, “Well...dad, t-the thing is–” 

“She’s out with Smiles right now!” Angel suddenly intervened, calling out from the other side of the room, and causing Charlie to cower and duck behind Vaggie. Lucifer felt his shoulders grow rigid. “She’s…what now?” He dangerously asks, glaring at the arachnid. Before Lucifer trudged towards the direction of the bar, the front doors of the hotel abruptly flew open. He felt the vein in his neck nearly burst at the sound of your laughter interlacing itself with that god-awful, irritating radio feedback. What a wild coincidence.

As Lucifer turned around, his eyes nearly flew out of his head as he saw how close you were with Alastor, arms basically locked together. The radio-demon was quick to meet eyes with the King, and out of spite, Alastor flashed him the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.

“Oh, fuck no!”

Chapter III - Finale [x]

Thank you for reading!

[putterpen]

@vespasoulchanger

Yeeeeah. The other picture. I saw two bears across two entirely different game franchises and went "Lol wouldn't it be funny if they were related?" to nobody but myself. I'm sure Bobby and Freddy are offended by my specism. Then I started to take the silly idea kinda seriously? Then over thought it. I did base Bobby's pizza uniform on the FNAF movie costume.

So yeah Freddy Fazbear is Bobby's dad in my AU. Freddy Bonafazio is his real name. People usually shorten their last name to 'Fazio which eventually turned into Fazbear. Its a local thing.

I'm being bad and only focusing on one parent (Like Scott Cawthon) Fred is the owner of a humble pizzeria on the island known as Teddy Paw Cay. A successful partnership with Play Co. allowed him to sell their their toys as prizes. He comes from a long line of roboticists and designed his own mascots and animatronics, some of which are even produced at Play Co.

Bobby loves her dad and she means the world to him. Freddy has dedicated his life to the entertainment and happiness of children as Bobby's love for him and her friends gives him seemingly endless inspiration. But one strange day the magical toy factory in the valley was closed down and abandoned, seemingly overnight.

Without the toy factory, Freddy struck out to find a new business partner on the mainland. A very laid back raccoon-dog type lad with a hand in many businesses. He's kind of mysterious yet friendly! Although Bobby realizes later on that her father began to change in some ways after their partnership began.

Unfortunately this partnership meant Bobby had to move away from the island. Alone and without friends, she was immediately smitten with one of Nook's nephews though her feelings were not reciprocated. He eventually warms up to her and her strong cuddly warm bear hugs even if he doesn't want to show it out right.

Note: Tim's comment is from their first meeting and Bobby's first time on the mainland. An attempt to streamline the "canon" Smiling Critters with my AU where everyone wears clothes. So one day in every little critter's life, they wake up and realize: "Hey clothes are cool. I wanna try some on!" Before then, little critters usually scurry around wild and fancy free, even running around on all fours sometimes, basically showing more animal like behavior, in very cute ways. As they grow up they start acting more like "people" and there are shops dedicated to little critters trying on an array of outfits. Discovering themselves and their tastes. Tim thinks he is "all that" and wouldn't be caught dead with no clothes, Bobby just hasn't gotten around to that yet.

Also experimenting with a possible eye style with Bobby.

[thesummerestsolstice]

My Headcanon Crafts for the House of Feanor:

Nerdanel: a sculptor; about the best in all of Valinor. Many of her early sculptures were praised, but also seen as a bit strange because they looked so real, but no one could identify any model they'd been based off of. Later, it would be recognized that she'd sculpted several of her own children, long before they were born.

Maedhros: an actor. Back in Valinor, he often played romantic leads in comedies and tragedies alike. He was very dramatic back in the years of trees, but got more subdued in Middle-Earth for... obvious reasons. A few of the posters for plays he was in made their way to Middle-Earth and got passed around Himring like contraband.

Maglor: a bard. While he often composed his own songs, he was also one of those charged with memorizing the old oral history of the Quendi– the elven equivalent of like, being able to memorize and recite the Iliad. Much of this early Elvish history was almost lost by the end of the First Age, and Maglor attempted to preserve it by writing it down. Eventually, those books ended up saved in Rivendell's library.

Celegorm: a hunter in Orome's train. Was famous for his ability to hit quickly moving targets through the thick forests of Valinor, even when mounted. He also enjoyed making various things out of the pelts, teeth, claws, and antlers of his kills. He's made very nice fur coats for several of his siblings and cousins.

Caranthir: a fiber artist; mostly focusing on weaving and embroidery. He's not sure whether to feel flattered or vaguely worried by all the Miriel comparisons. He insisted on making most of his family's formal clothing because all of Feanor's kids can get at least a little craft-related hubris. As a treat.

Curufin: a smith. His father was most famous for his jewelry, but Curufin would come to be known mostly for his weapons. They were so reliable that many of them lasted until the Third Age. There are rumors he poured some of his soul into the weapons he made for his brothers. But those are only rumors.

Amras & Amrod: painters. They specialized in incredibly detailed landscape paintings. I say "they" because all their works were done together; Amrod would make the sketch and darker linework and Amras would add the colors and shading. Their work was often very nostalgic and peaceful, with bright watercolors and gentle shadows.

Bonus! Feanor saved a lot of his kids' work from when they were really young and just starting their crafts. It's all what you'd expect from a small child's art, but Feanor still acts like they're masterpieces. His kids all think it's super embarrassing but he's really proud of them.

Headcanons for Finwe and his Children, the House of Fingolfin, the House of Finarfin, and the rest of the House of Finwe. Thanks for asking about Finwe's grandkids @hyperlexia-1 :)

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Under Your Spell

Vox x Reader

Since childhood, I have been told I look identical to my great-grandmother. Her husband, my great-grandfather, has looked at me like I was the last fragment of her to walk this earth. When he passed, it made me realize how some people lose their first loves and never get to see them again. I decided for this story that Vox should get to see his first love after he thought all was lost. However, it was you, his first lost love's great-granddaughter. You have the same looks and names, just younger. He thought after his first love's father chased him away, that was it, and any part of your life would never be in his hands again—until you were placed in Val's hands, and his protective side came out. Can you two learn to love each other? Will things grow or dissolve since he is close to that horrid Moth man? Tw: MDNI, 18+, Assult, Val being Val, Weird family-like relations, based off my HC Vox

Wow, this one is a long one. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! I don't normally write long pieces like this, so if we like it, I will attempt to do it more! I wanted this posted yesterday but just kept writing and writing and writing. I had to make myself stop and cut off.

“No, Vox! You will never see my daughter again! Do you hear me?” The older man’s voice thundered, his face a deep crimson, veins bulging as fury twisted his features. Spit flew from his mouth with each vehement word, a grotesque display of his rage. “She is a good Christian woman, and she will not fall for your television antics! She deserves a good man—someone who can provide for her, not some reality star scum!”

Vox swallowed hard, the bitter taste of desperation rising in his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he fought to keep them at bay, unwilling to give the man before him the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. “You can’t do this!” He surged forward, trying to push the door open again, the threshold of your home now a barrier between love and despair. Just moments ago, he had envisioned a simple marriage proposal—an intimate moment filled with promise. But the moment he uttered those words, it felt as if the heavens had opened up to unleash divine wrath upon him. Vox was never a good christian man and now only seemed to further prove that.

“I love her! I have loved her for so long! I will treat her right! You cannot take my Angel from me!” His voice cracked, desperation saturating each syllable as he pleaded with the man who wielded the power to shatter his dreams.

But the door slammed shut, the finality of it echoing in his heart. As Vox stumbled back, the world around him blurred, the vibrant colors of love fading into a monochrome nightmare. You were gone, just as quickly as you had entered his life, your father’s iron grip ripping you from his arms. Like a good Christian girl, you obeyed, never looking back.

You married a well-off businessman, someone who could provide in all the ways Vox was deemed incapable. Sundays found you in polished pews, while he languished in the bright glare of daytime TV. You bore children while Vox climbed the ranks to prime time, and as he basked in fleeting fame, you were left to wither under the weight of a dreaded illness. When he was ultimately taken down by his own deceitful schemes, it felt like a cruel twist of fate for you both.

When Vox woke in hell, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he felt a strange sense of contentment; he knew he had courted darkness throughout his life. A con man’s rise to fame was paved with the broken dreams of others, and he’d danced on that line with reckless abandon. Yet, the greatest cost was the loss of you—his little angel, the only light that could have guided him from the shadows. Perhaps, if he had kept you by his side, he might have found redemption instead of ruin.

Years in hell stretched on, dull and monotonous, much like his time as a TV host. He made acquaintances, and he made enemies. He learned from the notorious Radio Demon, their relationship evolving into a rivalry as fierce as it was complex. Valentino entered the picture, a partnership forged in the fires of self-interest, followed by Velvette, who added her own chaotic flair to their strange trio. Despite these new connections, Vox could never fully release you from his heart. How could he let go of his first love, the girl who had filled his world with color?

Vox kept tabs on you long ago when you two still walked among the living, an unyielding shadow lurking in the corners of your life. He was a shady man, after all, so it was no surprise that he employed someone to follow you and your family. He needed to know you were loved and cared for, even if it meant watching from the sidelines. Your life blossomed into something beautiful—a picture-perfect family, Sunday church outings, laughter echoing through the halls of your home. Each glimpse of your happiness twisted the knife in his heart, a reminder of what he had lost. He only wished now here in hell he could have a moment to see you once more.

Yet, you never looked back at him, not once. Even when he learned you were sick, he held onto the hope that your devoted husband would nurse you back to health. Instead, you spent your final years in a realm far brighter than hell, surrounded by family, while Vox remained trapped in the shadows.

Then, one fateful day, the story took an unforeseen turn. You, Y/N L/N, the great-granddaughter of the woman who once bore the same name and likeness, found yourself in a world steeped in piety and predictability. Your family’s life revolved around the church—Sunday services, Bible studies, and summer camps that felt more like shackles than blessings.

Yet you, the wild child among your siblings and the first daughter in generations, danced on the edge of rebellion. Your spirit, a fiery blend of your grandmother’s beauty and the reckless charm of a man she once sought to escape late into the night with, burned brightly. You lived humbly, taking only what you needed in the daylight, but at night that didn’t stop you from indulging in the vices that thrilled your heart—partying, drinking, and seeking freedom in every forbidden encounter.

As you stepped into adulthood, the veil of your misdeeds was ripped away, exposing the wild and reckless girl you had been. On your eighteenth birthday, the news broke like a thunderclap, echoing through your conservative town. Whispers turned to shouts as tales of your high school escapades spread like wildfire—parties, late nights, and indiscretions that painted you as the black sheep of your family.

In a desperate attempt to salvage your reputation, your parents enrolled you in a Christian college, hoping the structure would steer you back to the righteous path. But even there, with the pressure of expectations weighing heavily on you, you found ways to maintain your hedonistic lifestyle. You studied hard, yes, but the allure of nightlife was too intoxicating to resist. By the time you turned twenty-four, your antics had once again come to light, revealing just how unladylike and un-Christian your behavior had truly become.

Disowned by your family, you were cast out like a forgotten relic, but it hardly stung. You had siblings aplenty—golden children who fit the mold your parents desired. While they basked in their parents' approval, you reveled in your newfound freedom, embracing a life unshackled from the burdens of propriety. You danced through life with a wild abandon, each misstep a badge of honor in your quest for self-discovery.

But this exhilarating freedom came crashing down one fateful night. On the eve of your twenty-eighth birthday, you found yourself at a pulsating club, surrounded by friends who matched your energy. Laughter and music melded into a cacophony of joy, and for a moment, the weight of your past felt distant. But as the night wore on, everything blurred. A drink, laced with malice, slipped into your hand, and before you knew it, the world around you faded to black.

When you came to, the vibrant lights and music were replaced by an oppressive stillness. You blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. Panic surged through you as you recognized your surroundings—a hellish landscape bathed in a sinister shade of red. The air was thick with a suffocating heat, and the ground beneath you felt like it was pulsating with a malevolent energy.

The reality of your situation crashed down like a wave, and you realized you were no longer in the world you had known. You had crossed an unforgiving threshold, one that led straight into this hellish landscape. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes—your family’s disappointment, your reckless choices, the fleeting moments of joy that now seemed tainted.

As you struggled to rise, the shadows began to shift and swirl around you, whispering secrets of despair and temptation. You knew you were exactly where you belonged, a place you practically through yourself at the minute you were old enough to disobey your family. You were killed and now resting here in the pits of hell.

In those fleeting moments, you understood that you weren’t just a victim of circumstance from one bad drink; you were a participant in your own chaotic narrative. The life you had led and the choices you had made brought you here, and now, in this twisted realm, you had the chance to confront the consequences of your actions. 

With a mixture of fear and defiance, you steeled yourself, ready to navigate this dark new world. You would face whatever challenges awaited you, determined to reclaim your story, even if it meant battling the demons of your past—both literally and figuratively.

You were in hell and you readily accepted this, dressed in a glitzy clubbing dress, your skin transformed to the vibrant hue of a fox’s rich orange, glinted with specks of white and black. Yet, amidst this twisted beauty, your features still bore the unsettling resemblance to your deceased great grandmother.

As the years dragged on, the brutal exterminations became increasingly difficult to evade. The once-familiar landscape of hell morphed into a relentless hunt, where survival was a cruel game of chance. Desperation gnawed at your insides, leading you to a place you had sworn to avoid—a notorious sex house owned by Valentino, a figure whose reputation sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened souls.

You stepped into that den of sexual sin with a singular purpose: the Vee’s worker bees somehow endured the purges, and you were desperate to escape the clutches of a second death. With a resolve, you signed up to be 'looked at' for a position among his girls, hoping to cling to life a little longer.

What you encountered inside was an atmosphere so charged with depravity it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you. The air was thick with the heady scent of desperation and lust, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and smoke. You had pushed boundaries in your past life, but this was another level entirely. As nausea rose in your throat, you instinctively turned to prayer—a futile gesture in this place of darkness.

But in that moment of vulnerability, your fate took a turn. Valentino’s gaze locked onto yours, and you became acutely aware of the power dynamics at play. You were stunning, a rare gem in a world where foxes were coveted for their allure, and you were an easy choice for Val, despite your lack of experience in the kind of intensity he demanded.

Fortune, it seemed, was on your side. Within hours, you found yourself promoted, thrust into the orbit of Angel Dust, a top star in this grim world, and whisked away to Vee's Tower, where the underbelly of the film industry thrived. At first, your work was relatively tame, as Angel had angered Val, bearing the brunt of the wrath while you breathed a sigh of relief. You grew to enjoy the role, finding unexpected camaraderie with Velvette, the costume designer whose creativity brought a splash of color to the otherwise bleak environment. She was a refreshing presence, a stark contrast to the calculating Val.

Yet, the shadows loomed ever closer. Angel’s absence, demanded by the princess of hell, left you standing alone in a spotlight that felt increasingly dangerous. Whispers of Val’s violent tendencies echoed in your mind, tales of how he had ruthlessly eliminated two of Velvette’s models and three of Vox’s interns. Fear coursed through your veins as you perched on a plum-red bed, clad in a navy blue lingerie set, feeling like prey waiting to be devoured.

And then, without warning, the door swung open. You braced yourself, only to find not Val, but a strikingly handsome man with a television for a head. It was Vox, the elusive figure you had only heard whispers about. You leaned forward, captivated by the confrontation unfolding before you, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.

But then Val’s eyes landed on you, and his smile widened, a predatory gleam igniting within them. “My dear Voxypoo,” Val purred, “how about we make a deal? I’ll apologize for my misdeeds towards your interns in exchange for Hermosa over here.” 

Your heart raced as Vox’s eyes widened in recognition, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. An unexpected jolt of electricity surged through you, mingling with fear and a spark of something dangerously close to desire. You were caught in a web of fate, and as the stakes rose higher, you realized that your story in this hell was only just beginning.

You had never met this man before a day in your life, yet an inexplicable pull drew you toward him, a magnetic static crackling in the air around him. “Oh Vox, if you don’t want her, that’s fine. I plan on her taking Angel’s role today. The damn spider is off playing games with the princessa bitch,” Valentino sneered, and your heart sank. Fear coursed through your veins like ice water; the realization hit you hard—he intended to use you in one of those scenes, to thrust you into the depths of humiliation and despair.

“She's a high commodity; I’m sure her soul would be mine after—” Val’s voice trailed off, but you couldn’t grasp what was happening next. One moment, you were trembling in fear, and the next, a whirlwind of chaos erupted. Valentino’s eyes swirled with ominous black and red spirals as the shoot was abruptly canceled, the tension snapping like a frayed wire.

A navy blue jacket was draped over your shoulders, and a firm hand helped you to your feet. “Come with me. You will be working in VoxTech from now on. Understood?” Vox’s voice was steady, but you could only nod, relief flooding through you at the thought of escaping Val’s clutches, at least for now.

You were still ensnared in the web of the Vee’s world, but perhaps you could choose the cranky TV man who seemed more enigmatic than predatory. Maybe you could carve out a semblance of a life, away from the chaos that had become your existence.

