#oh for shame what a horrible horrible world to live in

[monsieurenjlolras]

Did any other chubby musical theatre girls (or former girls cause I sure as hell am not one any more) have the specific experiance of never being cast in female lead roles for years because you were too fat, and then finally getting to do hairspray and being told you weren't fat enough to be Tracy.

[starpros-sunshine]

I used to be funny you know? I used to have good humour and now every time I try to crack a joke I just feel awkward like I could've gotten that one delivered so much better. Smitten with the curse of not being able to be serious while also being horrible at being silly. If you ask me I'd rather be smitten with other curses but such is life I suppose.

[featherymainffins]

I thought I would walk some additional 14 km today and thus burn my accidental lunch (caved into peer pressure and went to a restaurant and had a salad instead of eating my perfectly counted can of tuna) and as such I agreed to go have breakfast with some friends tomorrow to celebrate the end of the excursion.

But I did not walk those 14 km because I wasn't able to get water + I just finished 12 hours of lectures + my arches were killing me + it was raining + I wanted to shower + I wanted to study + I was fucking freezing.

Which means I have to punish myself for my lack of discipline and I also have to make up for the food and that means I CANNOT have that breakfast. In fact I cannot have anything. For 2 days. Just to be sure.

So now I'm trying to figure out what lie I can make up. Currently thinking about saying that I just started to feel really nauseous all of a sudden and as such I unfortunately cannot eat breakfast oopsie. It feels really random and not really believable though.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

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Chapter 1

Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Agriche makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Agriche.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the terrace.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t argue with him, because it would only be one-sided. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decides to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Agriche was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argiche family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[just-some-random-blogger]

Why Not Me? | 1

Part 2

Love is beautiful. Love is lovely. But lately, to you, love is a form of self-harm.

Rockstar!Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, Modern AU, low key fix-it-fic, canon divergence, DD:DNE, body dysmorphia, body shaming, smut (cunnilingus, piv, biting, marking, licking, they're messy yall), fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: THIS INCESTUOUS SHOW i changed the family tree for the sake of this fic and ive FIXED EVERYTING SHUT UP you cant do anything about it anyway ok ok ok. im half sorry it became so long. idk how many parts i wil do T_T save me. also i cross posted this on ao3 MASTERLIST/PLAYLIST

Tagging: @ceoofyearning @pendragora @worms-on-multiple-strings @barbieaemond

You can hear the live music playing from the inside your car. You take a deep breath and look at yourself on your phone before stepping out. You smile and fix your hair, "maximum slayage has been achieved."

You exit the camera app, catching the text icon when you do. You bite your lip. Your thumb itches. You open it, checking the last message you have that you've not replied to.

From Harwin: Are you at your sister's already? Can we call?

You clench your jaw and place your phone in your purse. You sling your purse on your shoulder and grab the cake on the passenger seat. You tell yourself to forget about the text as you walk towards the open gate of the white picket fence.

You smile at the garden, happy to see it in real life again and not just during video calls. You brush off your iridescent, pink dress before ringing the doorbell. As you wait, you look around the neighborhood. All the houses here were as expensive as the one next to it.

The door opens. You turn back and grin as Alicent squeals, "YOU'RE HERE!"

"I'M HERE!"

She can't help but kiss your cheek before leading you inside. You talk and walk, and the moment you set the cake down, your best friend immediately seals you into a hug, both of you squealing.

When you break away, you lift your eyes to the chandelier and point, "is that the new chandelier?"

Alicent beams and spins beneath her beloved light source, "yes! I swear to the Mother if someone fucks up my chandelier again-"

"Oh, ho, ho, ho!"

Both of you turn to the man waltzing in with horrible dance moves, "speak of the devil." Viserys walks over to you, coming in for a hug, "she returns! Alicent's been waiting on you for ages."

You share a hug while Alicent makes a face, "can you blame me? She works at the fucking edge of the world!"

You pull away and raise a hand, "okay, one, dramatic-"

"No it's not," she red haired woman crosses her arms, "you literally work next to Harrenhal."

"That is a gross simplification," you wave your hand, "and two, why don't you visit me for a change?"

"In your shitty apartment?" she makes a disgusted face, "no."

You make an offended noise and glare at Viserys, "you've turned her into a stinky bourgeoisie!"

Viserys makes a face and Alicent shakes hear head. She places a hand on your shoulder, "no babes. Your apartment is simply crappy."

You make another offended noise and shake her hand off. You turn back to her fiance, "anyway. Happy birthday, Viserys!" you motion to the box on the counter.

"Is that what I think it is?" he gasps.

You scoff for effect, "yah."

Viserys opens the box and makes a dramatic sound at the sight of the chocolate cake. He turns to Alicent, who shakes her head and sniggers. The man whisper-yells, "triple chocolate cake!!!"

You laugh. Your best friend repeats, "triple chocolate cake. Now what do we say?"

Viserys seals you into a tight hug. You squeal when he pulls you up enough for your feet to leave the floor. He groans excitedly as he puts you down, "oh, you are perfect, my dear. Thank you so much."

The overly affectionate gesture leaves you a bit awkward, but you play it off with a chuckle, "you're welcome."

Alicent clicks her tongue when Viserys swipes some frosting and licks his fingers, "Viserys. Get a plate."

"Oh, fuck, I feel like I'm in uni again," he sighs at the sweet taste, "should I grow out my hair?" He rubs the trimmed sides of his hair.

Alicent cringes, "absolutely not. You looked like a sickly lord in uni."

"But love-"

"Oh, I knew you were here."

You look over your shoulder. Your stomach drops. You shift awkwardly as Daemon walks towards you with a grin. "Figured from Alicent's squealing," he says before pulling you into a hug.

He rubs your sides and it makes you feel overly conscious. You mutter as he pulls away, "how've you been, Daemon?"

"You know me-"

"High as a fucking kite?" Viserys answers for him as he takes a slice of cake.

Daemon flips him off but smiles at you, "just dandy, love. And you?"

"Oh, you know, wet."

Alicent slaps a hand on her forehead.

Viserys snorts.

Daemon raises his brows.

You realize your mistake and backtrack, "n- no- I mean, cause- cause Riverlands!"

He snorts and your body tingles. He shakes his head and sighs, "and here I thought it was because of me."