Following Vox, you traversed the unfamiliar corridors of Vee’s Tower, finally arriving in a room that felt distinctly different from the others. The walls were lined with large screens displaying chaotic scenes from around hell, and a solitary chair sat in the center, casting a shadow like a throne of power. “W-Where are we? Val never brought me here?” you stammered, confusion clouding your mind.

He hesitated, swallowing hard. Was this place a reflection of his past? Did you really resemble someone he had lost? The thought flickered through his mind, but Vox regained his composure and sat down, turning on the myriad of cameras that monitored the chaos outside. “This is my office. You will grow acquainted with it, as you will be my personal assistant.”

A wave of dread washed over you. So you weren’t free from the chains of servitude; you were merely swapping one form of obedience for another. His gaze flicked toward you, and he must have seen the pain etched in your features because he added, “You will do nothing more for me than paperwork, gather intel, and help set up schedules.” He motioned for you to leave, his tone dismissive yet oddly gentle.

“This floor has eight unused apartments. Choose one and message me; I will unlock it for you, and you can create your own secure pin to come and go.” His words felt like a lifeline, yet the way he avoided looking at you left a strange knot in your stomach.

Nodding, you stepped out, still wrapped in his jacket, a strange comfort amidst the chaos. You wandered the floor until you found a room that resonated with you—a sanctuary away from the dirt and grime of your past. After messaging Vox, you entered, marveling at the unexpected upgrade. How had you managed to elevate your circumstances so easily?

Lying back on the bed, you gazed up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of your new life. You were seeking refuge, had become Val’s plaything, narrowly escaped abuse because of a cranky TV man who wouldn’t even look at you. What an absurd turn of events—what the hell was happening?

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you changed into comfortable clothes, the tension of the day beginning to ebb away. Just as sleep began to weave its way into your mind, a soft chime from your phone startled you awake. Vox had messaged you, detailing the new daily routine you would follow to assist him. 

Setting an alarm, you nestled into bed, uncertainty swirling in your thoughts like a restless storm. What would the next day bring? Would it be more of the same, or perhaps a glimmer of hope in this hellish landscape? As you drifted off, the questions lingered, weaving through your dreams like shadows, leaving you on the brink of something you couldn’t yet comprehend.

------------------------Time Skip-------------------------

Vox quickly grew to love your company over the last three years, though Vox knew deep down that you weren’t the woman he had loved in his youth. You were almost her replica—a haunting echo of the past—but with a wilder, more untamed spirit. As he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief, he found himself drawn to that wildness even more. It was as if fate had conspired to create you just for him, a masterpiece crafted by your great-grandmother’s whims.

Yet, he never dared to reveal this connection, fearing it might shatter the fragile friendship that had blossomed between you. Yes, friendship—nothing more or less. However, with each passing day, he found himself surrendering to the undeniable truth that he had fallen for you harder than he ever had for your great-grandmother. 

No matter how many times he insisted that he was merely helping an old friend, a beacon of support for someone who had been torn from him, he couldn’t deny the intoxicating pull you had on him. At first, it had been your striking looks that captivated him, but as time wore on, it was your vibrant personality that ensnared his heart. You were everything Vox craved and needed on a biblical level; an irony he chuckled at, considering he hadn’t picked up a Bible since your great-grandmother had left him.

His mind was spiraling, his hypnosis streams were intensifying, and his push for innovative Vox tech was reaching a fever pitch. He even managed to score a narrow victory against Alastor, all thanks to you. How could one person be so perfectly oblivious to the advances he so desperately tried to make?

No one had ever worn his watches, draped themselves in his jackets, or even held his cherished pocket squares—except for you. But a troubling realization swept over him: all the advances he made were rooted in his time period, not yours. Your great-grandmother may have swooned at his charm, but you probably saw him as nothing more than a friend. In that moment, he knew he was utterly doomed.

You genuinely enjoyed working for Vox, relishing the opportunity to utilize your strengths. With a degree in entertainment and public relations, you found it easy to navigate the world of hypnotic persuasion he wielded. You were a wizard at uncovering people’s weak spots, providing Vox with ample ammunition against his personal enemies.

Almost immediately, you had become Vox’s young, gorgeous vixen. You liked the title so much that you gradually stopped using your real name, opting instead for the playful 'V' theme. Yet, Vox never referred to you by that name—always your real name, accompanied by a distant look that gnawed at your insides.

It had taken a year for him to truly see you, another year for him to stop freezing like a computer caught in a loop, and now, in this last year, he finally spoke without those awkward buffering noises. 

You never understood why he had chosen you as his assistant if he struggled to be around you. But you were content, especially since you had escaped Valentino’s grasp. You felt lucky that the exterminations had ceased shortly after you joined Vox. You often reassured yourself that if they ever resumed, you would leave—but the truth was, you were too attached to the enigmatic, awkward TV man.

You couldn’t deny the chemistry crackling between the two of you. He sent sparks racing through your body, igniting your nervous system with a thrilling energy. He was handsome in a classic, old-school way, the type of man your father would approve of—if only they never got to know he was a con artist. 

Every fiber of your being screamed to be with him, to unravel the layers of his soul and understand him in a way that transcended mere friendship. He was smooth-talking, undeniably hot, and invading your dreams more each night, leaving you craving his presence even more. The tension hung thick in the air, a tantalizing promise of what could be, if only you dared to cross the line that separated friendship from something infinitely more profound.

It was utterly embarrassing—sneaking down to the old production studio, heart racing, just to rent out some toys that would let you indulge in your fantasies of being with Vox. He had never once hypnotized you, but you were undeniably under his spell, enchanted by his presence in every way.

“Vox, I got you the meeting with Carmilla about the angelic steel and its reproduction,” you announced, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. “I also secured a meeting with the health district to discuss the drug you want to utilize.” You had become extra vigilant lately, making a concerted effort to show him your interest. Your skirts grew shorter, your tops had fewer buttons, and your heels reached dizzying heights, showcasing your legs to their best advantage.

You were the death of him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his composure crumbled completely. You were tantalizingly close, yet he felt he couldn’t take advantage of your affections. The scars from his past ran deep; he didn’t want to go through that kind of heartache again. Even if your father couldn’t steal you away like your great-grandmother had been stolen from him, the odd connection to family made him reluctant to risk your bond.

But the way you presented yourself, dressed to entice, sent a tent of desire straining against the fabric of his pants. It felt as though he was being dragged through heaven, hell, and every place in between. He knew you were in hell in your own way, unlike your great-grandmother, but damn, did you have to be so deliciously tempting?

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll be getting off early today due to an issue with Val. If you could make sure the cleaners come in here and do their job properly, I’d appreciate it,” he said, his voice calm and cool, eyes never lifting from the screen. 

He was an enigma, nearly impossible to crack, seemingly showing no interest in you at all. Sighing, you nodded and began clearing his schedule; his fights with Val tended to stretch on longer than they should. You made sure to leave a dinner reminder for him and then headed out to retrieve the cleaning staff.

When you returned, you monitored the cleaning process closely. Vox usually preferred his tech to handle the cleaning, but today he insisted that his computers and TVs needed a “Sinners touch” to avoid any mishaps. You settled into his large chair, humming softly, legs crossed, watching as the young, fish-like boy worked diligently.

Out of the corner of your eye, a faint blue glow caught your attention. Vox was typically meticulous about shutting everything down before leaving, yet this one tab remained open. Half of you wanted to close it and move on with your life, but the other half—the curious, daring part—couldn’t resist the temptation. 

With a deep breath, you opened the screen. A Word document sprawled across the display, pages filled with dates and passages that traced the evolution of technology from its inception to the present. Your heart raced as you scrolled through the text, but then you froze, eyes fixated on the most recent passage. 

It was a detailed account of his current hyperfixation – You. As you read on, the implications began to sink in, filling you with a mix of excitement and dread. What had Vox been planning? And how deeply did it truly involve you? 

‘She was a vision of beauty, captivating in a way that made my heart race and my thoughts spiral into chaos. I found myself wanting to take her, to make her mine in every way possible—over my bed, on the couch, against the cool surface of the counter, or sprawled across my desk. It was a reckless desire, one that threatened to unravel my composure and resolve with each passing glance. I was trying to court her like a proper gentleman, even though every instinct screamed for me to act on the primal urge that surged within me.’

‘What would she think if I finally confessed the truth? The truth of the connection that shimmered between us, electric and undeniable. If I bared my soul, revealing the reason why every time I looked at her, I felt an insatiable longing to claim her and never let her go—would she recoil in fear, or would she lean in closer? Would she despise me for the dark secrets I harbored?’

‘It was a sin, a tangled web of emotions, that I saved her not just because I had to, but because I had once been in love with her great-grandmother. If only it were simple to tell Y/N that my heart had shifted over the years, that the ghost of the past no longer haunted me as I found myself enchanted by her. I needed to steady my racing heart, but the hope of seeing more of Y/N today filled me with both excitement and dread. She had left a dinner reservation for two—was it meant for us, or was it for Val and me? My heart leaped at the possibility that it was for her and I.’

You were in shock. A torrent of questions flooded your mind, each one more bewildering than the last. How did he know your great-grandmother? How had he concealed this attraction so skillfully? The cleaner’s approach broke your reverie, and the scream that escaped your lips echoed through the building, a cacophony of confusion and fear.

With a heavy sigh, you closed everything down, your thoughts still swirling like leaves caught in a wind tunnel. You gently patted the shorter fish boy’s head, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty mirroring your own. As you made your way back to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you.

He knew her? You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately rifling through the foggy memories of your childhood, the faded photographs that lined the walls of your mind. Your great-grandmother had passed away when your grandmother was still a child, but her belongings remained—a bittersweet reminder of a life once lived. Vaguely, you recalled a picture that had often sparked your great-grandfather's ire.

Vox was in that picture… Vox, her first love, the man who had been banished by her father, the one your great-grandfather had despised and vowed to protect his family from. He was the specter who haunted your past, a figure you were compared to when you were disowned from the family and stripped of your inheritance.

The realization hit you like a thunderclap, shattering your understanding of everything you thought you knew. How did you feel? The attraction was still there, a flicker of warmth igniting within you as you considered his little habits, the subtle ways he courted you, filling you with butterflies. But could you allow yourself to love him? Would it be wrong to care for him in that way?

You glanced at your tablet, your heart racing as you noticed the dinner reservation was in just forty-five minutes. Swallowing hard, you stood up, a newfound determination coursing through your veins. The only way to truly understand what he made you feel, to unravel this complex web of emotions, was to show up. Normally, these reservations were for Val and him, a ritual of reconciliation, but this time, you would be there for him. For you. 

You moved quickly, the anticipation coursing through your veins as you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over you like a refreshing embrace. With each drop, you washed away the remnants of your uncertainties, emerging with a renewed sense of purpose. 

Dressing became an art form; you pulled out all the stops to impress Vox. The deep ruby red pumps clicked against the floor as you slipped them on, a bold statement that added height and confidence to your stature. Black frilled lace-topped stockings clung to your legs, accentuating every curve. The navy blue long-sleeved dress hugged your figure just right, revealing just enough to showcase your best assets without losing an air of elegance. You styled your hair to perfection, cascading waves framing your face, while your makeup highlighted your features, making your eyes sparkle like stars.

It had been ages since you had gone to such lengths, not since the days of trying to impress Val, desperate to avoid his inappropriate advances. With a sigh, you shot a quick message to Vox, sharing the restaurant's destination but omitting any mention of Val. Tonight was about you and Vox, and you were determined to make the most of it.

As you stepped out of your door, your Vox Tech security bot awaited you, its sleek design a reminder of the world you inhabited. Vox had insisted on the device escorting you, and as you arrived at the restaurant, your eyes locked with Vox’s as he just arrived as well. Time seemed to pause as you both stood there, taking each other in.

To him, you were radiant, every inch of you exuding beauty and allure. His desires surged within him, overwhelming as he imagined symphonies and angelic choirs serenading your presence in this chaotic world. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire his dashing figure. Though a hard day had worn on him, leaving traces of fatigue etched across his handsome features, he maintained an effortless charm. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, his cuffs slightly askew, and in that moment, you realized something profound: tonight, he would be yours, and you would be his, come what may.

A soft smile danced on your lips as you reached for his outstretched arm, feeling a rush of warmth as you entered the restaurant together. The high-end staff treated you like royalty, ushering you to a table draped in elegant linens. Once seated, you glanced up at Vox through your lashes, your expression teasing as you playfully toyed with the rim of your wine glass.

“I know about our family ties…” you said, watching as his eyes widened in surprise, a dark blush creeping across his cheeks. Was he embarrassed that you knew, or perhaps flustered by the undeniable attraction that pulsed between you? 

“I want you to know, connection or not, I feel it all too,” you added, punctuating your statement with a sly wink. His composure faltered, and you could see him short-circuiting, lost in the implications of your words.

Once he regained his composure, a soft smile broke across his face, his eyes flickering nervously as he tried to avoid the luxurious curves that had him entranced. “So this means I can finally stop dancing around and court you more publicly?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head with a smirk. “I think we’ve passed the stage of courting, Mr. Bed, Couch, Counter, and Desk.” Your cheeks warmed at your own boldness, while his face flamed with embarrassment at your teasing. A soft giggle escaped you as you flagged down the waiter, paying for the wine that would accompany your evening.

“Let’s head back to the tower, Vox… let me help you relax after today’s tiring events.” The confidence that surged within you was intoxicating, fueled by the way he looked at you and the undeniable chemistry crackling in the air. 

You had dreamed of this moment, of nights alone together, your hand tucked beneath you in hopes of relief, but it had never been enough. Each day spent near him only deepened your addiction to the awkward yet captivating man. But with the dark, calculating look in his eyes, you knew that from this moment forward, you would be more than satisfied. 

As the evening unfolded, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you—two souls entwined in a dance of desire, ready to explore the depths of your connection, past and present, together. 

A chill raced down your spine as you and he stepped into his work car, the evening air thick with anticipation. He wanted to wait until you were safely hidden away in his condo before his hands roamed your body, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. As the engine purred to life, his fingers found their way to your thigh, gently caressing the soft fabric of your stockings. You could feel his gaze on you, hungry and intense, as you breathed heavily, caught in the electrifying moment. He was eager to claim you as his own, to make you his in every sense.

The drive felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out as his hand danced tantalizingly close to where you craved him most. You were ablaze with desire, the thrill of his touch igniting something deep within you that had lay dormant for far too long. No one had ever made you feel this way—caught between the living and the dead, lost in a whirlwind of longing and need. You were ready to surrender completely to the man beside you, to give him every part of yourself.

When the car finally came to a halt, all semblance of self-control shattered. In one swift motion, he pulled you over the center console and into his lap, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath away. One hand tangled possessively in your hair while the other gripped your waist, asserting his dominance in a way that sent shivers of pleasure cascading through you.

You mirrored his urgency, your fingers gripping his shoulder and the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Every kiss, every whisper of his breath against your skin, sent jolts of electricity sparking through your nerves, making you whimper into his mouth. You could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you, a reflection of the heated chemistry that crackled between you.

With his patience wearing thin, he pulled away, but only long enough to fling open the car door. He was acutely aware of your head as he stepped out, holding you firmly against him, making his way through the throng of Vee staff and personnel. There was no hesitation in his stride; he made it abundantly clear that you were his and his alone, a declaration that sent a thrill coursing through you.

As you rode the elevator, the air thickened with tension and need. He pressed you against the cool metal wall, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you fervently, over and over again. His hands roamed your body with a glorious sensuality, and you could hear the soft moans and whimpers escaping him, reverberating in your chest like a sweet melody.

When the elevator doors finally opened, it was as if you were stepping into a dream. He swept you up in his arms, never breaking contact with your warmth or your mouth. With a careful grace, he navigated the threshold of his condo, ensuring you never brushed against anything sharp or hard, as if he wanted to preserve this fragile moment forever. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The sensations heightened once you two entered his bedroom as he gently set you on the bed. He was careful to lay you down, slotting himself between your legs. He hummed quietly in the kiss as he enjoyed the feeling and taste of you. You were, finally, his, and he could have you all he wanted here. You offered no protests.

You raked your hands over his arms and chest, slipping behind his back, scratching gently with your nails on any skin you could find. Vox's sounds, the same frequent heat, and need, were identical to yours. Everything begged you to take your clothes off and take him.

Vox pulled away, looking down at you for the first time since tonight's escapades began. A sloppy, lopsided grin was on his face as he moved the hair from your face. "Are you sure you want this doll?"

You gave him one soft nod, and all bets were off. Before you could utter another word, a moan was pulled from your lips as he kissed down your neck and pulled on the base of your hair. Soft pants left you, and you felt the tension pool in your core. How long have you two wanted this?

Sighing softly and pushing into Vox's clothed crotch, he growled low and kissed you roughly. Hands roamed your body, and your dress was slowly unclasped from your body. Your chest became exposed, and the most beautiful red bra he had ever seen was on display upon your delicate body. Even Val's porn stars had nothing on the sight of you half undressed before him.

As if dreams were becoming reality, he shivered as you slowly pushed his jacket off and tugged him down by his dress shirt. Kissing him, you worked on his buttons, running your hands along his torso once it was freed. Both of you shivered in delight and need as the other touched what was finally theirs.