Alicent raises her brows and takes that as a cue to leave. She pulls Viserys back, who whines because he hadn't gotten his cake yet. She slaps his arm and lies about needing to check on something.

"Did you bring someone?" Daemon asks.

Your stomach rolls at the insinuation he was interested in knowing if you had a date. You dramatically look around, "do you see anyone?"

He purses his lips and shakes his head, "well, I was hoping your sister would come around."

You stiffen. Your sister? You manage a chuckle to play off the stinging in your gut; it doesn't sting any less though. You half-smile, "Mysaria's in Lys."

He raises his brows, "still?"

You knit your brows, "still?"

"I just figured her vacation would be done by now."

You feel your eye twitch. You raise a finger, "how'd you know she's on vacation?"

Daemon simply shrugs, "I follow her on Unstagram."

A scoff spills from your lips as your brows raise, "she let you follow her?"

"Yeah," he shakes his head and furrows his brows, "why wouldn't she?"

You clench your jaw. You feel your skin crawl. It's as though your body was being stretched into oblivion. You press your lips into a tight smile and rub your belly as your agitation builds. You shake your head and shrug, "I didn't think you were that close. She's pretty private."

Daemon is supposed to say something, but then his attention is stolen by the sound from outside.

"This next song is called Breathless," followed my cheering.

His expression shifts. He throws his thumb over his shoulder, "shit. I uh... I have something-"

You nod before he can finish and Daemon effectively runs off.

Once you're alone, you let it catch up with you, the loathing, the disgust. You look around you and feel bile rise up your throat. Everything was beautiful. Everything was pristine and put together. From the color of the walls, to the furniture, even to the tiny pieces of décor.

This is Alicent's dream home. She found a man that loved her and he got her that white picket fence she's always wanted. She's living her dreams because... she's someone's dream girl.

You walk towards the mirror in the common room and stare at yourself. The makeup you spent hours on and the sundress you overindulged in now looked lack luster. Whatever convincing you did in the car has gone. You think about Alicent. You chuckle bitterly as you think of your sister, "oh, Mysaria." You were nothing but a disgusting blob, next to the statuesque her.

You grow angry at yourself when your eyes water. You pace around to calm yourself, "it's fine. I just won't eat any sweets." You force a smile at the mirror, "or carbs," you fix your hair, "I'll just have a bev. I ate already anyway."

When you no longer feel like crying, you let yourself join everyone outside.

Your eyes immediately fall at the platform and band setup across the large backyard. Viserys really went all out; there were lights, a sound system, and everything.

You try to make out the band playing. You immediately recognize Criston in his cream colored suit playing the bass, though his hair was snipped short and he had massive shades on. You knew Aemond was a guitarist but there was only a blonde with short platinum hair on the keys, and he never cut his hair, so you debated if it was really him in that leather suit jacket. But then you saw Aegon and his shaggy, jaw length hair, drumming yet again sans shirt showcasing all his tattoos and figured the other blonde had to be his brother.

Then, of course, there was Gwayne. If you couldn't recognize him by his guitar playing, or his distinct baritone, then you would by smirk and auburn hair. You sure did. There was a bit of sheen on his forehead, but even then he moved as cool as a cucumber. He looked good in his dark blue suit. I mean, they all did.

You remember Alicent talking about how excited Viserys was to have Oldtown play for his birthday, how they cleared their schedule and all. Though you weren't a close follower, you somehow felt proud of them, having watched them perform in shitty bars a couple times in university. To see them have the success they do now makes you feel honored to have been one of the few people who said they were going to make it. And judging by how people were singing along, they made it.

You were agitated by the size of the crowd. It still baffled you how many friends the Viserys had, but then your remember he's an old money businessman... and an extrovert. You rub your stomach as you search for Alicent. You spot her alone, cringing by the buffet table as she poured herself a drink. Immediately, your anxieties dissipate because of her and her unabashed dislike for her brother's music.

You walk over to her and sway your hips exaggeratedly to song. Alicent stills when she sees you, and makes a revolted sound before raising her pointer, "stop it."

"Nuh uh," you throw your hands in the air and move your hips, "it's a good song!"

Alicent rolls her eyes, which only makes you laugh.

From across the yard, Gwayne's attention is stolen. He watches how light catches in your pink skirt as you grind against his sister, much to her disgust. He smiles between lyrics, making the crowd react.

"Oh, come on, babes," you watch as your best friend chugs her drink, "you have to at least be proud of your brother."

Alicent shakes her head, "I am! I'm so glad that people like his music enough that he can perform it somewhere far away from me."

You turn to the buffet table when you catch the aroma of your favorite stew. You gulp but tell yourself you shouldn't eat. You decide to pour yourself a drink.

She catches you, "you want me to get you a plate? I ordered your favorite-"

"No," you shake your head, " 'm just thirsty."

She knits her brows, skeptical of your words as she was aware of your destructive tendencies. She decides believe your reassurance, though her gut was telling her otherwise.

She turns back to Oldtown and catches her brother looking. She shakes her head and flips him off. Gwayne chuckles, not because of her though, because you finally turn around. This entices another reaction from the crowd, which Alicent wretches over.

You sip on some punch and shoot her a look, "oh, stop being so sour, baby."

She glares and points, "you try listening to your brother and your cousins sing about the women they've shagged and tell me then if being I'm sour."

You bite your lower lip, but break into a laugh anyway, "you got me there."

Alicent's eyes widen for emphasis, "yeah. And I don't even mind it when people ask me about 'em, but I really, really don't want to know how badly you want to fuck my brother."

You laugh again, no longer holding back this time.

She laughs along. She loves seeing you this way, "you look absolutely stunnin' in your dress, by the way."

The compliment flies over your head.

"Pink is 100% your color," she says with genuine enthusiasm.

You sigh and offer a smile, "it better. This dress costs me a fucking arm."

"Well, it does," Alicent affirms, "you look like a fucking queen."

Your heart swells. Yet again, your best friend breaks into your layer of self-hatred. You nod and agree for her sake, "I really do."

The next moment, the crowd breaks into applause, signaling the end of the song. You cheer along, though you hadn't really paid attention. You turn to the stage and find Gwayne looking your way. You smile and he smirks back.