Vox kissed back down your neck, leaving marks all across you, and landed on your breasts. Each one gets a solid mark right on the top where your cleavage sat. His lips teased the sensitive flesh. His arms snaked around you as he lifted you gently to unclasp the bra. Once it was off, he could feel the drool not only on his tongue but his cock head as well.

He hummed in delight as he bowed down and wrapped his blue tongue around one perky bud, the other gaining his talons' attention as he made you mewl for him. He was in heaven—here, right now, was his little heaven with his little angel. He switched between the two buds until they were too sensitive from his menstruation. "V-Vox, please, too much...need more...please..." You didn't mean to sound like a young virgin, but it was all too good to feel any other type of way. Soon, you felt the pressure above you leave as he stood up at the edge of the bed. Gently, he took your leg, resting your foot on his chest. He kissed your ankle and calf, taking your tights from the garter on your thigh. Slowly, he took the garments off and got a perfect sight right up your dress. Your pretty red underwear was stained wet from your need.

"Tell me, Y/N, where do you need me most? What do you need most? Tell me, and I will happily deliver it all to you, doll, whatever you need." He sounded so good saying that. His voice was an octave lower as he was already pussy drunk. You whimpered gently and sighed when he moved on to the next leg, removing the garments

"Need you between my legs Vox, so so many toys...none of them you," Your words sent a spark through him. He now understood today's argument with Val; some toys in the production studio had been missing, and his little Vixen took them. He smiled wide and fell to his knees at the edge of the bed.

"Your wish is my command, doll," He grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him. He shoved your dress up higher on your hips, having it bunch up on your stomach. Slowly, he ran a claw down your clothed heat. With each stroke of his claw, his mouth moved closer from your knee to your core. He always managed to miss where you wanted him most, though.

When you went to complain, however, you were interrupted by the cold sting to your cunt as he ripped the panties off completely. You gasped and cried out when Vox's long slender blue tongue licked a deep stripe up your soaking cunt. "Taste so good, doll, like my own apple pie, so fucking delicious," His menstruations didn't stop there, however, as Vox began to devour you like a man starved.

Your legs spread wider for him as he slotted himself against your cunt. His tongue was making circles on your puffy bud. Your head was thrown back as you grasped onto the bed for dear life. You needed him. Each tongue swirls and thrusts, sending you one step closer to your breaking point. At some point, your legs began to close, and all you could feel was a thread snapping. Vox didn't let up, though. If anything, he abused your clit and sucked you dry further.

When you began to cry and beg for relief, he stopped and pulled up, climbing back on top of you and kissing you hungrily. You could taste yourself on him as you felt his need press against your cunt. You needed more. "Please, Vox, take me, please, please; I need to be full and stuffed."

He thought he had heard angels earlier. He was dead wrong. What he heard then and was now hearing were two completely different planes of reality. He made quick work of his pants and boxers as you resituated on the bed. He slowly crawled back over you, kissing you deeply again. When he got between your legs and slotted himself right where you needed him, you moaned quietly.

Slowly, Vox entered you, both holding your breaths and breathing out together. He was so big, filling you to the brim while you were tight on him. He finally opened his eyes when he bottomed out and saw the most beautiful sight. Your tummy bulged out where his cock sat. Groaning in need, he pushed down on the bump and growled. "Oh, look at this baby, look at how deep I am, I will fill you up so full."

You cried, nodding, holding on to him for dear life. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He felt so thick and full as he abused your cunt with his deliberate speed. However, you knew he was coming to an end as well; he was pent up just as long as you were, and as his hips stuttered, you finally felt it, the whole feeling you had wished for since seeing the TV man.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, keeping himself slotted in you. He held your hand close, playing with your hair. "Stay with me, Y/N, let me give you everything after life can offer."

You hummed softly and nodded, your eyes growing heavy. Life with Vox would be perfect, and you couldn't have been happier that you, Y/N L/N, got to live the carefree life your great-grandmama once wished for.

[lavendernlilac]

thinking too hard about bodyguard au again so we ramble :3 continuation of this post because these thoughts just won't stop coming

- even though hotguy is griande’s personal bodyguard, the head guy of security for Anything related to griande is skizz. he’s like grian’s overprotective weird uncle. hurt her and you’ll have one hell of an angry skizz coming for you

- when hotguy was first hired, skizz 100% gave him the “I don’t care if you’re some hotshot hero, if you try anything weird with her I’ll end you” talk (because they’ve probably one or two guys they hired for security who got… weird with grian)

- not that skizz worries for long though, hotguy proves that griande’s safety is the only thing that matters to him. and the two of them have been best buds since

- in his civilian life, scar is a model and pretty well known. I think it’d be funny (and really sweet) if grian had a lil crush on him. but they don’t know each other personally. just… admiration from afar

- that being said, scar has a massive crush on griande. he has so much respect for her. he’s got nearly every album she’s released and went to a concert of hers three years ago. so when he was approached as hotguy to be her bodyguard? there was no way he’d say no

- skizz was the one who suggested it btw

- have I mentioned that mumbo is a massive hotguy fanboy? and even after working with hotguy for like a year and a half, he still gets starry eyed and nervous? (also he and iskall are dating)

- grian will sometimes bring mumbo merch and he’s like “I can’t believe you got this!” meanwhile she’s secretly dating the guy who makes the merch

- scar uses hotguy as an outlet to be himself. he’s free to be as silly or dorky as he wants—it’s his escape from the daily life of scar goodtimes, a chance to be more of himself than he ever could

- yet interestingly, hotguy was never meant to exist. see, it started with a car accident. a pretty bad one—to the point scar was at death’s door. he was very close to dying when at the last second, a certain doc monster stepped in to save him. doc genuinely just wanted to save scar’s life. he never meant to create a superhero in his desperate attempt to fulfill his doctor’s oath. but something happened, some kind of mix up. scar was healed within a matter of days, as if the accident had never occurred. and scar was… changed. irreversibly

- (not even doc could figure out what happened, when scar stormed into his office. he couldn’t reverse it, either. he offered to run some tests, to help him figure out what happened. but scar vehemently denied any more tests. no more tests. he can’t go through that again, please don’t make him do it again he can’t he can’t he can’t he—)

- (…all doc could do was offer to help scar control his new abilities)

- so hotguy was accidentally born! and it was a freedom scar never knew he needed. sure, both the powers and the impact on his modeling career are permanent marks of his near death but. in a strange way, he’s thankful for it. for the opportunity it gives him

- (even if he can’t go to hospitals any more. lab coats shorten his breath. he panics at the sight of a needle.)

- (and sure, maybe he ends up put on a whole separate pedestal, objectified in a new way, and no one sees him for who he is but. it’s a freedom.)

- and for grian… ariana griande is a way to be the person she wants herself to be. griande is confident and sassy, not a single hint of doubt to be seen. while grian moon is snarky, and rough around the edges, full of self doubt. griande is a mask for grian to pretend to be who she wishes she was. griande is a form of escape she needs. but she’s also a shield

- before grian first began in the music industry, she was doing open mic nights at different establishments. until one night, she’s approached by a producer who sees a lot of promise in her, and would love to sign her on. cue grian calling mumbo and excitedly telling him she’s found her big break. only, to mumbo, it sounds… suspicious. he tells her to be careful, but grian swears it’ll be fine and he’s just overly cautious

- things with her new producer are great! she’s introduced to a bunch of people, given a tour of her new workplace and she’s eager to get started. and well, she’s a bit disappointed that she’s only allowed to record songs that other people have written, but she’s sure that’s just because she’s new! so grian does as told, encouraged and praised by her producer

- slowly that praise is replaced more and more by little nitpicks but it’s fine. she’s inexperienced. her producer is just trying to help her. (“your tone is way off.” “you’re not holding your air long enough.” “you’re in the wrong key.” “you can hear the other harmonies, can’t you? match them.” “you’re straining.” “you sound bad. re-record it.” “your clothes are hideous.” “some make up would do you good.” “your hair is too long, cut it.” “I don’t remember your voice being so bad, grian.” “you’re never going to make it big.” “signing you on was a mistake.”)

- ( she’s not good enough. she’s not good enough. she’s not good enough. she’s not good enough. she’s not good enough. )

- she’s caught writing a song of her own. it’s actually pretty good, her producer is impressed. he’ll think about recording it

- grian isn’t allowed to sing it. she’s not even credited for it.

- this goes on for months. she’s overworked, verbally abused, and beaten down. she’s hardly seen mumbo or any of their friends. it’s not until mumbo gets fed up and goes to see her himself for answers that grian finally cracks. she tells mumbo everything, that he was right. she has no chance at her dreams now, she’s not good enough for any of it. and well, mumbo wouldn’t be a very good friend if he let grian continue to believe that

- he gets impulse’s help in getting grian free of that company, and offers to help her get back on her feet, start her own brand. and thus, mumbo and impulse become her mangers

- grian creates griande to protect herself. griande is what the industry wants, who people expect her to be (as for grian… she doesn’t know who grian is anymore). she grows more comfortable as griande and she gains popularity quite quickly. she loves it

- when it comes time for scar to meet grian and not griande… she doesn’t know who to be. she doesn’t know what scar expects from her, or who he wants her to be for him (she just wants to be good enough for him). it makes her anxious. uncertain. but all scar wants is for grian to be herself. to be comfortable and happy and safe

[incorrectfatui]

okay, more HCs. This one is only Scara, so things might get a lil dark- I'm not normal about him. anywho: Scaramouche: -autistic. I am going to say this about every Harbinger, bc it's the truth. -most traumatized mfer in all of Teyvat. Seriously. someone give this guy a licensed therapist. -as Kabukimono, he's tried to eat several non edible items. This one is inspired by that one researcher who made up a story about him eating a humans arm. The image of little Scara munching on various dangerous items is so cute -related to the above: he still does it sometimes, to fuck with people. Dottore thinks its great. Pierro had to stop him from getting Kuni to eat a delusion. -Eyes (& markings) always glow at least slightly, even if he's not using his powers. Its not really noticeable in the day, but at night you can see it pretty well -hates Pantalone. Not bc he's jealous of him hanging out with Dottore or something (if anything, Pantalone gets jealous), but just because he is an ass. -Went to the Abyss again for a long time, just after Arlecchino became a Harbinger, and kind of forgot that Crucy was replaced. Came back and was like "who the FUCK- oh right". Why? because I think its funny -In general, has a better relationship with most of the female Harbingers than the male ones. -a little self indulgent, but I like to think that he was able to float a lil with electro as well. We see Raiden and Ei do it, and I think it'd be cute if he was able to as well, if to a lesser degree. -has used almost every element at some point, testing delusions with Dotty. Mostly bc I can't really imagine all those researchers just throwing 4 extra elements at shouki no kami and being like "figure it out" -speaking of delusions: I think he didn't use one. His electro is inert and I dont think he used another element. I see people headcanoning his delusion as Anemo, and I get it, but I don't like it all that much -SPEAKING of his electro being inert to his body- I refuse to believe he lost electro completely. The whole "oh he used up his divinity" is lazy. He can still connect to Irminsul, which he only learned while ascending, but he cant use electro anymore, something that he's had since birth? Bullshit. I understand him not using it, but I think it'd be more impactful if that was a voluntary choice. I'd really like to see him recover it over the course of the story -I think Youkai like him. Obviously this excludes Yae Miko, but I think as Kabukimono it wouldn't be strange to see him being followed by some Tanuki or the lesser Kitsune. I would really like to see him interact with the Youkai Children from that one Inazuma event, I think it'd be really cute. -I like seeing people write about him and Kujou Sara, both romantic, platonic and as enemies. The two of them are very similar in some aspects, and then radically different in others. I think it'd be really interesting to see Kujou Sara confronted with her own trauma being reflected onto Ei. I guess this is mostly because I just really like Sara and I want my favs to interact xD -more of a theory, but I think Pierro and Dottore, (will) remember him. He has a lot of foreshadowing in his voiceline about Pierro & Dotty, and other things. He's very clearly endgame/lore relevant, with his story not even being finished. -not a HC, but I wanted to mention it: I'm still stuck in Inversion of Genesis on my main account. I never played past it. I did the Fontaine and Natlan quests for friends/watched them online, but I'm still in IoG on my main, because I never fully decided on a name -last one bc character limit: I really like to imagine him interacting with Neuvilette. I think there could be a lot of interesting discussions had here- Neuvi would absolutely dissaprove of his attempt to overthrow Nahida, but at the same time I think he would, to some degree, understand his obsession with the gnosis. No, the gnosis/authority doesn't belong to Scara (or Ei, for that matter), but I think if you told Neuvi that Scara was quite literally created to hold it, he'd understand, to a degree.

[dailynoodlezz24]

Ok, i had the thought (since i love werewolves and vampire stuff, liches, all that-- I blame Skyrim and its unhealthy amount of beautiful mods-- and Dungeon Meshi just seems so perfect about it with its races and stuff) what if Marcille's a dhampir, basically a human vampire crossbreed, who seeks to become fully vampiric in order to be able to sire in lieu of the dungeon lord/universal longevity plot. (Spoilers: she still doesn't get it in the end lmao) Falin is a longtime friend of hers through a backstory I still haven't made up yet, and Marcille's introduced as a new addition to the main cast, who are a party of hikers (or for some sort of venturing activity). Month in, Falin's gone and had herself eaten by some weird dog described in only folklore, which Laios would later excitedly incite as a "lycanthrope". (They tried to call emergencies for a missing person, but they came up with nothing. Everyone thinks Laios is going insane when he concludes that the sight they saw after Falin became officially missing, blood trails and offly wolfish tracks fading off to somewhere, was the work of a wolfman, or a werewolf, and suggested going to search for Falin themselves. Namari and Toshiro leave promptly) Chillchuck and Marcille stay with him, one determined with his navigational skills and the other fully believing in this supernatural theory. They decide it's best they start camping in the forest, deeper and closer to the wilderness, prompting them the idea: hunt for their share. Which may or may not be illegal :shrug They meet Senshi, one hell of a wildchef man. (Marcille's total disgust with the idea of eating out in the wild stems from the fact she doesn't want to survive off of squirrels again. But this food is pretty good, and she's eating other animals than small rodents this time. Chillchuck just doesn't want to hear about the weird ass facts about how skinwalkers might be related to humans and their horrific hunting tendencies while eating.) The deeper they go, the more strange and bizarre this forest becomes. First normal, unassuming, then the ravens start speaking and the rabbits have horns. And if you peer into it close enough, your eyes might just find company in where the campfire doesn't reach. So on and so on, they find Falin's bones in the corpse of the creature, and suddenly there's a little guy with white hair and crazed, purple eyes(thistle), who beats them all off with a stick(not actually lmao). Last they see is Falin's remains being reanimated with the dripping blood of the stranger. (Marcille had tried in desperate attempt to revive Falin with her own blood/bite, but to no avail, revealing herself in the process. The only thing she can note is the awful taste of something doglike, aka the lycanthrope disease circulating in Falin's bones-- since they were chomped before she died RIP.) Now they're against a highly aggressive abomination under the servitude of someone out to get them. And the opps are on them(canaries) Now I'm just thinking abt whether or not to make Marcille also a werepyre? Considering it would make sense for her to also get her human-half infected into something "full-fledged" in the way she hadn't intended, and still come up without the ability to sire(she wants to make a cauldron for company, a cauldron being like a vampire made family, due to the same motives of keeping her loved ones). Thank you for reading my ramblings, I am brimming with ideas for this AU.

[s-brant]

Clandestine

After beginning their relationship in secret during the war, Anakin and his Padawan sneak off to have a much-needed moment to themselves. (or teacher’s pet part two)

5k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, choking, breeding kink, degradation/praise, sub anakin, bit of exhibitionism, inappropriate relationships, and strong language.

-

As of late, it's been difficult for her and Anakin to steal a moment alone together.

The war is coming to a close sometime soon, they can sense it, and they think they may come close to catching General Grievous if things continue to go this way. Yet, while the death of Count Dooku and the win they gained at the Battle of Coruscant pleased them, what didn't was the lack of time they had together. Mercifully, they were stationed together throughout the war, but that didn't mean they were able to enjoy one another's company. Anakin acted as a general, meanwhile, she did not possess such a prestigious rank, and he quickly learned he could not show any favoritism toward her. Although they were well known for how well they worked together, it was impossible to avoid the judgmental stares thrown their way when he thoughtlessly defended a mistake she made in front of everyone.

Anakin has a way of being...irrational...when he senses any animosity directed at her.

He often moves into a defensive position on instinct, creeping closer and stepping partway in front of her. It's strange. In every aspect of their relationship besides those relating to sexuality, he maintains such a casual dominance over her, but, when they fall into each other's arms in the dead of night, that dominance is nowhere to be seen.

Like two weeks ago

They managed to sneak away unseen and found a secluded spot to meet at. It was a quick affair, to say the least, but for how brief it had been, it wasn't lacking any passion. Quick, quiet fucks are all they've been able to get away with amidst the responsibilities that burden them during this war. And, right now, she's craving more.