Gwayne pushes back his strapped guitar and grabs the mic, "thank you. I hope you all enjoyed our set." He shields his eyes as he looks through the crowd. He points once he spots Viserys, "happy birthday again to you, brother."

Alicent claps with the crowd. Viserys laughs as his friends shake him wildly.

"Thank you so much for your endless support, and your endless money." Gwayne chuckles before motioning, "it's been Criston, Aemond, Aegon, and-" he places a hand on his chest, "- Gwayne. We are Oldtown, and you have been a wonderful crowd."

You applaud as the band gets off the stage. They settle their instruments with their stage riders and you look back to Alicent. Before you can speak, her eyes widen as she takes a sip, "idiot in coming."

You look back where she was, brows quirking in surprise when you see her brother jogging over.

Gwayne immediately tries to snatch Alicent's drink, but as she anticipated it, she effectively dodges then chugs. He groans, "oh, thoughtful."

She manages to make a face as she gulps. Some liquid dribbles from the sides of her mouth.

"And classy," her brother's forehead wrinkles.

You chuckle at their antics and shake your head, deciding to pour the man a drink yourself.

Gwayne gives his sister an annoyed look when she sighs for effect. She wipes the corner of her mouth, "it's my drink."

"I would at least expect-" his words falter when he realizes you weren't even beside him. He cranes his neck to look at you before looking to his sister, "-you'd be willing to share after I've slaved away for your pleasure."

"Oh, I can assure you I found no pleasure in this. And have you been so out of practice 8 songs is slaving away for you?"

Gwayne chuckles but is uninterested in continuing the argument; his interest was never in his sister to begin with. He turns to you, digging his hands in his pockets, "and who might you be?"

Alicent turns between the two of you then deadpans, "seriously?"

Gwayne smirks. In his head, his sister's reaction is of being a protective friend. He's admittedly had flings with her friends before, but he's never been deterred by his baby sister's wrath.

But the truth is, that's not at all the reason why Alicent shakes her head incredulously, "my friend from college, you absolute goldfish."

He furrows his brows at Alicent.

At this point, you procure a cup of punch for Gwayne and hand it to him with a smile. He looks at you then the drink you're holding out. He takes it with a smirk, making sure your hands brush as you do. Oh, he is smitten.

None of that registers to you. You return his smirk with a genuine smile.

It doesn't register with Alicent either, which is why she complains about something else entirely. Her lips curl, "you've done it now. You've fed his ego. He's going to be insufferable."

You shake your head and laugh.

Gwayne licks his lips, laughing along, body tingling at the sweet sound of your voice. He does not look his sister at all as he replies, "I've always been insufferable."

You catch his look. Alicent rolls her eyes, "oh, thank gods he's at least self-aware."

Again, Gwayne reacts; he chuckles, but his eyes do not leave you. He shakes his head, "did you transfer after I graduated?"

You knit your brows at the notion, "no," you chuckle, "I'm actually your junior. I took Music Production at King's Landing too."

His face falls and his brows raise.

You chuckle brighter as you nod, "yeah... we were even classmates in, what, two subjects?"

Gwayne wipes his face. You laugh at his stressed expression. "No fucking kidding," he clutches his jaw. He shakes his head again, "what classes did we share?"

You press your lips together in thought, "the... one with Mr. Boldwood."

"Are you serious?" he mutters, "the one where we scored horror films?"

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember you added sound effects instead of music and Mr. Boldwood was like, yeah don't do that, it's a scoring class, not an SFX class."

Gwayne runs his hands through his auburn hair and tugs on the collar of his dress shirt. He loosens his tie as he sighs. By the Seven, how does he not remember you?

You laugh and wave him off, "it's not that big of a deal. You were always too tired to talk in class."

That was true.

"No, it is," Alicent blurts, and he agrees. "Make him feel bad for not remembering you," she shoots him a look, "I literally went to one of your concerts with her, you imbecile. The one where you forgot your guitar and we had to drive-"

"To Highgarden?" Gwayne's jaw slacks.

"Yes, to Highgarden."

Oh, he is stressed.

You feel bad, and shake your head, "to be fair, I wasn't there when she gave you your guitar. I was the one driving and didn't get out because I didn't want to get towed."

Gwayne nods. He watches how your brows quirk and how your lips curl.

You assure him once more, "it's fine. Really... and anyway-"

"Oh, you stop it," Alicent cuts you off.

You turn to her, "but it's tru-"

"No, it's not!"

"I usually just fade in the background of people's minds. I'm not very memorable."

"You are!" Alicent argues, "Gwayne's just an fucking idiot."

Gwayne points at her, "and I am completely agreement."

Before you can respond, Daemon suddenly walks into the conversation. You turn to him, seizing up as he brushes against your shoulder. You turn to your drink and step back. Daemon says, "Viserys is asking about the mixer and-"

"Did he touch the damn mixer?" Alicent says, "I told him not-"

"I told him the same thing," he raises his hands.

She groans and rolls her eyes. She raises a hand in regard before walking off, "gimme a sec."

Daemon follows her. Your eyes follow him, allowing yourself to look a while longer than you should have.

You best believe Gwayne catches it all. His lips twitch and his brows pull back in annoyance. He mutters pointedly, "so Daemon, huh?"

You turn to him, "w-what?"

He chuckles dryly at your coyness. He takes a sip before glaring at the said man, "so you have a thing for annoying cunts?"

Your face falls.

He shakes his head before tilting it, "the imbecile has no redeeming qualities. It's an anomaly why woman chase after him." He scoffs, expression growing even more bitter, "probably his money." He drinks some more punch, cringing at how sweet it was, then finally turns back to you.

He is both annoyed yet subtly amused by how affected you are by his dislike for the Targaryen rat. He sighs, "for what it's worth he, himself, thinks I'm also an annoying cunt."

You raise your brows, realizing he wasn't just saying this. Then out of nowhere, you find it incredibly stupid and downright hillarious.

Gwyane finds his expression softening at the sound of your laughter. His annoyance did not wane, but still, he smirks and brings a hand into his pocket, "switch to me instead."

You laughter dies down but it's too late, you weren't paying attention. You shake your head, "I'm sure he doesn't actually think that."

"Oh, trust me, he does."

You wipe a tear, "no way. He's actually a closeted Oldtown fan."

Gwayne laughs, loud and mocking. The taken aback giggle that leaves you is the only reason he actually starts laughing genuinely. He clutches his side and moves towards the table, "is he now?"

You watch him put his drink down, "he is! He practically ran out of the door when he heard you announce the last song."

He sniggers, "pathetic bastard," he steps closer, "but who can blame him? I quite like Breathless myself." He brushes his lips and looks you up and down, "though I much prefer someone who dances to my songs unabashedly."

You smile, unaware of him still, "oh, I'm sure you do."

Gwayne, in truth, is also unware of you, far too wrapped up in the way you smiled and how your skin glowed in this light. In his head, this conversation was going swimmingly, because when has it ever not— Which is why he says, "let's go dancing in my bedroom."

You do a double take. Your jaw drops, "I beg your pardon."

He tilts his head, "I have about a hundred records and a vinyl player. I'm sure your dress would look even prettier under my lights."

When he takes another step forward, only then do realize what's happening. His stance. His eyes. His lips. It's all coming together. It stabs into your belly and you're suddenly bleeding all over yourself.

Your breath hitches. He catches it, and causes the corner of his lips to quirk. He is pleased. "What do you say?" he leans on one leg and brings his hands in his pockets.

What do you say?

You say you were still reeling from your sobering encounter with Daemon. Of course you always knew he was a playboy and he slept around, of course you knew he would never be seriously interested in you, but realizing any sort of interest he had in the first place was because of your sister again— it doesn't hurt you any less. It hurts you more each time. The next second, you are reminded of every man who's ever shown you interest and recall what they really wanted from you.

And as your mind raced with these thoughts and the sight of Gwayne Hightower— multi-award winning Gwayne Hightower, front cover of Rogue magazine Gwayne Hightower, Oldtown hearthrob Gwayne Hightower-

"Alicent doesn't have to know," he mutters and shrugs.

Oh.

He gives a lopsided smile.

If you somehow didn't know before, you know now exactly what he wanted from you.

You turn to your feet. But Harwin...

You scoff at yourself. Who were you joking?

You feel pathetic enough for you to look up and say, "okay."

Gwayne examines your face. He notices how your expression shifted but still, his smile spreads. He reaches a hand to you and you take it without a second thought.

You walk off and you don't even bother looking for Alicent at all. Before you leave, you do encounter his cousin, Aegon. Your eyes lock as you pass each other, and so you decide to smile at him, "nice tats, Aeg."

He freezes and watches as you and Gwayne leave.

Gwayne raves as he drives, telling you about The White Walkers, how it was his favorite band and how excited he was when Oldtown got to play with them. He rambles some more before asking you about your tastes. You brush him off at first, uninterested in indulging conversation.

You shake your head, "it's not very interesting."

"I'm pretty sure I get to decide what I find interesting or not."

You watch him give you that trademark smirk of his and you want to so badly believe he wasn't just saying that to get in your pants.

You don't but you humor him, "I'm more of a jazz sort of person."

"Aha," he maneuvers the steering wheel, "so extended chords and irregular tempos get you going?"

You lean into the passenger seat and smile, "don't forget nonfunctional harmony."

His dimples deepen. He takes a turn, "so what, you're too good for The White Walkers?"

"I did not say that."

"Well," he sighs deeply, "you don't seem to want to say much so I'm going to have to make things up as I go."

You shake your head and roll your eyes at him. You look out the window and miss the way he smiles at you.

"Fine," you start, "there's an artist called Khiara. She's makes incredible music. She's Lengii, and she infuses a lot of her native sound in her music. It's stunning."

He nods, "Khiara."

"Yeah..." you give him a passing smile before looking away again, "she's great."

"I'm sure she is."

He did not mean it in a mocking way, but it comes across to you as such. You scoff and resign to watching the buildings pass.

"Are you a jazz musician by taste and profession?"

You roll your eyes at his adamance at small talk, "I'm a music teacher."

His brows quirk, "what? No way, that's-"

"Underwhelming?" you look back at him.

"Cool," he spares you a look before bringing his eyes back on the road, "you teach jazz?"

"I teach 4th graders."

"Even better," he smiles, "I couldn't teach a dog to bark even if I tried so, consider me impressed."

"Mmm. I'll add it to my CV."

He snorts.

You look out the window again, "that one rockstar is impressed by me."

He leans an elbow on the car door and brushes his lips as he chuckles. Gods, you were a dream.

When you reach his apartment, you realize just how much of a rockstar he really was. His place was huge, and he had such eccentric furnishing, from a full on display of a suit of armour, to posters of obscenely niche bands. They didn't make sense and yet they fit perfectly together. And when he said he had a hundred records in his bedroom, you think he was actually playing it down.

You both take your shoes off before entering his bedroom. Gwayne leads you by the hand and motions to his collection, "I'm sure I have something here that's jazzy enough for you."

You raise your brows at him and pull away, effectively stopping him in his tracks before he can go through his records.

His brow quirks, "what is it?"

"Did you really take me home to dance in your bedroom?"

Gwayne chuckles as you walk past him. He eyes your body as you inch towards his bed and sequentially sit by the foot. You place your hands on your knees and raise your brows at him. He licks his lips and shrugs, "did 'dancing in my bedroom' sound like an innuendo to you?"

You scoff out a chuckle and roll your eyes, "you really are an annoying cunt."

Gwayne lowers his gaze, licking his teeth. He saunters over, hands in his pockets. He stops once he is directly in front of you, "do you want me to stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Being an annoying cunt?"

"I want you to stop wasting my time," you retort, "unlike you, I work a 9-5."

He laughs, dropping his head. He raises his hands in surrender, "damn. Where did you come from? You were so smiley and sweet not even an hour ago."

You forfeit a response and simply lean back on the bed.

That wipes the smile off his face. He looks down on you, feeling his breath grow heavy at your expression. He clenches his jaw, undoes his tie, and drops to his knees.

You can't stop your lips from parting.

He rubs his hands up your shins, measuring your reaction. You simply watch as his hands disappear underneath your skirt. Your breath hitches when he squeezes your thighs. Gwayne pushes closer, and you wouldn't have minded, had he not kissed your knee.