"Why are we going to the hangar?" Anakin asks, keeping his voice down as his Padawan guides him after her by the hand. His flesh hand, he takes note of with a rush of bliss caused by the contact of her bare skin against his. "Someone could see us."

A smirk crosses her face at this, and she turns her head to glance over her shoulder at him.

"Aren't Jedi supposed to feel no fear?" She teases him, "You surely weren't afraid of being caught last time."

The mere mention of the last time they snuck off to spend some time alone together brings a pink flush to his cheeks.

Ah, yes, that.

After days of teasing on her end and relentless flirting on his, they managed to steal a spare couple (more like ten) moments to quickly have sex in an unlocked supply closet. His gloved hand clamped down over her mouth to keep those delightful whines and gasps of pleasure from escaping the closet as he thrusted into her slick cunt.

He must refrain from submitting to her attempts to get a reaction from him. Instead, he falls back into the role he plays in the presence of others—the calm, wise teacher always ready to spout Jedi morals at his apprentice. Those broad shoulders square themselves, allowing her to feel the intimidation of his height advantage as they come to a natural stop beside his starfighter.

"Not necessarily."

And, choosing to play along as the bright-eyed student as if she hasn't known him in the most intimate ways and made him weep while he fucked her, she raises a brow in a silent command for him to elaborate.

Anakin cuts a glance back at the door through which they came, his sole display of hesitancy short of what emotions she can sense coming off of him, then speaks.

"It depends on who you ask. Master Yoda says fear leads us to the dark side. I would say that fear is natural. It's where you allow it to lead you that tends to cause the most problems. At least, that's been the case for me."

If he's interpreting things correctly, he thinks he almost feels her sudden curiosity.

Of course, Y/N takes this as her chance to taunt him, which he anticipated. Her head angles to the side to allow herself a better look at him. The inches between them wane with the little steps she takes to invade his space.

"So," she murmurs, batting her lashes, "Where will you allow it to lead you now?"

This causes him to freeze.

His mouth twitches with the urge to say the first filthy thought that comes to mind, but he manages to restrain himself. Due to his level of trust and comfortability with her, he doesn't bother concealing the perverse nature of his thoughts from her searching mind, but he makes sure not to give her the reaction she hoped for.

Instead of rushing forward to kiss her, he simply says, "Wherever you want me to go."

The tension between them has gone taut, and it feels as though the oxygen has been vacuumed from the surrounding air. There it is again, that needy, obedient side of the otherwise commanding and unrelenting general that, somehow, turns molten beneath her touch. It isn't always this way. There have been instances during which Anakin has taken back control with great enthusiasm, holding her wriggling limbs down with the Force while he fucks her until she's drooling and whining for release like the employees of that bar selling their bodies for a hefty sum of credits. It pleases him, to say the least. He is merely a man, after all. Not even Jedi are immune to such things. At least, he isn't.

In response, Y/N sends him the lewd image that prompted her to lead him out here in the first place, and it doesn't take him longer than a few seconds to walk around the side of his ship to climb up into it. She doesn't have to ask him why. If the image she pushed into his mind is to be fulfilled and proven true, he'll need to be sitting inside.

Once he's standing on one of the wings, he looks down and asks, "Are you coming?"

A feral grin lights up her face.

In the time it takes her to jump up onto the wing of the ship and follow in his footsteps, Anakin has already seated himself behind the controls and waits for her with an excitement that threatens to eat him alive. Obviously, she tortures him, moving as slowly as she can and taking her sweet time before closing the door behind her.

What she sees before her is nothing short of breathtaking.

He sits back against the seat with his thighs spread in expectance of her settling into place on his lap. It makes her stomach flutter to merely look at him like this. His mouth is tilted in a smirk, so arrogant when in his own element. In heated flashes, she can see it. She can see what he'll look like once she's through with him. Pink, kiss-swollen lips shining with a mixture of their spit, cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet, brows scrunched as he hits his peak—it overwhelms her mind to an extent that nearly prevents her from moving. But, she manages.

She takes her place astride his lap with nothing said between them, no communication outside of their unbreaking stare and shared thoughts. Her palms slide up from where they brace against his toned abdomen until they hold at his shoulders. After a second, she finally speaks.

"Go on."

What he saw in her projected thought was downright filthy. It immediately caused his cock to stiffen in his trousers, but he isn't going to go along with every little thing she shows him. Despite how he surrenders himself to her in moments like these, that doesn't change his protective nature with her.

"No."

Y/N frowns at him, and she makes sure to exaggerate how she always does when trying to get what she wants from her master. Although, she doesn't call him that much anymore. As of late, it's always "Anakin" or "Ani". It's only "Master" in the presence of others who may look too closely and pass judgment should they show signs of their frequent intimacy.

"Please?" she begs and shifts in place to "accidentally" brush up against his growing erection.

The thing is, he is a lucky man. What she imagined them doing is lifted straight from the pages of fantasies he had back when he was a hormonal young man with no outlet for it.

Anakin's features harden, but his eyes remain softened when he shakes his head at her. As much as he once would've died to know that a girl wants to fuck him while he pilots his ship he can't say yes.

"We can't," he says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're far too dear to me. I won't risk it."

Deep down past the inkling of disappointment, this warms her heart. At the beginning of whatever this is, she didn't think it to be anything more than a sexual relationship of convenience, but the things he says sometimes...Sometimes, he says stuff like that, and she has no other choice but to refrain from asking him to marry her right then and there. As of late, the lines have been to flirt for her to distinguish what they are to each other. It began with them as strangers, then master and padawan, friends, and now...this.

"Well, at least in this scenario we'd be going out together. Kind of romantic if you ask me."

His face shifts at this, and, though it's silly, it makes him feel so loved.

"Or foolish."

"Or tragic and beautiful."

He huffs a laugh.

"Well, even if you're right, I'd like to keep you for a little while longer if that's alright with you."

In answer to his sweet rejection, she offers a shy smile and murmurs, "Okay," before leaning forward to connect their mouths in a kiss.

It begins slowly, a tender brush of her lips on his, then, after they get a taste of one another, it transforms into something urgent and primal. The hands perched on his shoulders dip back down to feel their way along the length of his torso as he reaches up to cup her face in one hand. The tips of his fingers curl around the back of her neck and dig in to pull her as close as possible. He's found that kissing her is quite an addictive thing. The more he does it, the more disconnected he becomes with reality. She has a way of erasing everything else that exists in the galaxy whenever she's near.

From her relentless, shifting a moment ago, she can now feel him pressing up against her between her parted thighs, and she is quick to move her hips on him. The pressure of the contact made on his cock draws a sharp breath through his teeth, and he feels her smile into his mouth.

She whispers, "You're so sensitive."

The embarrassment radiates from him, but, even if she couldn't sense it, she can hear it in the words he says next.

"Don't make me pull rank on you."

This pulls a giggle from her, and he'd be annoyed if the light, melodic sound weren't the prettiest laugh he's ever heard. It is moments like these that convince him that this—choosing to cross this line with her—was the right decision, no matter what anyone may have to say about it should they be discovered.

Y/N pulls back just enough to see his face in the dim light and raises her brows.

"You can't pull rank on me."

He scoffs.

"Of course, I can," he says, "Not only am I your master, I'm a general."

She gives him a pointed look, then reaches for the skirt of her plain night dress to pull it up her thighs. The sight of her bare skin makes his mouth water, but he gets more than he anticipated when she pulls the fabric up around her hips to reveal herself to him. No underwear.

She makes quick work of his belt, allowing the lightsaber attached to slip away to the floor. Her hand is already wrapped around him and pumping at a lazy pace by the time she talks back to him.

"How can you keep up the big strong general act?" she asks and dips her head down to kiss him, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. "How do you think they'd feel if they knew their general let his Padawan order him around?"

There's a slight shift in her weight that lifts her hips up enough for her to guide the leaking tip of him to her entrance, and she presses her forehead to his to watch his face as she sinks down onto his thick cock. The second he bottoms out inside of her, he has already lost whatever game they were playing together. The heat of his exhales cloud against her face, warning her skin from the cold air that flooded in before she closed the door.

It takes a moment for them both to adjust.

Feeling the walls of her cunt squeezing around him almost sends him over the edge immediately, and he has to concentrate on keeping himself together with his eyes shut and open mouth hovering over hers. It amazes him that it never gets old with her. Even after all the times they've done this together, he can't stop coming back for more. How could he ever refrain from this, from her?

"Ani," she says through a sigh, her voice nothing more than a soft push of air.

His brows furrow from the pleasure of having her merely sitting like this on him, and he nudges his nose with hers, leaning in to offer her a sensual kiss as he murmurs, "I know, I know." One hand comes up to wrap her hair up around his fist and uses it to tilt her head back a little to allow his lips to meet her neck. It's a tender kiss. The kind that says all of the words he can't seem to whenever they're together, but, of course, she must get him back for it.

She clenches down around him as she rocks her hips back and forth slowly, oh so slowly, for the sake of torturing him. The hand that isn't wrapped up in her hair grips her hip hard enough to bruise the soft skin like a ripe peach.

He shakes his head.

"No," Anakin says, and she halts, fearing that he no longer wants this. In response to that insecure thought, he chuckles. "No, it's my turn to have my way with you. I think it's time you learn your place, Padawan."

To his shock, Y/N laughs in his face.

The hand gripping her hip is ripped away and pinned to the seat by the invisible hands of the Force. They both know that he could stop her from pinning him down if he pleased, but he doesn't dare to. Not when she's looking down at him like that, moving her hips back and forth on him at a steadier pace now, and he's powerless to do anything but enjoy the sight of her above him.

She says, breathless, "I think we both know that won't be happening."

For emphasis, she starts to ride him harder, faster, and pulls his face into her hands to keep him at a distance just far enough to allow her to see him, yet close enough to make him try to lean forward against her touch for a kiss. It's needless to say that she doesn't allow him to. Instead, she lets one of her hands slip down from his face to collar his throat the way he had done to her the first time they were intimate together in that rundown bar on Coruscant.

Fuck. He wasn't prepared for that. No, no, no, he thinks, breaking the hold she had on his hands and gripping her hips to slow them down, but—

Anakin's eyes clamp shut as he buries his face in her neck and spills into her with a groan, not wanting to meet her gaze in his embarrassment. All he can think in the seconds after the mind-numbing bliss of his orgasm is that he ruined it. She had crafted the perfect fantasy in her head, and he couldn't keep it together long enough to allow her to enjoy it for longer than a moment or so. His eyes are already flooding with tears that hang on his lashes, threatening to fall at a constant rate and wet her delicate skin beneath.

At first, she almost doesn't understand—the way his hand broke free and grasped her hips, his groan, and the pulsating sense of warmth that filled her in the seconds following—but after a second, it clicks with her what's happening, and she can't help how her lips curve into a little smirk.

Oh, she thinks to herself, this is too good to be true.

Despite his increased degree of sensitivity in the aftermath of his orgasm, she doesn't stop. It isn't uncommon for him to be able to keep going after he comes sometimes, so it doesn't take her by surprise that he remains hard inside of her. And this is what truly breaks him. This is what reduces him to a clingy, teary-eyed mess with his arms closing in around her waist as she moves on his cock, taking what she wants from him with the knowledge that he's always belonged to her tucked safely away in her heart.

The hand around his neck squeezes tighter as if for the sake of taunting him, and she brushes the tip of his nose with hers. So close to connecting their mouths yet too far.

"So needy," she says amidst the harsh bouncing of her hips. "You hardly lasted a minute, it's pathetic."

Hearing those words lights a fire in the distance pit of his abdomen, pleasure sparking like the light of a fire once more. A matter of seconds was all it took, and the degrading words spoken to him couldn't be more true. Despite the fact that he likes being talked to like this and treated like he's lower than her. That paired with the feeling of her tight walls clamped down around him pushes him right back to where he had been when they started, albeit much more sensitive in the wake of his orgasm.

His hands leave her hips grapple for purchase on her waist to pull her body closer to his, never satisfied with the degree of closeness. Not even when he's inside of her.

"M'sorry," he whispers with tears shining in his eyes and tries to jut his face forward for a kiss to no avail. "I'll be good this time, I swear..."

The fingers digging into the sides of his neck loosen slightly at this, and she can't help but soften at the sound of him pleading with her. Seeing the tears in his eyes, although not from anything but a strange mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, plays a part in it as well. This is what he likes—being broken down into pieces by her, used and degraded, then built back up again with hushed words of praise and soft touches. At last, her hand slides up from its home around his throat and holds his face by the chin, keeping his head tilted back against the headrest to allow her a better look at him.

Anakin is and has always been, devastatingly beautiful. Beautiful in a statuesque way that only art can be. Yet, somehow, like everything with him from his strength in the force to his immaculate conception, he defies the rules and offers the artists of the universe a face, a body, a mind to challenge that of their meticulous creations. To capture his likeness would be impossible. Even she has trouble reining him in during these moments. He is simply too much in every conceivable way—too much power, too much beauty, too much ambition—to ever be confined to the prison of a painted canvas or sculpture. The only entity he will allow to confine him is her. Not even the Force may take precedence over the deity sitting astride his lap.

The scar cutting through his brow down past the edge of his eye is slightly raised beneath the thumb she allows to drag down the length of it. Using the hand that isn't grasping his chin, she inspects it carefully and cups his cheek. Now, the motion of her bouncing on him shifts into more of a sensual grinding—something far more intimate and slow.

"Mmm," she hums a quiet moan and keeps his head pinned back against the headrest under the doting guidance of her hands as she fucks him. "You really are trying to please me, aren't you?" There's a heavy sigh that sinks her chest, and he feels her tighten up around him at the familiar feeling budding within her. The thumb that caressed his scar now brushes the swell of his bottom lip as she says, breathless and breaking character for a second, "Ani.."

He begs, not even fully sure what for, "Please."

To this, her lips curl upward in a soft smile, and she decides to give him what he wants. After all, he's gotten himself so worked up over it, she might as well take care of her beloved, sensitive master. The hand holding his face drop and wrap around his wrists to guide them from her waist back down to her hips. That way he will have a better hold and leverage on her.

Finally, she grants him the opportunity to kiss her, and he engages with an enthusiasm that puts their previous kisses to shame. But before he can allow his tongue to push past her parted lips, she pulls back a hairs width of space to whisper, "If you get me off in less than a minute, I'll let you come again." The air they breathe in and out runs hot from both their exhales and the words she speaks. After a pause, she reminds him, "You better hurry."

The hands on her hips squeeze hard as he shifts beneath her and plants his feet firmly on the floor of the aircraft to anchor himself in place before he starts to thrust up into her. Her body jolts hard against his from the strength of him fucking her, holding her there over top of him and looking into her eyes as he diligently works to bring her pleasure.

As their mouths fall apart from a heated kiss, he murmurs, "Touch yourself," to her, knowing she needs the added stimulation to be pushed over the precipice that his cock alone has brought her to.

She giggles, apparently not fucked out enough to drop her domineering attitude much to Anakin's dismay, and asks, "You can't make me come on your own?"

By the darkness that stirs in his irises, she can tell that she has awoken a sleeping monster with these words, and in spite of his lust for her controlling him in every way, he has never been able to back down from a challenge. Especially not one against her. He thinks he scolds her, muttering something about her being a brat, but that could easily be in his head. At this point, he isn't sure which urges have been acted in and which remain a blissful fantasy. With how easily the power shifts between them, a constant game of tug of war, it wouldn't surprise him if he said it aloud. His cybernetic arm wraps around her waist and pulls tight to imprison her against him so closely, she could not move or squirm away if she wanted to. Which, she doesn't. His flesh hand, however, disappears between their bodies to allow the rough pads of his middle and ring finger to make contact with her aching clit.

Y/N's body turns molten in his grasp in response. What little handle she had left on her composure now crumbles as he fucks her hard and deep enough for his tip to hit her cervix each time. The heady blend of pain and pleasure reduces her to hysterics, falling over until her body is fully braced against his with her forehead resting on his shoulder. It renders her useless. All she can do is moan and gasp and cling to him as he ruins her. If she were to pull away to look into his eyes, she'd find a man possessed by lust and obsession. All directed at her, of course.

Every brush of his fingers on her clit brings her closer and closer until the tight thread of tension within her finally snaps, pushing her over the edge with her mouth falling open in pleasure. Even as she shakes in his arms and digs her fingernails into his arms with enough force to break the skin beneath his clothing, Anakin doesn't let up. He keeps pushing her further throughout the aftermath of her climax and forces her to ride it out without any mercy shown for her obvious sensitivity.

It isn't until the intense pulsating waves of bliss recede that she can regain her senses and withdraw her face from where it had been buried in his shoulder.

She drapes her arms over his broad shoulders, keeping him equally as trapped in her embrace as she was in his, and allows her forehead to press against his as he continues to fuck her. The arm around her waist squeezes like a vice, and she can tell how close he is by the erratic nature of his thrusts. It almost makes her wince in sensitivity to feel him pounding into her harder than he had been seconds ago, reckless and blind to any harm he may be doing to his precious Padawan as a result of his lust, but she stifles the sound. A part of her likes this aspect of it. The idea of him using her like she's nothing more than a toy for him to play with once she's had her fun.