"Wait," you reach out to his head.

Gwayne gulps as he looks up at you, eager to know where he went wrong.

"No kissing," you mutter.

He hears it, repeats it in head, then repeats it out loud, "no kissing?"

You bite your lip and stroke his cheek, "no kissing."

It takes a moment for him to realize you were being serious, and when he does, he slowly nods, repeating again, "no kissing."

You nod and straighten up. You brush your hands up his arms then proceed to unbutton his white dress shirt, "you can bite, you can lick," you lick your lips on cue, "I'll even let you spit on me—"

"Mmm, fuck."

"—but no kissing." You slip your hands into his shirt, "you good with that, Hightower?"

"Fuck," he hooks his hands behind your knees and tugs you forward. You squeak and grip his shoulders. He slots himself between your legs, "no kissing anything?"

Your breath strains when his nails drag up the inside of your thighs, trailing to your waistband. Your brush your noses together, shaking your head, "anything."

He hisses, baring his teeth. He is unbelievably compelled to kiss you. He knocks his nose into your cheek, nostrils flaring, jaw muscles feathering. He breathes against your ear, "not even here, pretty girl?"

You feel his fingers brush across your soft belly and sink past your navel. You whimper when his fingers press into your core. He tuts and bites your neck at your attempt to you close your legs, "nah, ah, ah, ah. No fair. You need to play fair with me, sweetheart."

You rest your head on his toned shoulder. You squeeze his biceps, taking a moment to relax before willingly parting your legs.

He makes a pleased sound, "good girl," he nips your earlobe, "now, say it for me. Will you play fair?"

You sigh against his trapezius as your hand clutches his neck. You lick his skin before biting and whimpering, "yes."

"Seven gods," he groans, turning to kiss you. He tilts your head back, lips nearly landing on yours, but the sight of your smeared lipstick reminds him that he can't. His mind raceswith all the things he wants to do you. He starts by smearing your lipstick with his thumb and biting your lips.

You whimper and push him by the chest.

He licks your cheek and shakes his head, "I'm not kissing you, baby."

You dig your fingers into his hair and pull him back, "annoying fucking cunt."

He laughs and pulls away. His hair is messy and your stomach drops when he swipes the lipstick on his thumb on his lower lip, "I am. Now lie down." He bunches your skirt up.

You refuse to fully lie down, wanting, no, needing to see him. His eyes stay fixed on yours as his nails bite your thighs and his teeth stake their claim. He shakes his head, nose brushing against you, "told you to lie down."

"Mmm," you comb the hair out of his face, "want to see your pretty face."

He smirks and rids you of your underwear, throwing it somewhere in the room, "we'll see."

Gwayne sinks into you, his tongue and lips lapping into your folds. He works with confidence and feasts in a way that makes you writhe. You are powerless against his finesse. Your breath strains as you fall on the bed. He grips your hips, keeping you from moving too much, and you are never not amazed at just how strong men can be, "mmm, 's what I thought."

Before you know it, all you can do is arch your back, tug his hair, and call out his name. It only inspires him to be more diligent. He basks in the power he has over you. He moans as you become increasingly frantic and curses when you come undone all over his mouth.

He allows you momentary repose as he rises from your legs. You look up at him, heart racing as he licks his lips. Fuck, he was beautiful. You wipe the sheen off his chin and feel your stomach drop when he licks your thumb.

Let it never be said that Gwayne Hightower is a talentless prick. Go say what you want about how he sings and speaks, but gods, the man can use his mouth.

It was both so quick and not quick enough until you're both naked. Gwayne has to make the conscious decision to leave bites on your skin instead of kisses, and you suppose this is the reason why he ends up trapped beneath you. You take advantage of his distraction and lose yourself as you ride him, unabashedly bouncing on his hips as your hands reveled in his toned belly. He squeezes every part of you he can get his hands on, relishing the firmness of your hips, the delicateness of your breasts, the softness of you. It was in these moments you didn't mind your build, knowing well these mortal men looked at you like a goddess.

He can't help himself and sits up to graze your skin. He leaves marks all over your throat and nips your lips every time you drive him wild with your noises. He thinks about how badly he wants you to stain his mouth with your lipstick, and in that moment, you push him back and shift your weight into his shoulders.

He curses for the nth time and brings one hand up to the base of your neck. You lean into his touch. His thumb brushes over your lips and you suck on his finger. It makes him claw at the small of your back with his other hand.

Gwayne watches the way your body quakes at the force of your actions. He commits the sight to memory as he feels his belly tighten. He pulls his thumb away with a pop and aids your movements with the thrust of his hips. You call his name out like a mantra as you feel pressure building inside you.

And then it was hot and electric. And then you felt yourself melt into a burning mess as slowly your bones turned to jelly.

You fall into his chest and catch your breath. You can feel both your hearts racing with your sweaty skin pressed together like this.

Gwayne wipes his face and brushes his hair back, mind hazy, mouth dry. Before he can bring an arm around you, you're pushing yourself up and climbing off him. He turns to your side, expecting you to lie next to him, but you make him knit his brows when you grab your dress from the floor, "where's your bathroom?"

He rolls on his belly and points, "just outside."

You cover yourself with your dress and pick up your underwear. You quickly find the bathroom and open the light. You give yourself a jumpscare when you catch reflection on the mirror.

You look like you were caught in a violent accident, with your hair messy and your lipstick in places you didn't expect. You body looked horrendous, worse under this lighting. You gulp and wonder how horny Gwyane must have been to want to take you home. You feel pathetic. You feel nasty. It's no wonder why no one's seriously interested in you. You were a disgusting fat fuck who's only point of interest is her pussy.

You wash yourself as much as you can, get dressed, and take a few deep breaths before exiting.

When you step back into his bedroom, you hear music playing. Was that-

"Khiara," Gwayne says, still sprawled on his belly, butt naked. His eyes are on his phone, "she is incredible."

You look around for your purse, wondering if it was here on in his car.

He turns to you when you do not respond, his expression dropping upon seeing you dressed. He sits up, "is something wrong?"

You spot your purse and smile to yourself, "nope. Just need to call an Ubor."

He watches you grab your purse and pull out your phone. It takes a moment for him to register what was happening. His pride is wounded, "you're not going to stay?"

"Like I said, nine to fi-"

"Tomorrow's Sunday," he leans into his thighs.

You glance at him, catching his sullen expression.

"Don't go."

You ignore the bubbling in your stomach. You chew your lip and walk towards him. He watches you intently. You rest your knee on his thigh, and he immediately straightens up to grab your hips. You take his chin and look at the mess on him, your lipstick, your slick, your spit, then whisper, "I've got things to do."

He rubs your sides, "do they do you better than me?"

Neither of you react.

You think about the convenience store you passed on the drive here. You decide you can wait for your Ubor there and pull away from him, "this was really fun, rockstar."

Gwayne huffs, lowers his gaze, and pinches the bridge of his nose, "no, wait-"

"Good night," you walk off.

He grabs his pants, "let me drive you home."

You ignore him and rush to his door, "good night."

"Wait, dammit!"

You sigh in relief once you're out his home. You forfeit the elevator and head to the stairwell. Halfway through your descent, the door above slams open, and you look up to see a frantic looking Gwayne.

"Really?! The stairs?!"

You wrap your arms around yourself, watching him runs down to you. His face is still messy. His shirt is unbuttoned, and his pants aren't zipped. He sighs, shaking his hands, "what?! what? Am I a bad driver?"

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He huffs and waves a hand, "am I a bad lover?"

Your stomach rolls. You turn to your feet, "I wouldn't know, you're not my lover-"

"Fuck- am I a bad... fuck- sexual partner!" he blurts, zipping his pants then adjusting his shoes.

"No," you chuckle guiltily, "you were... you were amazing-"

"Rate it 1 to 10," he begins to button his shirt.

You look up at him incredulously and sigh, "Gwayne, I just really want to go home."

"Then stop bruising my ego and let me take you home," he shakes his hands in frustration. You stare at each other for a moment. The look on his face makes you want to be swallowed by the ground. You go down a few steps, and Gwayne steps once before sighing. He places his hands in his pockets, "I just... I thought it was going really well."

I look up at him.

He another step forward.

Your mind races. You can't help but relive all your bad memories in this moment. The sheen on his chest tells you bad this is going to hurt if you dive into it. Gods, fucking around with someone in Oldtown? You shrug, "it was, I think."

"Then," he steps forward and grabs your shoulders, "let's at least end it on a good note." You watch him motions with his head, "and let's take the fucking lift while we're at it."

He heads for the door. You suck in a breath and simply go down.

Gwayne holds the door for you and does a double take when he sees you walking off "seriously?"

"Stairs or nothing, buddy. I need the cardio."

"Well, if it's cardio you want," he rushes after you, "I am happy to help."

You glare at him once he's beside you.

Gwayne chuckles at it, feigning a look of innocence, "I have a treadmill in my flat. I don't know what you're thinking, dirty girl." You roll your eyes, making him laugh, "well, I mean I do, you practically jumped me."

"Oh, what, like you didn't think of it."

He gasps, "I am a gentleman."

"Mmm, you must think you're cute."

"Not nearly as cute as you," he grabs your arm once you reach the next door in the stairwell, "now for the love of the Mother, let's fucking take the lift."

[fairyspheres]

i saw that dragon age veilguard hasn't sold well (in the official statement, they specifically said that 1.5 million copies had 'reached players' so it must have sold even worse than that which. yikes) and while i'm quite gutted about that, ea and bioware also only have themselves to blame for it.

they let ten entire years pass between inquisition - a game that, for the most part, dragon age fans generally really like, at least for the lore - and veilguard. in those years, we saw them make andromeda, anthem, and heard reports of them trying to make the-then new dragon age game live service. thankfully we didn't get a live service dragon age game in the end, but a lot of the original writers were dropped, and i think that shows with the quality of the writing in veilguard.

i've never played dragon age for the gameplay, in any of the games. i despise the gameplay in origins - it's clunky and horrible and the deep roads makes me want to let the darkspawn win. but i love the story, which is why i endure the deep roads and the fade. the same in da2, which is probably my favourite of the entire series, even with the repeating dungeons (actually i love the repeating dungeons. i like knowing where things are), and the same in inquisition with the companions who feel like real people (cassandra pentaghast my beloved).

veilguard... the cuts show in the writing quality. the best character was emmrich (and assan and manfred) and from what i've heard he also had the best romance. which is another thing that suffered greatly - the romances (other than emmrich's). in a game series known for its romances, to the point where bioware was marketing the game as the most romantic as the series, how have they managed to mess it up that badly? cullen and solas' romances were late game additions in inquisition, and they're some of the best in the entire series, so it can't be an issue of time constraints.

rook's dialogue choices were essentially just different flavours of pleasant. do you want to be cheerful, lesser purple-hawke, or stoic? there's no real choice to be had throughout most of the game. even the choice between minrathous and treviso has little impact beyond what merchants might be available and a couple of later game choices. compared to earlier games, where you could let an entire village be overrun by corpses, or let fenris be taken back by danarius, the lack of choice is rather stark in comparison. the only real choices come at the very end of the game.

AND speaking of choices - the entire series has been about how all our previous choices have always mattered, about how we can always carry them over and use them to influence the world. so it was very much a slap in the face when not only could we not use the dragon age keep or import any choice beyond who we romanced in inquisition and what we wanted to do with solas, but the fact that by the end of veilguard, everything we did from origins to inquisition was all for nothing. bioware's choice to do that to varric was a kick in the teeth to long-term fans. oh, we got a little reference to the hero of ferelden in weisshaupt, how nice. pity they didn't tell us whether they're still alive or not. a shame we don't know hawke's fate.

so no, i'm not surprised that the game did so poorly in sales. i'm disappointed, but i'm not surprised because as i said, it's their own fault. i said back in november that they might not have another chance to make things right, and i hate that i might've been right about that.

this turned into an unintentional rant about all my grievances with the game.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - We Are Surprised

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2024 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Godday (Sat YT) ep 2 of 12 - Oh it’s fucking great. It could all go horribly south, of course. But it’s awesome at the moment. Messy gay and one of them is already pining? Got to love it. Including the negotiation.