Her lips smear a wet kiss against the top of his head where his skin meets his hairline, murmuring, "Good boy," under her breath. A fraction of a second later, she says, "I want you to come inside me."

This sends him into a frenzy—his hand slips out from between their bodies to take hold of her hip and stabilize himself as he chases his release. Now, she can't help but wince at the ache he causes inside of her, but he knows better than to stop at the sound of it. The last time he did, she punished him for it, so now he never stops when he's fucking her. Not unless she tells him to.

Anakin pulls her hips down to him one last time before he stills inside of her, barely moving at a slow pace to grind into her. She's so fucking tight like this—with her legs on either side of his lap—and he can tell that she's purposefully squeezing down around him to intensify the sensation, drinking in the sight of him coming undone beneath her with an awestruck expression. The warm, pulsating presence of him inside of her is intoxicating. She can't help but grind down against him, keeping him as deep as possible. Every hot spurt of his release fills her to the brim until she can feel the sticky fluid dripping around where the base of his cock keeps it trapped inside of her hole.

The thought of the consequences this could have is scandalous enough to bring an added flush to his cheeks. Nothing would please him more than to see her marked so publicly by him, her belly swollen beneath her clothing from growing his child, but it would never work. At least not right now. Not unless they changed their circumstances to allow them to experience the joys of parenthood together. Seeing that they are both devoted to the order, however, it seems impossible.

"That's it," she whispers, allowing him to hug her close and place a series of wet kisses across her neck in the time it takes him to come down from his orgasm. Her fingers card through his overgrown hair and pull it taut from his scalp just for the sake of torturing him. "Did so well."

All she gets in response is a sound she can only categorize as a mix between a whine and a hum. Seeing that he's still inside of her, every time she does so much as shift her weight around, he is reeling from overstimulation. And because she knows him so well, better than she knows herself, she takes it as her chance to show him mercy and lifts her hips up to help him pull out before it becomes too much.

Once she helps him pull his underwear back up his hips along with his pants, Y/N falls forward into him with a sigh.

Their faces are so close, any slight movement could make their mouths meet in a kiss, but neither of them does so. They sit like this, his hands on her hips and hers on his shoulders, and catch their breath in comfortable silence. If anyone were to visit the hangar and look inside, it would be easy to assume what has happened. They both appear properly fucked out with their hair in disarray from having each other's hands in it, their clothing hanging from their bodies, and their cheeks tinted pink.

The only sound that can be heard over the silence is that of their heavy breathing as it gradually evens out again in the aftermath of their exertions.

A moment passes, then Anakin breaks the silence with the last thing she expected to hear from him, "We shouldn't even go back." His hand cups the back of her neck to allow him to pull her face away enough for their eyes to meet. At first, she assumed he was kidding. But, once she saw his face, she knew he wasn't. "Not tonight, I mean."

She keeps brushing through his sweat-damp hair with her fingers to tame it into a more presentable style. Those pretty lips of hers pull back from her teeth in a smile.

"And where would you have us go instead, Ani?"

There's a second of hesitation, just one, before his face lights up with a mischievous smirk.

He shrugs, feigning innocence, then says as though it's as casual of an activity as going for a late-night walk together to clear their heads, "I would have us fly somewhere far away, somewhere no one would recognize us..." His eyes soften at the words that will leave him next, and he traces the slope of her waist a few times with his fingertips in a soothing pattern."Somewhere we could get married without any of them knowing."

The smile drops from her face, and with it so does his heart.

No, no, that was to much, wasn't it? Even though she surely must know by now, he has never actually said he loves her out of fear of her not reciprocating. It didn't seem wrong in his head, but now that he's suggested it aloud and she is looking at him like that, he isn't sure. This is always what he does. He is too rash, emotion-driven, and consumed by his urges to ignore them. It was part of what made him such a difficult Padawan for Obi-Wan, and now it's proving to be a conflict in his relationship with her as well.

He's about to take it back, to apologize and tell her they should go back downstairs, when she speaks. But it isn't what he expected to hear. In fact, it warms a place deep inside of him that he thought was hardened from years of hardship and grief. And he knows now that she feels the same way as him, even if neither of them has said it.

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

[iamumbra195]

If the Graveyard kids were demigods, which Greek god would they be the child of? (Riodanverse AU)

For Ashlyn, I believe she would just be another of Apollo's kids, keeping to herself most of the time. Nobody really paid her any mind because out of the dozens of Apollo kids, there wasn't anything particularly remarkable about her. She wasn't the Head Counsellor or anything. She liked it that way. Ashlyn discovered she was a demigod when she was young and spent two full years at the camp to fully prepare for living as a demigod in the mortal world before becoming a summer-only kid. Her sensitivity to sound is one of the strange abilities she inherited but isn't fully able to control, which is why she wears enchanted earplugs that keep sounds at a more tolerable level. Beyond that, she was a pretty average Apollo kid. She was good at the basics like Archery and Music but not beyond that of a normal Apollo kid. The only thing that really stood out was her dancing. It was her special interest, incorporating it into her daily life as a demi-god as often as she could. Her fighting style was based on ballet in canon and she preferred fighting with her legs over her hands--even going as far as putting a weapon in her shoes so she could still use her legs to attack. So she is an average demigod overall. Until one day she discovers that she was one of the few to inherit Apollo's nosokinesis, the ability to create and control diseases (like her ability to open rifts and trap people in them in canon). There's also the fact that her name literally means 'dream' or 'vision', so considering the fact that Apollo is literally the god of prophecy, I think being a child of Apollo fits her very well.

For Logan, I feel that for a long time, he would just be another unclaimed kid. He didn't know anything about his real parents and his grandparents were always super cagey about it until he was older and got attacked by a monster and they finally took him to the camp. He still doesn't know who his biological mother was. Then one day after being pushed too far by bullies, he snapped just like in canon, and was claimed by Ares, the god of war. Much to his and Barron's (another child of Ares) dismay because what the fuck do you mean this dickhead is my half-brother?! He had initially believed that his parent was related to his love for space and astronomy or maybe even his intelligence and love for math but Ares?!

For Aiden, I think being a child of Hermes suits him best. I've done some tests and got answers like Ares or the Big Three, which I don't think those really fit him. But for some reason, I like the idea that he has the favour of/is a legacy of Hades or Hecate from his dad's side while being completely unaware of it until much later (the unexplained connection his dad has to Maverick). Children of Hermes tend to be more hyperactive than other demigods and are often referred to as a jack of all trades and I think those things really suit Aiden. When he was younger, his parents sent him to camp year round in hopes that it would help him and he came back with dyed blond hair, red eye contacts and a reckless streak a mile wide.

For Ben, I believe that this kid is and always will be a child of Apollo. His deep love and talent for singing and music, his rage and hurt at having this taken away from him. His knack for medicine despite only having experience through taking care of Aiden. He only discovered he was a demigod after his voice was destroyed so he never learned that he could heal people with his voice/singing until one of the others, maybe Taylor, were fatally injured and he had no supplies to save them so as one last attempt to comfort them, he breaks his years of silence and sings for them. To his complete astonishment, they started healing and were able to stay alive long enough to get the medical help they needed. He felt pressued to sing and use his voice after that because it could heal people but Aiden or one of the others nipped that in the bud and told him he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. The idea of him also having premonitions when something bad is going to happen is cool, especially if it's the reason why he ends up catching little details the others fail to notice (a little nod to Canvas Ben for being so goddamn observant). His relationship with Aiden is also cute because children of Apollo and children of Hermes tend to get along, although not all of them do (Aiden and Ashlyn lol).

For Taylor and Tyler, I believe the twins would be children of Hephaestus. In some cultures, identical twins are treated as one entity/soul that was separated into two people and the same could be said about the Hernandez twins in this AU. Although they are different people with different interests and goals, that is how they are perceived as mortals. On the divine side of things, however, they are seen as a single soul split into two. That's why their connection goes far beyond that of regular mortal twins. Their abilities also reflect this. Taylor is a brilliant craftswoman and has a way with technology that separates her from the rest. She's also extremely fire-resistant, which proves to be useful considering her brother has the ability to manipulate fire. Tyler, on the other hand, has the basic skills needed to be a mechanic due to growing up with Taylor but it isn't instinctive in the same it is for Taylor. He is one of the few children of Hephaestus to have pyrokinesis, something he had to learn to master on his own because there wasn't anyone to teach him. They complete each other.

Although Aiden and Ashlyn spent a year or two in the camp, their paths never crossed and they were just another faceless person in the crowd of campers until they officially met when Ben and Aiden began to go to her high school in her sophomore year. Aiden clocked her as a demigod as soon as they met at the bus and was excited to meet another one of them outside of camp. He was also curious to know if she figured out what she was yet and if not, he could protect her from monsters and lead her to camp! Ashlyn recognized both Aiden and Ben as demigods but preferred to avoid mixing her mortal life with her mythological one so she avoided Aiden's needling to the best of her ability. When Ben finally told Aiden that she was another child of Apollo at camp, Aiden doubled down on the pestering which irritated Ashlyn beyond belief. Unfortunately for her, this wasn't the last she was going to see of him.

Mid-way through the first semester, Ashlyn received a prophecy from the Oracle stating that she and five others were to go on a quest. It was a shock to her and everyone in the camp because she was pretty unremarkable yet she was the one that had to go on the quest? It was ridiculously vague beyond the fact that she specifically had to go to Savannah with a group of five others. So she had to pick five other members for her team.

Nearly everyone tried to volunteer and because Ashlyn didn't particularly care who went along, names were drawn out of a bowl. With her luck, Aiden and Ben's names were both drawn out of the bowl, along with the Hernandez twins and Logan. She wasn't particularly happy with those chosen but she supposed it could be worse. Especially when she considered the fact she could've been going with him.

Barron was throwing a fit about how an unclaimed coward like Logan couldn't have possibly been picked but Tyler told him that no one would even want to go on a quest with him considering the only thing he cared about was glory and honour for himself.

And so, the six of them packed their things and started their journey to Savannah, Georgia where it all went to hell.

[ayeforscotland]

Ah wait, I've got something for you in relation to white American fetishisation of Scotland and other European countries (because unfortunately it's not just Scottland, it's everyone.)

(And this is just an opinion, I have no science to back this up. That must be stated first and foremost.)

To achieve American Whiteness ment that many Europeans immigrating to the states had to shed their cultures in order to be accepted by Anglo European decendents. If you weren't the 'right' type of white then you weren't good enough and were often pushed out.

As such, these people, too, were forced to shed their cultural identity in order to make a living here.

Now, these diverse cultures are celebrated (to a point.) There's celebrations that come from these iterations of faith, foods and dress that come from these homelands, but they're strange derivatives of themselves. Xerox of a xerox of a xerox, made only by a cultural machine that doesn't really understand or want you, but loves the aesthetic of some small component of you, so it takes that, all while simultaneously craving it could be more.

And so NOW that it is no longer 'bad' to be decended from these places, NOW people try to claw their way back, like they're attempting to undo the damage the previous generations did to themselves in order to fit into White American Society, but they have no idea how and so it becomes a crass and ugly thing, often monetized by the same origional Anglo European sphere of influence that put them in this predicament anyway, and then further pits them against NEW people trying to make it here in the states.

(And to that last point, I have to recommend reading an amazing comic in the Nib by Dawson, Why Did They Come, in order to touch on how fucked up that whole thing is (not that we don't already know.) https://thenib.com/why-did-they-come/

But yeah... to summarize- immigrants now seen as acceptably white in the states originally WASN'T and so these people bleached themselves culturally to achieve the Anglo vibe, and now generations later, their decendents cling to fabrications of a culture they were denied in the most grotesque ways imaginable because they know nothing else.

It's like white bread trying to reintroduce culture to itself to become whole wheat again, only to end up giving itself mold.

Some great points there, particularly around the bastardisation of forgotten traditions etc.

I'd be keen to see some evidence of Scottish immigrants to the US being perceived the same way as, for example, Irish or Italian immigrants who eventually became accepted into 'American Whiteness'. Also while many Scottish immigrants who moved to America were poorer, I've never heard of them facing the same challenges as other European immigrants who were perceived as non-white. I expect a large part of that was being part of the British Empire. There was also a disproportionate number of Scots were plantation owners who owned slaves in the south. And while some historians dispute it's origins, I think it's mostly accepted the KKK was founded by descendants of Scottish immigrants , or at the very least, founded by people who drew heavily on that aesthetic. So even if modern Americans who fetishise Scotland are saying they can finally start celebrating their "native homeland's" traditions again - I think there's an element of 'wanting to be seen as victims with a rich history' about it.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XVI

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Witches and Their Source of Power…

Elain read the chapter title with a sigh, closing the ancient book and setting it on the low table, deciding she would revisit the text again in the morning. At some point, the words had started to lose much of their meaning, each paragraph making less sense than the one that had come before. 

Elain clenched her eyes shut as shadows danced along the sides of her vision, citing her lack of sleep for the tricks her mind had been playing for the last few pages. She had no one to blame but herself for the sleeping arrangements anyway, stubborn as she had been to give Lucien the bed and commit to her choice. 

As Elain adjusted her position in the armchair, tugging the blanket around her shoulders so that she could rest her head against her pillow, she was glad Lucien had stepped out of their shared chambers for a moment. Elain had spent the entire day with him, and she loathed to admit how awfully nice it had been.  

Lucien had shown her around the Forest House, the memory of his hand on the small of her back as courtiers had walked by replaying in her head every time she had a moment to herself. She could barely stand to look at Lucien without feeling the sudden urge to simply touch him,

Elain shook her head at the thought, attempting to push Lucien from her mind. Instead, she considered the Lady of Autumn’s book. Being a witch in Prythian seemed to have many meanings, some more negative than others. In Autumn, their reputation was generally good, Elain was surprised to find, but she was growing frustrated as the pages went on and she could relate to nothing within them. 

Elain wondered if she should ask Eris about getting her a book on seers, but thought better of it immediately. Eris would ask too many questions, and Elain had yet to see the Autumn heir since the celebration Beron had thrown to lift Lucien’s exile.  

She would see Eris at dinner the next day, Elain remembered. Lucien had told her about their invitation to join the High Lord for a meal, quickly declaring he had to speak with his brother before leaving Elain alone in their rooms. Lucien had not expressly told her which of his brothers he had meant to find, but Elain figured the most likely option was Eris. She furrowed her brows, tilting her head to watch as the shadows along the carpeted floor flickered strangely in the light of the dying fire. 

Elain was nervous about having to spend more time with Beron Vanserra and his sons. She did not know what to expect, and she assumed that Lucien was just as worried about how the night’s events would unfold. She hoped to fall asleep quickly, and that no dreams would wake her, so that she could be well-rested. Elain knew she would have to play her part perfectly, that the smallest misstep could have disastrous consequences. 

Just as Elain’s eyes began to droop shut, she felt a shiver travel along her spine. Instinct had her jolting upright, the room seemed dark, her hands clenched into tight fists as she searched for whatever threat her body was warning her about. 

Elain blinked as shadows seemed to slither on the floors, as they darted down the walls and collected in a spot next to the open window. In her panic, Elain grabbed the object nearest to her, the golden candelabra on the coffee table heavy in her small hands. 

I will not scream. 

Elain silently vowed, determined to handle whatever might be coming her way without assistance. She stayed tucked against her armchair, raising her makeshift weapon as the shadows slowly took shape.

The darkness took the distinct form of a man, and Elain yelped embarrassingly in recognition as his facial features became clearer. 

Elain had never seen a phantom, although she had read about the creatures. If she had not known better, she would have assumed that Azriel was one such monster. She could see right through him, the carved pattern of the window sill filtering through his shadows, like he was in the room, but somewhere else at the same time. There with her, but not entirely. 

“Oh gods,” she mumbled, kicking at her blanket, eyes widening in disbelief. She put the candelabra down with a resounding thunk, her words a hiss so that no one else could possibly hear. “Az, what are you doing here?” 

Had she been in Velaris, Elain would have rushed to pull a robe over her sleeping clothes, but the ones in Autumn were modest. The material was thick, meant to keep her warm as the sun fell and the temperature dropped. She still felt an embarrassed blush creep its way onto her cheeks. 

“Were you…” Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper, it rattled like dead leaves in the wind, odd and unnerving. “Were you going to hit me with the candlestick?”

Elain was close enough to Azriel that she could have touched him if she wished. “You can’t be here,” she stated, anxiety leaking into her tone. “Why are you here?” Elain knew the answer to her question, but she listened closely as the shadowsinger responded. 

“Rhysand and Feyre could hardly come themselves,” his lips tilted up at the corners as he continued, “and Nesta was moments away from storming Autumn to check on you.” 

“Well, I’m fine,” Elain snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose, quickly swallowing any of her frustration. “Tell everyone I’m fine.” 

Azriel frowned, his shadows whirling at his shoulders, nearly blocking him from sight. “We got your letter—”

“But you didn’t believe me?” Elain interrupted, fighting the urge to cross her arms. She had written days before and given her note to Cora who she hoped might be able to pass it to Eris. Elain was careful not to alert anyone of what she was planning in case they thought she might run off, especially since Beron believed that she was staying in Autumn with the Night Court’s knowledge.