I’d love a good sex negotiation, it’s almost as good as linguistic negotiation. This show makes me happy. All that said, it’s moving awfully quickly for a 12 episode run. Not sure what’s gonna happen on the backend. 

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 3 of 12 eps - I’m still enjoying it but I’m ready for him to die again now. 

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 5-6 of 16 - Toey is going after the Namgoong Award for Best Wingman this year, I see. And in exchange, literally all the rest of the friends are going to be his wingmen. It’s adorable. I also like that Phuwin got to be the aggressor for the first kiss. I like that this is mostly just boys flirting, and not really any prescribed seme/uke stuff. In general, I think these last two episodes I improved the show in my regard a lot. But then middles are always GMMTV's strong point, it’s whether they can stick the landing that’s an issue.

Two Worlds (Thurs iQIYI) ep 9 of 10 - Apparently we have the Frodo walking into Mordor episode. Also the sides were cute. In Thailand (like Taiwan) all gangsters are gay, apparently. 

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 5 of 12 - It’s cute but very cringe and dorky. Silly singing. Terrible pickup lines. Still, that was a ridiculously charming confession.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues YouTube & Viki) ep 12fin - Oh so good. Very few shows that feature one-sided long-term pining of this kind can resolve the unevenness of that power dynamic into a more stable and equal footing with such class. We really got to see the object of the desire turn completely around and become equally besotted. An age gap, stepbrothers trope like this one is hard enough but at this length? Very well acted boys! Unknown managed to show the older brother softening in a believable way that’s pretty unusual in narratives of this type.

All in all?

Unknown is a wonderful BL with a pitch perfect portrayal of long term pining, age gap, and the stepbrothers trope. The acting and chemistry are ON POINT (especially from the leads) which made the resulting characters very believable. When it dwells in intimate family drama, it's stunning. It's slightly less successful when it leaves the home and goes gritty. It's few flaws are the result of curtailed length. It could have used more breathing room to deal with side plots, characters, and companion character development. The editing was occasionally choppy and packed with flashbacks that broke the emotional tension. Still, those are mere quibbles. This is an excellent show that I know I'm going to be recommending a lot. 9/10

Finally Taiwan hits another one out of the park.

About.

Damn.

Time.

Blue Boys (Korea Sat YouTube) 4 of ? - Oh it’s so good, and they are so tortured and it’s just charming and I can’t EVEN. I just love it. I love that Korea is giving us this right now. You’re an idiot if you’re not watching this show, it’s truly spectacular.

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Well well well Japan. I see how you kneed. I enjoyed this episode better than the first two, and I am way into our Bad Boy second lead. I can already feel myself succumbing  to the syndrome. Next week = the obligatory onsen ep! 

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - Omg most adorbs failed linguistic negotiation. 

Boys Be Brave AKA Roommates (Korea Thurs Viki) ep 5-6 of 8 - I love the side couple. It’s a shame we’re finally getting some truly great class conflict and it’s relegated to crumbs.

Love is like a Cat (Korea Mon Viki) eps 11-12fin - Well that was a waste of time. There was no connection (of any kind) between the leads. The language thing was hella weird and likely added to that. The past history of the Korean character was necessary to know from the start, its lack throughout, meant there was no depth to his character. They tried to tackle all the interesting stuff in the final 2 eps. AND they even killed the dog. I never thought I'd type this sentance, but Peach of Time is better.

I don’t know. 5/10 I guess

All in all:

A disappointing lackluster and barely cohesive BL about a jerk Thai actor (speaking Thai) who has to work for a Korean animal rescue cafe as a publicity stunt. It's difficult to believe the leads like each other, let alone fall in love. The acting is stiff, the characters lack motivation and cohesion, and there's not much to recommend this show beyond some pretty visuals. Also, they kill the dog. All in all, a disappointing and unsuccessful joint venture that mostly highlighted that between Thailand and Korea the style of BL, narrative approach, language cadence, and acting techniques all clash.

It's airing but...

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

You Made My Day (Thai YT) ep 1 of 5 - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard.

A Balloon's Landing (Taiwan movie) trailer - A frustrated Hong Kong writer, Tian Yu, meets a Taipei street gangster, Xiang (Fandy Fan from HIStory2: Crossing the Line), and the two of them embark on a journey to find the Bay of Vanishing Whales. Along the way, they discover unexpected twists and turns and close bonds, which brings out the message that "there is always someone like you in this world who is waiting for you. This released to cinemas in Taiwan, no word on international release.

Memory in the Letter (Thai WeTV) - it's done, tell me if I should bother?

Fan's Only Corner

Someone asked in a comment (which tumblr promptly ate) about group sleepovers in BLs. It's happened a few times but the only one I can recall being noted and particularly lovely (and VERY college) was in Nitiman. There's also one in Lovesick.

Next Week Looks Like This:

5/16 Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Strongberry doing classic uni BL! Weeee!

5/19 OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ????) ep 1 of 10 - LeeFrank are back - not unlike the undead (as it were). But how do we feel about it? Unsure given their track record.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

May Releases

VBL (Taiwan) is releasing 4 'Special Episode' epilogues to their 4 2023 shows every Friday this month on Gagaoolala, Viki & Viu. Not sure on search terms or how to find these. (Or, frankly, if we need them.)

5/10 – You Are Mine

5/17 – VIP Only

5/24 – Stay By My Side

5/31 – Anti Reset

5/25 The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer - HoTae & DongHee are back but unfortunately not in a cinema near me. Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS.

5/28 My Biker 2 (Thai movie YT?) - trailer

5/31 The Time of Huannan (Taiwan movie) - May not be BL

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

LOVE a smile kiss. Love it. Two killer kisses from PondPhuwin. Elegantly done, boys. Thank you very much.

I love them a lot all of a sudden. (All We Are)

It's hard to give MaxTul a run on their crown as best bodies in BL, but boy these two are giving it their, erm, best. (Wandee Goodday)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

[honestlyijustfindhersocharming]

DBDA Promptober ... Day 5 - Magic @dbdpromptober

. . . . .

"No!"

Edwin barely processed the way that the shout rang through the air, eyes locked with the spell soaring through the air towards his chest. He was going to die.

Edwin hadn't thought much about his death since he started to regain his memories, but he doubted it'd be that bad. I mean, Niko and Crystal were still okay, right? They had each other, and their cases, and… God, from the little bit that David had eased him into regarding his life so far, Edwin wasn't sure that he'd miss much about living.