Azriel shook his head sharply. “Of course we did,” he reassured. “We just don’t like—”

“What’s done is done,” Elain interrupted once more, her voice easily cutting off his throaty rasp. She had said the same words to Lucien when he had questioned her decision to come for him, although it felt like a lifetime ago. “Me and Lucien are handling it, so unless you’ve come with advice, I don’t want to hear about whether or not you like any of my choices.”

For a moment, it was as if the world had stopped spinning. The silence was heavy, the tension between her and Azriel thick. She had had a complicated history with the Illyrian, but enough years had passed, and his friendship was important to her. Elain hoped at the very least he would understand where she was coming from. 

With a sigh, Azriel said, “Right, of course.” He looked at her with furrowed brows, an unspoken apology in his eyes. “You’ve been alright?” 

Elain’s shoulders dropped in relief and she realised how tense she had been. “Lucien has been a perfect gentleman, so tell everyone not to worry.” 

“I think we’re all more worried about his family than we are him, Elain.” 

She waved a hand in Azriel’s direction as if to say she did not care. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said with a shrug. She hoped desperately that Azriel could not read just how scared the High Lord of Autumn made her. 

Azriel raised a dark brow, his expression knowing. “And the wedding plans?”

Elain groaned in response, toying with the laces of her sleeping gown. “If anything, Rhysand can always winnow me away right before we say our vows.” 

“Not funny,” Azriel said with a smile. His shadows frantically rushed to envelop him, and Elain wondered if they could sense someone approaching. “I should go,” he said, confirming her thoughts. 

“You shouldn’t have come at all,” Elain clipped, taking a few steps back as more shadows whirled past her bare feet. 

Azriel ignored her comment. “Good luck, Elain. We’ll see what we can do on our end.” His form became more faint as he spoke. 

“Stay out of Autumn,” Elain warned one last time, eyes never leaving the shadowsinger. 

Azriel gave her a little bow of his head and she waved in response, a dark cloud covering him entirely. “And Elain?” She hummed, ears straining to hear him. “If you want to keep up the act, the bed should really smell like both of you.” 

Azriel disappeared suddenly, no trace of his visit left behind, and Elain could do nothing but stare at the empty space where he had just been. Almost as if she were in a trance, Elain faced the bed with wide eyes. 

Lucien always made the bed perfectly, covers tucked into place neatly, pillows organised. She walked slowly to the one side, her fingers trailing along the thick fur blanket. Elain could hear her own heartbeat, blood rushing to her ears as she gripped the edge of the covers. Her knuckles were white around the fabric and Elain had to remind herself to stay calm. She pulled the sheets loose, flipping them over to reveal the comfortable mattress beneath. 

Elain closed her eyes, knowing that she would lose her nerve otherwise. It was better that Lucien was not there to watch, she thought, blowing a stray curl away from her face. 

“Fuck,” she mumbled as she laid down, “fuck me.” If Nesta and Feyre could hear her now, Elain thought, they would surely think she had gone completely mad. Her behaviour was improper, and entirely out of character, but she could not be bothered to care. 

In the bed, Lucien’s scent was overwhelming, just as she had feared. Instead of cringing away, like she had expected, Elain simply tucked her face deeper into the pillows, unable to stop herself from breathing in. 

He is mine. 

Elain was so tired, she did not even take the time to examine the possessive thought. For the first time since she had arrived in Autumn, Elain was comfortable. Her body was instantly grateful, relaxing quickly, eyes falling shut easily.

Elain could feel sleep claiming her, slowly but surely. She barely stirred as the door to the suite opened and she became aware of Lucien’s presence. When he paused at the foot of the bed, Elain tried to pretend she was asleep, but when he whispered her name, he captured her attention fully. 

“Get into bed, Lucien,” she simply mumbled, hoping he would not ask any questions.

“With you?” He whispered back, sounding unsure of himself. 

“D’you see another bed in here?” she responded. Lucien said nothing in return, but Elain heard his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom, and she heard them once more as he approached the opposite side of the bed. 

When the mattress dipped with his weight, Elain felt a strange sense of triumph at how little effort it took for Lucien to simply listen and accept the decisions she made. 

Lucien stayed on the edge of the bed, frozen in place for longer than Elain figured was normal. When the time stretched on, she lazily opened an eye to look at him. His broad back was to her, the shirt he wore pulling across his shoulders. 

“We can share,” Elain said softly. “There’s more than enough room on the bed, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

Lucien did not look towards her, but Elain could hear the smile gracing his features as he spoke. “Guess I won’t have to worry about my virtue?” 

Elain snorted, unladylike but uncaring. “Our scents haven’t mixed,” she added, hoping that would be explanation enough for her sudden change of heart when it came to her sleeping on the armchair. 

Lucien’s back straightened, like he had just realised their mistake. “And the dinner tomorrow…” 

“Exactly,” Elain wondered how they had both missed such a small but vital detail. She was even surprised that Cora, or even Eris, had yet to mention it. Perhaps the scent of the mating bond had been enough to redirect everyone’s attention, Elain considered. 

“I like the way you think, Elain.” His tone suggested he was so impressed with her that she decided not to mention Azriel’s influence. 

“Did you speak with Eris?” She mumbled, still wanting confirmation that she had been correct in her assumption. She shut her eyes as she felt Lucien shift. 

Getting under the covers and adjusting the pillows, Lucien’s warmth was like that of a fire as he lay down next to her. Even with her eyes closed, Elain knew that he was near, the distance between them small. She felt a warm blush travel from her neck to the tips of her pointed ears, knowing that sharing a bed with a man she barely knew was improper. “Eris was with Callum.” Elain hummed softly and he continued. “They both had some good advice,” he admitted, and she could tell he had not been expecting it. 

Elain yawned, exhaustion taking over. “Tell me in the morning,” she murmured, opening her eyes to find Lucien entirely too close. She wanted to rake her fingers through the dark red strands of his hair, to tuck her face into the crook of his neck. 

My mate. 

“And move, just a little,” Elain added, her words a breath. Unthinking, the pull of the bond clearly affecting her ability to be reasonable, she pressed her palm to his chest. She felt him tense beneath her touch, he was solid muscle under the thin fabric of his sleeping shirt, leaving very little to the imagination. Elain was glad for the darkness, knowing in the light he would have been able to see her blush. 

Elain could have moved her hand quickly, but she chose not to. She felt his heartbeat just beneath the pads of her fingers, letting her hand linger for a moment. “Good night, Lucien.” 

Elain did not hear his response, instead her mind was fixed on the steady beat of his heart, the sound a comfort as she eased into a dreamless sleep.

[beauty-and-passion]

This is going to sound really strange but the most recent GRWM video has. Some of the best Janus characterisation I think we’ve seen in a while?? Also he canonically sheds now, so

You are not wrong, anon: this is the best characterization in a while. It's way better than the last one, in which Janus was mostly a drunk idiot, and it's way worse than SvS. This one sits in the middle: it's not bad, it's not amazing. It's good.

Just like Mr. Sanders' last videos regarding Sanders Sides, this GRWM is okay. Not groundbreaking, not impressive, not deep, not stupid. Just okay.

And trust me, this is the best possible outcome! When I found out Thomas was planning a video with Janus and it was a GRWM and Janus had questions to answer... I wasn't just scared, oh no. I was absolutely terrified. I feared to see the destruction of Janus' character. I feared to see him being all like: "YASSS QUEEN all I love is WINE and nothing else, also being SASSY is my religion BIATCH".

And we got a bit of that, sure. But it was a bit, not the avalanche I expected. I was bearable.

After all, this is just a random video. There's nothing plot-related here. Heck, there's not even too much Sanders Sides stuff, because this GRWM clearly was Thomas' attempts to reconnect with the character. I shouldn't care too much about it. I shouldn't overanalyze it.

But you know me: you know I love to over-analyze. And if you know me, you also know that Remus is my favorite child, but Janus has a special place in my heart and if one little thing about him is off I will start rambling.

Hence why I will overanalyze the shit out of these 9 minutes of a video and I will do what I shouldn't do, i.e. look back into the past's characterization. Not for shaming Mr. Sanders for not remembering it (even if the videos still exist and he can watch them too if he wants), but to remind you all of Janus' personality. The public needs to remember what kind of character he was and who he became.

So I'll over-analyze everything and no, you can't escape. You're stuck with me here, so put your seatbelt on, because you're in for one of the things I love the most: talking about Janus.

The importance of nuance

Let's talk about make-up a little bit. Don't worry, by the end you will understand my point.

The current make-up isn't even comparable to the past one. And if a lot of people complain about it and prefer the old one, it's not because they're all demanding: it's because of nuances.

Let me explain and let's start with the current photo Mr. Sanders showed to promote the GRWM video:

If you look at this make-up, your eyes will inevitably be drawn towards that sharp black line. And as soon as you will look at it, you will immediately register it as a drawn line.

It's so clear and so evident it's a line, I can literally see the black liquid eyeliner, the tip and the hand tracing that line on Thomas' skin.

But this line isn't supposed to be a line: it's supposed to be/resemble a snake's mouth.

Now, look at the past make-up:

The line isn't sharp black: the line is nuanced. You can see a bit of brown and a hint of red/pink to give it depth and emphasize the shadow.

Also, this color is very similar to the little shadow given by Thomas' upper lip on the lower one, so it looks more natural against his skin tone. It doesn't seem like something added on him, but on something that was already part of him. And isn't that the goal of make-up? To add something and disappear, so people won't notice it exists in the first place?

Look at the eye as well: the past one is a softer, more nuanced pink. It looks more natural, against Thomas' skin tone. The present one is so dark, it looks more like a bad bruise.

So the problem with the current make-up isn't just that the colors aren't the same: it's that the current colors are too much. They're too sharp, too saturated and, consequently, too fake. It's clear that Thomas wears make-up, while in the past the blend was softer, the colors closer to Thomas' actual complexion. Consequently, the make-up faded and gave us an illusion of reality.

I know Mr. Sanders had skin conditions and everything, but I'm talking about colors and nuances here. Two things a make-up artist should know better than me, an idiot on the Internet who loves art, color theory and learns from artists on the web. You can obtain these things independently of the used products.

So my opinion on the make-up would be: please Mr. Sanders, switch for softer tones, no sharp black and no coral. Too much. Nuance is the key.

And not just for make-up.

---

The fakeness of reality tv

Janus enjoys reality television because nothing about it is real. His specific words are:

I very much enjoy reality television: the scheming, the plotting, the lying. Every person for himself and even on top of that, all of the production none of reality television is actually real. It's just delightful.

I get the idea behind it and I understand why Thomas thought it was a good choice. On paper, it works: Janus should enjoy this kind of show because it's made of lies and he's Deceit.

But if I follow this line of thought, I inevitably meet with Janus from Into the Unknown:

[Patton]: Well yeah I guess you'd like it, everyone all dressed up, disguised as someone else... [Janus]: How is it we've had so many of these visits and you still know so little about me?

Janus himself said that not everything associated with lies is something he enjoys. And it makes sense, because Logan too said the same thing in the last Aside:

"Is that all I am to you? The reading guy?"

So now I'm asking: why does he like reality tv? Just because it's fake? Then why is he so happy about it being fake? Reality tv should represent reality, it should mirror how society works. And thanks to SvS, we know Janus doesn't hold society into high consideration:

[Deceit]: Society itself is a lie! (...) You get enough people to share a piece of land and breathe the same air and... you've got a society. Why? It's just a bunch of people in the same general area. It's an abstract concept, as real as the monster under your bed! But we obey these rules or get punished for breaking them. All in the name of society. It's absurd and terrifying.

Just like society, reality tv has a group of people put together and they make a society. It's an abstract concept, as real as the monster under your bed. And these people must obey the rules or get punished for breaking them.

And yet, Janus doesn't think reality tv is "absurd and terrifying", but "delightful".

Again: why does he like it? Why does he like something so similar to what he hates most?

Maybe you can live with the "It's fake" explanation and that's good for you. But what if instead of liking reality tv because "it's fake", Janus likes it, because it perfectly mirrors the flaws and the emptiness of society? What if he enjoys it, because he loves the irony of society using its own means to unmask itself and show its real face? What if he watches it, not because "it's delightful", but because it's bittersweet to see such an inability to understand your own flaws?

Which explanation do you think is more fitting for his character?

---

Remus eats glue sticks

Of course he does. His digestive system is probably able to digest molten lava, so glue sticks are a walk in the park for him, bless his chaotic soul <3

(Have I already said Remus is my favorite boi?)

---

The possibilities of shedding

Okay, the "Have you considered not having pores?" is hilarious and I love it on multiple levels.

Well, here we are. Janus sheds, two to four times a year. And I know the fandom went crazy over this and I'm happy for you... but I never really cared too much about it.

I mean: it's fine, but I can't really think of anything truly special to headcanon about it. Snakes shed their skin all the time and they just chill around, while slowly peeling their skin off. It's not dangerous, it doesn't hurt, it's just exfoliation time✨. I mean, does it hurt you, when you remove sunburnt skin? Don't think so. The worst thing for snakes is probably not being able to take the skin off with hands, since they don't have hands.

But hey, this is canon now, so I should probably integrate it in my headcanon. And I can do it in two different ways:

The shedding is just part of Janus' routine: twice a year he gets one day off, takes a reeeeally long bath and slowly peels off his skin until he's done.

I can take inspiration from this fanart and imagine the shedding as a real "leaving your body behind" process, in which Janus slowly gets submerged into his room and re-emerges as a form of pure power and instincts, which then solidifies into a new body. I think I like this idea more, because when I go with Janus, I need something that makes him look either more god-like or more monster-like.

And since we're talking about snake traits, how many more does he have? Because I already added a few on my list, like:

sunbathing

climbing trees

laying everywhere (especially on trees)

taking long relaxing baths

And I'm just waiting for an excuse to add "mating". But I suppose only future will tell.

---

What you don't like

"An important aspect of being oneself, in addition to knowing what you like, is knowing what you don't like and saying to that thing: ew get away from me, I don't like you... Roman"

Okay, that was genuinely funny and it made me smile, so kudos for that, Mr. Sanders. It was a clever move and I enjoyed it.

Also, for more reasons I will explain further down, this makes me want to write a conversation between Janus and Roman, to study how they work together, why they don't like each other and their personalities in general. My only problem would be to put it on a timeline, because I don't like to write things suspended in a temporal vacuum. If inspiration strikes, maybe I'll do it.

---

Religion... and self-preservation

Now, I don't know who made that question about Jesus Christ, but you. You. You gave me real fear... but also indirectly confirmed one of my headcanons, so thank you, I suppose.

I was bracing myself, waiting and hoping Thomas didn't say anything stupid, because Janus and religion have a super tight bond and one misstep can lead to me rambling for the rest of my life, all while throwing canon into the trash because no one can say anything wrong about the relationship Janus has with religion, not even Mr. Sanders.

But the answer was... okay. Harmless. A bit simplistic, maybe, but I can accept Janus saying that Jesus is cool for having followers and turning water into wine.

What really struck me the most was when he said Jesus is his style because "he refuses to die".

For me, that's the most important part of the video. You can take away everything else, because this is the only part that matters for me.

Why? Because this is the essence of self-preservation. Because, as I said in the past, self-preservation is that force that protects you from dangers, threats, even yourself. And it protects you from death. It's part of that intrinsic will to live that defines all living creatures.

So, since Janus encompasses this role too, it has always been implied (at least for me) that he's that force that will fight against death until the end, just to make Thomas live a little longer. In my headcanon, he literally refuses to think Thomas can die before his time, because he's built to not make this happen.

Hence why when I saw Janus putting such emphasis on the idea that Jesus refuses to die made me immensely happy, because it's (implied) canon. Janus refuses to die, because he will never surrender to death. Because it's his nature, to never surrender to it.

---

Deceit or Ego?

The snake telepathy part was fun when mentioned, then it was followed by the "memememe I'm gorgeous" part, which is perfect if you're the representation of Ego, a bit less if you're deceit.

Speaking of that, I think there's a bit of confusion in Thomas' mind regarding these two aspects. And since they're represented by two different Sides, the contrast is even more jarring.

Janus is confident and this is part of his personality. But confidence isn't repeating "me" in your head 400 times and telling yourself that you're gorgeous and handsome even when sitting still. This isn't confidence, this is Ego. This is something Roman could say to himself... and he did it, in the past. He looked at himself all the time, called himself gorgeous, asked if his makeup was okay because the prince's gonna slay, said he dramatically serenaded himself in front of the mirror. All these things are a constant reconfirmation of yourself and this is what the Ego does: it constantly reconfirms you're great and cool and gorgeous.

Confidence, on the other hand, doesn't need constant confirmations. If you're confident, you already know you're great, you don't need to repeat it yourself. You just do your things and if others criticize you, you shrug their reprimands off.

One example of confidence from this video? This part:

"What are my guilty pleasures?" Guilty pleasures? Why would a pleasure be guilty? I've got none of those. Indulge in your pleasures guilt-free, people: life is short.

This proves Janus is confident, WAY MORE than him repeating how cool he is. This is the tone he should've had for most of the video, not that "Oh, look at how cool I am".

Also because it may seem a paradox, but the more you repeat how cool you are, the less people will believe you. That's why people who constantly show off are perceived as weak and insecure: because they search for a constant reconfirmation they would probably never need, if they were truly confident.

---

All of the selfcare - and what else?

Aside from the things I already mentioned, the rest of the video is mostly made of advice like "your opinion is the only one that matters/others are less than you/don't give a shit about others".

I don't know if this is Mr. Sanders making a reminder to himself to not indulge in criticism too much, but okay, let's ignore it XD

These pieces of advice can all be traced back to another aspect of Janus' personality: the self-care one. The last canonical one.

And since it's the last, I can understand why Thomas latched onto it and made it be like 60% of the video. It's probably the part of Janus' character he remembers the most.

And it's the easiest too, along with the "sassy" aspect. Put them together and you get the sassy queen who tells you to relax dear, don't give a fuck about the rest of the world.

So I understand you, anon, when you say this is the best characterization in a while: it is, because it's based on the last canonical piece of Janus' character, mixed with the "sassy" aspect that developed more recently. Of course it seems more coherent with Janus' character, compared to him being drunk for an entire video.

But even if canonical, self-care is just an aspect of Janus' personality and it makes most of the video. The remaining part is a huge amount of Ego, which shouldn't even be here, because it's Roman's trait.

And the other aspects? Nowhere to be seen. No distaste for society, no cryptic language, no wittiness, barely any lie, barely any real confidence, barely any body language and zero foreseeing ability.

I know what you're thinking and yes, I said at the beginning that this video is clearly just a way for Mr. Sanders to reconnect with the character. So I understand why Janus' personality is like that and that there are mistakes or incomplete things. I am not blaming Thomas for trying.

I am writing this post, to remind you Janus' full personality. To remind you that he's not just "sassy wine aunt/self-care queen".

On the contrary, I think present Janus is exactly like his make-up: the traits are similar to the original one, but the aspects are too sharp. They should be here, they are part of him, but they're not in the exact shade or nuance to be him. They are similar, but off, because something is missing. And that something is nuance.

In the end, that's what this post is all about: nuance. Past Janus was more nuanced, because he was more than one aspect. Present Janus is less nuanced, because he's stuck between two aspects - which is a truly cruel irony, considering his entire thing is being a gray, multifaceted character.

My only hope is that, just like with the make-up, Mr. Sanders will find a way to bring nuances back into Janus' character and make him at least similar to who he used to be.

[little-pondhead]

DPxDC Prompt:

[this is a long one please forgive me]

Bruce lied to the others about his trip through time. Not all of it! Just…one specific thing.

During the early parts of his timeline hijinks, before Tim realized Bruce was still alive, he had a bit of a respite in between his endless time jumps. (Maybe a certain ghost was helping him out.) With a fuzzy memory at best and a strange itch to investigate the unknown, Bruce had been taken in by an old couple who had no kids but wanted to pass on the family name. And who better than a thirty-something amnesiac stranger who could actually be related by blood?

Bruce, with nowhere to go, accepted his new name, grew out his hair, and quickly got accepted into college for engineering. There, he met two of his closest friends; a redheaded woman who could kick his ass and a wet chicken of a man who could also kick his ass. They both made him nostalgic for something he didn’t remember, and that made him sad sometimes, but the two were always there to cheer him up.

Years passed, and Bruce’s life moved on. He settled well into his new name, mourned his parents when the eventually passed, celebrated his wedding with the redhead, and grieved when the last of their trio fell out of touch. He had a daughter, and then a son! They were both so smart, even if they didn’t share the same passion he had for exploring the science behind the afterlife. (Something about the dead just itched his brain in an infuriating way, and Bruce wasn’t one to let sleeping dogs lie. He just had to find out why he was so obsessed with this stuff!)

Eventually, his and his wife’s research yielded results, and that’s when bits of Bruce’s former life started coming back to him. After the portal opened, he spent his days with his head in a fog, oblivious to the world around him as he struggled to continue his work.

Why did he remember a boy named Dick? Who would name their child that? And Jason…who was Jason? That name always made him sad. There were more names, more faces, but none of them were his. He could never remember what his name was supposed to be. All he had was the one his adoptive parents gave him.

His wife was worried. His daughter was struggling. And his son…his son sometimes hurt to look at. Bruce didn’t know why. He knew he was being a terrible father, but something in him wanted to cry whenever he gazed at those clear blue eyes, just like his own. His son was too smart for his own good, and realized his dad had started avoiding him.

The day his son purposely left the room so Bruce could relax was one that hurt him even now.

Time kept passing, and Bruce was becoming anxious. His brain fog was as bad as its ever been. He had constant headaches, and his hands kept twitching for nonexistent tools on his belt. Something was going to happen. Something had happened. A voice in his head told him it was all his fault.

So in an attempt to clear his head and spend more time with his family, Bruce insisted they all go to dinner at the local diner. His son invited his friends. Even better! More people meant more distractions from his messed-up thoughts. He wouldn’t spiral with the kids around.

And then something exploded.

The last thing Bruce remembered was his son’s (green??) eyes widening in fear and horror as something yanked him violently backwards. He fell farther than expected, through a portal and a green sky full of black stars. A hand tightened on the back of his jumpsuit, hauling his giant body through another portal with a roar of a motorcycle.

And then…and then…and then what?

All of a sudden, Bruce was sprawled in some mud in the middle of a forest, dizzy and coughing from the explosion’s fumes. He’s singed all over, and his ears still rang from the force of the…what happened again?

Bruce sits up, and all of a sudden, he’s in the era of the pilgrims. His memory has been wiped clean, his new name and family forgotten thanks to the hands of time. His adventures through the time stream continue, with him assuming many different identities throughout many different decades.

The memories of being Jack Fenton don’t return to him until he’s back in 2004, once again in his own time and living as Bruce Wayne. A glowing green sticky note informs him that “The Nasty Burger Incident” had just occurred. His “other self” just had his ass dragged to another era, so the time loop would continue.

It also informed him that he had an orphaned son crying for him at Bruce’s own grave.

Well, his forgotten son (that sounded bad, even to him) was supposed to be about fourteen now, right? Bruce hopes he doesn’t have to fight anyone for custody.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

CH2-14 Thoughts

So! CH2-14, huh? This episode has been our longest in the series yet, and it has used that time incredibly efficiently, especially given it is the penultimate episode before our culprit reveal. I don't think there's much to start with, really. Let's jump right into it :D

SWEAR STATISTICS (ch2-13)

BINGO CARD

Nico

DT-Dev needs to stop drawing Nico so handsome when they're in the middle of killing someone. this has happened twice now, I am very concerned.

Nico is probably the character I have the least to say about overall, but I still think it's fair to start with them. For one, we finally got the reveal of Nico's true murder plan! I...still personally do not understand why they didn't just garrote the man from the beginning, but it's nice to finally have some answers. Nico confessing to not trusting anyone in the killing game as well as their whole speech later on is honestly very based, if I was in their shoes I'd probably not see the point in pretending to be guilty either, and I really do think it was the most mature way to respond to this situation as a whole. Nico is probably one of the more logically-driven in the cast (when Ace isn't up their ass, anyway), so it makes a lot of sense to me that this is the conclusion they'd come to.

(x) Nico: I… I just can't stand being treated like that. My teachers, my classmates, my father… I don't ever want to relive what they did to me.

Furthermore, we also learned that their father was also in on the abuse and transphobia they received, and this combined with how Levi talked about his father in the previous episode, it's just daddy issues across the board huh? Guess DT-Dev had to make up for J's mom angst somehow lmao. But in all seriousness, the fact that Nico more than likely had no one be there for them during those times is probably part of why they drifted more towards animals, besides the fact that there's no social rules with animals. (...has anyone put alien blues by vundabar on a nico playlist? I'm getting sidetracked.)

There is also a lot I could say about Nico's predominant male figure subjecting them to such treatment and how that relates to their relationship with Ace and Ace in general, but I'll leave that for a future post. All I'll say for right now is to look up VeryWellMind's page on toxic masculinity and observe how many points relate back to Ace :3

(x) Nico: I don't expect you to forgive me. Very few people ever do. So I don't see the point in acting sorry.

The last thing I really want to mention when it comes to Nico is this line, specifically the bolded text, because... am I wrong to think this is a very strange thing to say in the context of talking about your attempted murder? I've seen people say that this could be in reference to Nico's blunt way of speaking, but I feel like that doesn't fit in with this context, and the wording itself feels too dramatic for that to be the case. I feel like Nico has resorted to violence against their bullies before. I don't think it ever got as severe as the situation with Ace, but if only a few days of abuse caused Nico to choose violence, I think its almost a guarantee that they resorted to violence a few times during the years they were abused by their peers. Would certainly explain those weird ass bandages around their upper arms. anyway Nico, I adore you very much despite your bullshit murder plan. can't wait to see where you go :) (also is it fair to say that the theories of literally anyone else committing Ace's attempted murder are de-confirmed now? Like I don't think you could get a greater confirmation than the first thirteen minutes of this episode lmao)

Hu

...Oh yikes. So I have defended Hu on a few occasions, talking about how she is just defending Nico and that her behavior towards them is completely normal. And I think I must take advantage of my minimal gag reflex and gulp down that L because lord have fucking mercy.

First and foremost

(x) Hu: You’re trying to paint them as the villain just because they lost their temper at Ace once!

(x) Hu: If Arei died of a stab wound, it would be wrong for me to say you did it.

Both of these lines were fucking crazy of her lmao. Absolutely nonsensical, she is so annoying /affectionate

Second and secondmost, Hu so clearly projecting her own emotions and feelings onto Nico so that they can look weak and small and thus have to rely on her and clinging onto that perception when it continues to falter is so fucking delicious. The way I worded that makes it seem like I think Hu is being malicious, I do not, but also that is literally what she is doing, and furthermore it is not working. This episode alone brought Hu in my mind to a high-c tier, to a high b-tier because there is nothing I love more in this world than fictional women being awful. And now that I have that all typed out, I can't help but realize that this sounds very familiar...

Oh! That's right!

...Man Hu, I get that it's across the color wheel, but you really like to foil with people in red. Yeah, I think that Acevi and Huco are meant to be parallels of each other relationship wise. Both of them feature someone (Ace and Hu) projecting a certain identity onto a stranger (Levi and Nico) to satisfy their own emotional needs and their reactions when those fantasies crumble beneath them. The dynamic between Ace and Hu is so delicious to me and I think should be explored more in the fandom. Not just because they somehow manage to give divorced spouses vibes despite one of the two being gay, but because I think the way that they foil, how they are different in contrast with how they're similar in typical DRDT fashion, adds so much to both of their characters and their relationships with the others. And I'm also glad that I at least have two more, count-em two, more parallels between Nico and Levi. I will keep spreading my Levco agenda until the day I die.

Okay but, though I've kind of been taking the piss out of Hu during this section, I do actually feel very bad for her. Especially if Eden is the culprit, because Hu and Eden have shown to be close on multiple occasions, and I could not imagine witnessing the gruesome execution of someone you love after pretty much dealing with two betrayals back-to-back. And I guess since we're here I should clarify that I do not think Hu, or anyone else except the two suspects we land on in this episode, are responsible for Arei's murder. Third Party Theory seems to hinge entirely on the idea that someone other than Nico attempted to kill Ace, and as I've said before I don't think that's the case. And given the fact that we have at least 40 minutes left of the overall case, I can't really see a way from a writer's perspective to throw in such a major final twist with an entirely different character without it feeling rushed. I'm sure DT-Dev could pull it off, but just on concept, not sure how it could work and also if Eden really is the culprit, Hu is 1000% going to try and take her place as the optimistic mood-lifter, and I need to see that outside of my imagination

There isn't much else for me to add, really, part from the fact that I am very excited to see how Hu's character progresses and how her relationships with the cast progress. ... ...hey can we count Hu and Nico as toxic yur--

Ace

Funny thing, I originally was not going to give Ace his own section in this post. But I decided I would anyhow for two reasons 1. Ace is a very fun character to analyze And 2. I get to once again talk about how much of a fucking liar this man is lmao

(x) Ace: Who’s gonna stick up for me, huh? No one. Because I have a spine and I don’t need other people to lie to me constantly to keep me happy.

[Pictured: Doesn't need other people to lie to him constantly to keep him happy]

(x) Nico: What else should I say? Ace: W— "What else should I say"?? Ace: You tried to murder me. You fucking tried to murder me! And after all's said and done, you can't even say something as simple as "sorry"?!

I love this jockey the best when he is gaslighting himself. We obviously know that Ace does, in fact, need people to lie to him to keep him happy. And I don't just mean that in the context of Levi and Nico. Ace has a very antagonized view of everyone in the cast

(x) Ace: -but now they apparently also have a fucking defense brigade to shield them from even having to think about the fact that they're a murderer.

the only person defending them was Hu

And that view of his classmates, to me anyway, is very intentionally cultivated by Ace himself. He is very aware that how he's behaving is wrong, and he is clearly not happy about it

(x) Ace: You think I act like this for fun, and then I go to bed and sleep soundly at night, you dumb piece of shit?

Ace doesn't like the fact that he is being rude to otherwise innocent people, but at the same time, he knows that any of these innocent people could stab him in the back without a second thought, like Levi. So Ace demonizes the cast in his head so that he can emotionally distance himself from them, and as such, will feel less bad about treating them like shit. As a certain indie game that had its nine year anniversary once said: The more you distance yourself, the less you will hurt. The more easily you can bring yourself to hurt others.

Ace does need people to lie to him to keep him happy. Which brings me to his role in this whole scene with Nico which just- I love. So much.

It is so, so funny to me that Ace is putting this pressure on Nico to give an apology. And why is that? Ace treats both Nico and Levi in pretty much the same way, incredibly volatile even more so than the rest of the cast. And that makes a lot of sense given his relationship with both characters and how both of them have threatened his safety. But there is one key difference between his interactions with both of these people

(x) Levi: Ace, I already said— Ace: "Sorry" won't cut it. You know that's just a word you say, right? You think that saying two syllables is going to make me forget how you acted yesterday at that trial?

(x) Ace: You tried to murder me. You fucking tried to murder me! And after all's said and done, you can't even say something as simple as "sorry"?!

With Levi, he repeatedly denies and mocks his apologies. With Nico, it's almost like Ace wants them to apologize to him. But why is that? Ace certainly cares less about what Nico thinks compared to Levi, so why does he necessarily care whether or not Nico apologizes to him? You could say it's because the severity of what both of these people did to Ace, but to me personally? I think Ace just wants this all to end. Nico's murder attempt on him, the scar it left him, it was the perfect kick in the ribs to everything Ace had become since the events of Chapter 1. It confirmed to him that not only was his fear that everyone is out to get him, that he's going to be next after Xander and Min, completely justified to have. But also that his efforts to appear tough and threatening to prevent that fear from becoming reality were not only null, but thrown right back in his face.

(x) Ace: You know… Heh. I've always wondered which is worse, dying young or living a long shitty life of suffering. But it turns out neither of those options are as bad as this.

He is currently at his lowest possible point. At this point, the least that he wants is for Nico to provide him with some form of closure, so that he can put that moment where his guts were spilled on the floor to rest. But Nico isn't providing him that closure, they refuse to. And with Ace now being suspected for Arei's murder, regardless of if he survives this chapter or dies with it, I think he is finally going to break down. That hidden quote of his is fast approaching. I already know.

Rose

Rose is a character that, though I love dearly and believe she is one of the most strongly written of Despair Time's cast which is saying a lot, always somehow manages to fade into the background for me. But this episode bringing her to the forefront and giving us some extra character development from her is something I loved a lot.

For one, her clear and open betrayal towards Nico's actions was very upsetting to me, especially when you take into account that Nico asking Rose to teach them how to paint was probably the first time Rose has ever been asked to paint something for someone without a contract involved. I can imagine the idea of it must've been a breath of fresh air for her, and for it to only result in another red string in Nico's murder plan had to have been crushing.

But what's possibly even more crushing is her monologue after David gets frustrated with her, because...

(x) Rose: I know I'm supposed to remember everything. I know I'm supposed to be smart. I know I'm supposed to be helpful. Rose: Yet I'm not. Rose: I… I'm sorry for being useless. Maybe if I tried harder, if I just got over myself—

Wow this woman really does see herself as a commodity that only exists to be used by other people, doesn't she?

Something I've always appreciated about Rose's character is how it commentates on the subject of big corporations seeing art as content instead of something that was the product of someone pouring their heart and soul into a canvas. And how that mindset kills the desire for artists to create. And it is so fascinating seeing how that mindset reflects how Rose sees herself as a person.

She's one of the few characters in the cast that I can never really get a read on when it comes to where her character arc could be going, but I am very excited to see where DT-Dev takes her, even more-so with this development.

Teruko

I am like, 9999% sure this sprite is the first time she has smiled throughout this entire chapter. I am so happy for her.

Teruko, as always, stays being Best Girl™, and I absolutely adore the development given to her as well. Her realizing that her attempts to over-correct by isolating herself and not receiving help from anyone not only resulted in her getting hurt, but those around her getting hurt as well. And the fact that that's what leads her to coming to this conclusion really goes to show that, despite everything, she cares about these dumbfucks so much. And this is only taken further by her decision to trust Eden despite (HOW I INTERPRET IT) already knowing that Eden is a more likely culprit than Ace. She is choosing to trust her, regardless of if she'll regret it. And I honestly think that, regardless if Eden is the culprit or not, regardless if Teruko backslides, I think the fact that she got the courage to trust Eden at all is going to stick with her. I don't really have much else to say, really. Uhh... Teruko and Rose were kinda fruity this episode, I dunno.

David

[Sighs] This man provides us with a new headache every single episode and I love/hate him so much for it. So like...basically everyone else who watched this episode, I was confused as fuck watching whatever the hell David was pulling for the last 18 minutes of the episode. But now that I have time to think about it, I think I have a pretty stable idea. So, let's get into it.

Firstly

(x) David: Because I'm actually the first person to see the body.

Now, most people are immediately brushing this off as David lying to fuck things up again. But I think that a lot of people are forgetting two things 1. David is not a compulsive liar. He doesn't just tell lies for no/little reason behind them. The lies that he tells all have reasoning and inner logic to support them. 2. There really isn't any evidence suggesting that he couldn't had seen Arei's corpse before everyone else.

So though this point is mostly speculation, I think that David is telling the truth (sorry if this seems like an asspull, there is literally five more hours until the next episode comes out I need to speed things up)

But that's not really what I want to talk about in this section anyway, it's everything that comes after this that I want to talk about.

(x) David: All I want is for Teruko to distrust others.

...So. I think David is lying off his ass when he says that this is why he is doing this. And my reasoning for why I think that is pretty simple... Why would he care?

Like, yeah given the fact that David more than likely has Teruko's secret, he has every right to suspect that she might be affiliated with the death game, and also probably wants her dead. But...what does that have to do with Teruko's distrust in others? Not much. I think this sentence is David lying about why he is doing this to keep his true intentions underwraps. But what are those true intentions?

I can answer that pretty easily as well. David's whole argument in this part of the episode is the idea that Eden is not exempt from being the culprit. He suspects that she is the one behind Arei's murder, and I don't think that's helped by the seed planted in his head by Arei that even Eden must be responsible for the harm of someone. And well...I think we know how exactly David feels about the culprit behind Arei's murder

(x) David: Ahaha. It's just so foolish. David: For someone to take advantage of Arei like that… David: It's absolutely unforgivable. All she wanted was to change. David: What a reprehensible person this killer is. I look forward to seeing their painful execution.

And that leads me to what I think David is truly trying to do here: I think he is trying to get Eden voted for.

That is why he wants Teruko to believe him, and is using her trust issues against her to do so. He's seen the first trial, he saw how Teruko was able to convict Min as the culprit and convince the others to vote for her too. He wants her to do the same thing again, but for Eden. Really, it's a win-win for him. If Eden is the culprit like he suspects, then he gets to witness the unforgivable culprit get their just deserts. If Eden isn't the culprit, then everyone ends up getting executed. Which is, y'know, that other thing he really wants.

That's my personal theory on what David was trying to do here. It's not perfect, but it'll do for now. I love you, Mr. David Chiem. Please keep being confusing.

Eden

...So yeah, if you've been paying any attention to this post, I do still think Eden is the culprit. I also think during the scene with her and Teruko she is very desperate and wants to live and as a result, may have sipped a small tiny bit of the manipulation juice. But I will get to that in a bit First of all though, I absolutely loved the scene with Teruko and Eden. There is something about all of their scenes that just resonates with me in a way I can't describe, and this one is no different. The way it is shot, with the half-and-half and then the closeup on both of their expressions, and the fucking HUG CG? Luucarii and Zel both did an amazing job bringing the scene to life with their voices, and the choice to use the same OST as the kitchen scene in CH2-3 was fucking evil, especially because of what I'm about to say. All around, a fantastically orchestrated and emotional scene, I would expect no less from DT-Dev and their team.

But now it's time to talk Eden!Culprit. This is not something I should have to clarify if you aren't stupid, but I think before I really go into it I should say that I do not think Eden is an inherently malicious character, and I think she feels horrible for what she has possibly done. I also think she wants to live, like every bundle of pixels masquerading as a human. She can feel guilt for her actions and also indulge in a bit of gaslight gatekeep girlbossing. Min already proved that those two things can be simultaneous. With that out of the way... I do think that Eden is slightly manipulating Teruko here. And there is a very big reason why I think that is because of something @thebadjoe pointed out in their theory post

(x) Eden: Teruko, relationships aren't transactional. It's not that I did something good for you that you should do something good for me.

[11 episodes later]

(x) Eden: Please, Teruko… You’re my friend, aren’t you? Eden: Friends help each other…. So please, help me…

...Eden? Darling? I thought you said that relationships weren't transactional. You can't simply change your principles because they're getting closer to the truth. Putting the fact that Teruko never even considered her a friend to begin with on the shelf for right now, these two lines from Eden directly go against each other. Saying that relationships aren't transactional, and then saying that Teruko should help her because she's her friend. I think Eden knows that she is basically backed into a corner. There is no evidence suggesting that she couldn't had done it, and David is turning the tide in a way that is leading others to begin suspecting her. And just as Arei said...

(x) Arei: -you're pathetic and weak, and you always need to rely on others to get by.

Eden's is too overcome with emotion to defend herself properly, so she comes to Teruko to defend her for her. And when Teruko initially refuses, she becomes desperate. Using their relationship so that Teruko will believe her and trust her.

I don't think Eden wants to do this, but I don't think she knows what else to do, and is terrified and just wants this trial to be over. Even if it means treating her and Teruko's relationship like it's transactional. And Teruko, ultimately, gives into this idea.

(x) Teruko: Don’t… get me wrong. This isn’t out of kindness or pity or anything else. This is only because you helped me in the last trial.

(teruko is most likely simplifying her thought-process, I think she does genuinely care for eden and wants to trust her. But the idea of relationships as transactions isn't one inherently new to her, so I do think this is partially the truth.)

And I think the fact that Teruko does agree to help Eden is why Eden goes in for the hug. This is where we take that point of "Teruko never agreed to be friends with Eden" off the shelf

Eden knows that Teruko is choosing to not be her friend, despite considering Teruko as a friend. But I think in this moment, Eden thinks that Teruko finally considers her as a friend, someone she is willing to extend her hand to. And even if this day is her final one, I think Eden will appreciate forever.

Extra Thoughts !! - TERUKO SAID IT!! SHE SAID THE WORD!! THE T WORD!! I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT FROM HER!! another one to cross off the bingo card babyyyy - that aside, as always the voice work for this episode was fucking phenomenal. I already mentioned Luucarii and Zel's performances, but Swords and Arakachi did amazingly too. Such an amazing frosting on top of the already great storytelling.

(x) Eden: Arei is… She could have been my friend! Why would I kill her??

- maybe I'm reading too deep into it, but I honestly think this is the closest we've gotten to direct confirmation that Eden thought Arei was full of shit when she said she wanted to change. Like...she literally corrects herself. Why the fuck did she correct herself. - this isn't something I usually compliment, but the music-choice in this episode was amazing as well. Every song chosen suited the situation and the rising tension, and all of them were fucking bops. - I also adored the new sprites, as I always do. Especially Nico's

Predictions for CH2-15 - I'll be honest and say I have none. At least other than the obvious, that being that there's 100% gonna be an Ace VS Eden scrum debate.

Conclusion

This episode was a fantastic way to lead into what will probably be the last episode of the trial. I cannot wait to see what's cooking come CH2-15, which is in... [looks at my conveniently placed watch] THREE HOURS?! WHAT THE FU-

UPDATED SWEAR STATISTICS CH2-14

UPDATED BINGO CARD

[cherry-pop-elf]

Newly Made Man

Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

Inspired by this post, which is originally drawn by Antenna

Summary: Ivy, Daniel, and Olive (Weasley) have asked for you help catching a ferret. You needed an excuse to not do some paper work. Who knew helping a gaggle of kids could lead to a date

“Professor! Professor Professor Professor-!” You would hear the gaggle of students call for you. They always seem to find you whenever you weren’t busy. A mysterious talent they held. As if you would complain. You were once a Hogwarts student as well. You liked the adventure.

“Yes? Ah, you three.” You chuckled, as you saw the trio show up. A pair of red heads, and that silvery violet, right in front of you. The trio looked rather excited. Daniel seemed more so frustrated, Ivy curious, and Miss Olive had that look in her eyes that reminded you so much of the twins. You could only assume something will blow up soon.

“There’s a ferret, and it stole Daniel’s bag-!” Olive would inform you. That had Ivy giggle, as Daniel was getting more and more frustrated. The boy didn’t have the best family life. That bag was nearly all he had to call to his name, after all.

“Oh dear. We can’t have that, can we? Where was it last-“ Before you could even finish the sentence, something skittered between your legs. A clinking bag was being dragged in its mouth, as it ran. The clinking sounds had to be potions, which meant it was Daniel’s. Such a white blur.

“AFTER THAT RAT-!” The red heads screamed, as Ivy tried to clarify it was actually more closely related to a dog or cat than a rat. Jeez, whoever could be the Hermione of that trio?

With a fond smile, you were soon chasing after them. It was rather nostalgic. It reminded you so much of your days as a student. Having Hermione, Ron, and Harry chase after the likes of Malfoy. How often times many a fellow student would tag along, and it was almost a big game between everyone. Almost like capture the flag if you will. Never thought you would miss something like that.

“WATCH OUT-!” Was soon shouted by you, but they were moving too fast. The trio crashed right into a gaggle of other students. They were all in a clump, and groaning. You wanted to assign, but you didn’t want that ferret out of sight.

“IVE GOT IT-!” You reassured, as you kept chasing the creature. You wanted to try and fast a spell, but it seemed to zig zag infront of you. As if aware that you would attempt such actions. Might not be the first time this little devil caused some mayhem. Perhaps it was a students pet? Would explain why it seemed to know where it was going. Managing to avoid dead ends, and not go where there were stairs to slow it down.

“Will you get back here?!” You huffed, as it finally found a place to hide with the bag. Nice and cozy in a tree, at a familiar courtyard. Just snuggled into the branch. Taking a little yawn. As if bored, and ready to slip. Such a mocking thing. Having the bag just out of your reach.

“I swear, every white haired creature I deal with is a pain in the butt. One way, or another.” You huffed, as you just swore the ferret rolled its eyes at you. Seeming to not take your comment too lightly.

“What would you even need a potion bag for? Gonna make some potions?” You would say to the ferret. Wand in hand, and sass on full dial. Sure had the students in the court yard giggle at you.

“Where is your owner?” You asked, as if expecting an answer back. That’s when you looked around. Hufflepuff’s! They should know! Or at least know someone who would.

“Do you know who this ferret belongs to?” You would ask the students around you. After a few thoughts, and whispers, they all shook their heads. No one knew. How strange. White ferret’s aren’t uncommon, so you figured that someone would.

“This school certainly isn’t showing itself to have a good track record with ferrets. Huh? Hope you aren’t another turned student, who played dirty with the wrong crowd.” The knowing tone made said ferret stick its tiny tongue out at you.

“Sassy like the last one too.” A wag of your wand was given, as you were ready to try and cast a spell to get the bag back. Maybe it was something in your tone, but it seemed the ferret had enough play for one day. With its tiny nose, it would nudge the bag off the branch. Narrowly managed to understand what it was doing, and grabbed said bag. As if you needed potions to explode.

“Thank you.” You would give a dramatic bow, as if with a Hippogriff. Another stick of its tongue, before it took its chance to jump on you. Ran right all over your body, before curling around your neck. As if a little scarf. Wet little nose nuzzled your cheek, before it was ready for its nap.

“Cuter than the one I knew to.” You would give it a gentle pet, before going to try and hunt down those students. Quit the sporting look you held now. A pretty little neck piece, that was as blinding white as the clouds in the sky.

Was a rather peaceful walk, you couldn’t deny it. Just enjoying the fresh air. Along with having a companion to snuggle with. Tiny scratches to its little chin. Gave you happy chirps in return.

“Adorable thing. You remind me a lot of a companion I had in school. His name was Draco. Draco Malfoy. Prettiest man I had ever seen. So handsome, and sly. I wonder what life would have been like, if there was no war. So many confusing emotions at the time. Can’t love the enemy, as they say.” You sighed, as the ferret gave your cheek a little lick. As if to comfort you. It was accepted, as you gently brushed your finger down its spine.

“My bag-!” Daniel was quick to point out, and hardly gave you time to register he found you. It was in his hands again. Left to be hugged tightly. Certainly gave him a scare. Ivy was quick to pat his back, while Olive gave the ferret a suspicious stare.

“…….You look familiar-“ She muttered, only for the ferret to quickly hide itself in your robes. Made you giggle, as its little paws ran around your body. Poor thing seemed startled. Olive did have that effect. She was the daughter of George Weasley. That certainly made her friends of peeves. That alone says it all.

“Coward.” Another mumble was tossed, before she would give Daniel’s head a ruffle. The poor boys, pun intended, bag was returned. One of the few things he could call his own. A relief it was. That’s for sure.

“Thank you Professor…” Daniel sighed, as you nodded. Anything for the students.

“Does the ferret belong to anyone?” Ivy would ask, as you would get said rascal into your hands. Just dangling him around, as he looked at you with big silvery eyes.

“None of the Hufflepuffs I asked knew. Seems far too intelligent to just be a wild stray either. Seems well aware of the Hogwarts grounds as well-“ Before you finished, Olive stared daggers at the white furred menace. You heard of the story about the family rat, so you don’t blame her being anxious around creatures. Yet, that was a Weasley stare. A stare that could pull the truth out of you like any Veritaserum.

“Animagus…..And one that I know. Come on, Uncle D-!” She would poke at the ferrets little tushy. Made the small thing give a chirp of annoyance, as you blinked. Uncle D-? Uncle….No. White fur, silver eyes, knowing the Hogwarts layout….

The moment you dropped him, it was a whisper of black and white. As if a swirling mist. All the thematics, to show a slender figure in its wake. With long bleached hair, a tight black attire, with a silvery under bust to ever keep him tall and slender. If it wasn’t for that playful smile you would think it was Lucius.

“For a Weasley, you certainly know how to ruin the fun.” He scoffed at Olive, as she stuck her tongue out at him. Left you all a fluster. Given said ferret had been nuzzling and licking you, and the little secret you spilled.

“Woah…..Draco Malfoy….” Daniel was wide eyed. Of course he would. He himself was a potion prodigy. Much like the Weasley twins, and Draco, were when his age. It can’t help being admire. Sure fueled the man’s ego.

“And why is a Malfoy stealing random children’s bags?” You would puzzle, as he seemed to cringe at such a name. Lucius did make sure it was tainted. That was for certain.

“It’s Black, actually. Draco Black. Took on my mother’s maiden name, for obvious reasons.” He would grit. “-And as for the bag. Well, I was curious. Is curiosity a crime?” Ever the sassy one. Had you roll your eyes, as you jabbed him with your wand.

“Ow ow-! Ok, I did it because….I…Well-“ He swallowed, as the trio were wondering why a grown man would do such a thing. That is, until Olive started to giggle.

“You thought it was funny, huh? That’s something dad would do!” She kept giggling, as he was pink on the face. Guess Draco wanted to be a little bit normal, for once. Actually do pranks, and be childish. Least, that’s what you are getting. Olive did call him Uncle D. It had been so long since you last saw him. You swore he was sentence to Azkaban. Suppose it’s time to catch up.

“Tell him, and you are dead-“ He threatened, as Ivy soon had her wand drawn. Taking the threat rather literal. Had the older man throw his hands in mock defeat, at such a gesture.

“I’ll deal with him, you three hurry off now. It’s almost lunch. Go on-!” You would shoo, as they ran off. Daniel holding his bag tighter, Ivy with a scowl to the older man, and Olive with a two finger salute.

“So……Seems like you finally got along with those red heads…..” You said, as you started walking. He didn’t refuse the motion, and walked with you.

“It’s complicated…..I rather avoid the details. Potter was able to make sure my mother and I avoided Azkaban, and community service was applied instead. Thanks to Po….Harry-“ He would begin to explain his story to you, as you both walked.

A case of laying low, and rebuilding himself. A hard thing to do, given where his father was position in the death eater group. Regardless, you were happy for him. Suppose some exposure therapy to Harry’s family and friends was what he needed.

“Welcome back, than……It’s lunch time, so…..” You trailed off, as he stared at you with shock. Were you asking him out? Why? His name isn’t exactly clean, but well….You missed him. You knew that, deep down, he wasn’t truly a death eater. You do what you can to survive, and sometimes who you survive from is your own family.

“You are insane….Fortunately that was always something I admired about you, back then…..I’ll cover the meal. We-…George pays his employees rather well.” He admits, as you giggled. A smile was returned, as the two of you would make a right instead of a left. Not heading to that great hall, but that rebuilt wooden bridge. To go give Madam Rosemerta a friendly hello.

He’s a new man, after all, so why not allow for a new first impression?