Well, there was one thing. One guy with a punky style, bright white curls, and the most beautifully radiant smile that Edwin had ever seen. Ghosts didn't age, right? What would that mean for him and Charles? Would the two of them drift apart as Charles grew into adulthood? Would they stay together even though Edwin would stay the same 16 forever? Would Edwin move on alone and leave Charles to grieve?

… He didn't want Charles to cry for him, face twisted in grief as he tried to fend off Mick and save Crystal. He didn't want-

Edwin was jostled from his thoughts as a form covered his view of the spell hurtling towards him, rooting itself right in front of Edwin as it-. "No!" The scream that Crystal let out forced the scene before him to click, everything in slow motion as Charles - sweet, wonderful, selfless Charles - slumped against Edwin. Edwin took hold of him, cradling him as the two crumpled to the floor under the taller's dead weight.

"Charles!" The scream ripped from his throat before he could stop it, before he could even think, and the entire world faded to Charles. His Charles, lips parted and brows furrowed as he whimpered in pain. "Charles." He repeated, name a prayer on his lips as he repositioned himself, cradling his friend's head with one hand as the other clung to his jacket. His eyes were frantic as he examined the younger's body because there had to be something that he could do. Something to stop the way that the crimson blood kept soaking through Charles' bright white shirt.

"Charles, you're gonna be okay. You have to be okay. Please." Edwin begged. He pleaded. Shame was lost to him as he shook Charles ever so slightly, refusing to accept the way that his breathing shallowed as the seconds ticked on and on and…

"Told you…" Charles croaked out, voice hoarse and face pained despite the way he tried so hard to smile for Edwin. "Was always gonna protect you, yeah?" Edwin heard himself sob at the reminder, because it was never supposed to be like this but then Charles' breathing shallowed even more and-

"No! No! Charles!" He cried, leaning over his friend - his love - to hold him because he couldn't be gone. He can't- "Charles…" Edwin sobbed, grief overtaking him because it should've been him that took that hit. Him that had to deal with that pain after everything that Charles had been through.

"Oh… how tragic." Edwin finally registered the world around him as Mick started speaking. "You know, it is your fault though." His hands shook as he held Charles closer, teeth gritting as his grief melted away into nothing but pure rage. "Bringing him here and all. You really should've seen this-"

"Shut up!" Edwin screamed, the familiar pull in his gut as he thrust his hand outward, shoving the man against the wall, before he reached back into his mind, pulling on the thread that connected him to the demon that he'd brought alongside him. "Dæmonium! Da mihi auxilium tuum!" He chanted, letting his magic meld with David's innate energy.

Thought you'd never ask. Edwin felt the demon respond. Edwin's gaze, now black as night, fell upon Mick, and immediately he knew which words to say. "Sedna! Hear me!" He called, magic sending his voice to the sea. "Your child has forsaken, thee. Will you stand for this injustice, for those outcasted to be defiled by his greed?"

Mick laughed, a horrible bitter sound, and Edwin steeled himself. No matter what happened after this point, he knew one thing for certain. He would not let this man hurt another one of his friends.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 19: A Helping Hand [OS]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Snape Lives AU, set 19th of December 1999 roughly a month after Snape’s return home from the hospital and you have been in love with him for years, sending letters and gifts in secret.

A/N: I feel like we need one more Snape fic this year, don’t you? 🥰 Well, you better bloody well enjoy it ‘cus I damn near keeled over writing this long thing in one sitting - remind me why I keep doing this to myself? I’m short on time, tomorrow the Christmas celebrations start and go all the way until the 25th over here and I’ve been running myself ragged between my two jobs, sorting the house, writing for Rickmas and generally being a wife, a mom, and a human - with all the work that entails in and of itself 😂

Also, don’t be fooled by how sweetly this fic starts 👀

Tags/TW’s: Secret Pining, Teenage Crush Turned Love In Adulthood, Fear, Shortly Mentions [horrible nightmares / fear for another’s safety / violence / blood / slight gore / painful past / terrible history / the war / the dark lord / wanting to die / hospital stay / scars], Shame, Guilt, Going Into Hiding, Embarrassment, Sadness, Mind Reading (Legilimens), Confessions

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - your Last Name

Word Count: 4.2k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A Helping Hand

This is fantastic, what the bloody hell was I thinking?! The black door with chipped paint loomed before you. It was an ordinary door, of regular height and width, yet it was so large and utterly imposing. I shouldn’t be here, why am I here? It’s not like he’s going to open the door and go ‘oh a Christmas star, how wonderful, come in, come in’, like, no… You adjusted your hold of the red flower in a too-small pot with a green satin ribbon tied at the top of it.

You shivered in the cold wind and your boots had turned slightly soggy with melted snow. They weren’t the best shoes for walking in snow but they were the finest pairs you had and matched perfectly with your dress and cloak of deep green with silver details.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just knock, you idiot!” you hissed at yourself before drawing a steadying breath, reaching your hand up, and knocking far too lightly. It was more of a tapping than a knocking, really. But your hand was already clamped around the pot once more as your heart raced and pixies seemed to have a party in your stomach.

You sighed. This is stupid, he’s not going to open… It wasn’t your first attempt at contacting your previous professor. It had been a few years since you graduated, he might not even remember you despite the letters and gifts you had sent him through the years. The last two years you hadn’t dared to do so though. The world had gone too dark and the rumours of the man’s place as Voldemort’s number one follower hadn’t gone unnoticed.

One more time, you told yourself before reaching up to knock again. This time, a little harder even if it still sounded timid. You held onto the pot in a cramp-like manner as you waited with your heart in your throat and the growing party of pixies in your stomach turning into a rave.

The lock clicked. Then a chain rattled. Your eyes widened as you watched the handle turn and air seemed to evade you as the door slowly creaked open. There he was. Black hair, pale skin, frock and all — just how you remembered him. Almost.

He arched a brow, opening the door further as he found you standing one step down. His eyes went up and down, from your shoes to the Christmas Star flower and then to your face. “Miss Y/l/n?” he drawled, his voice more hoarse than you could remember. “P-professor,” you stammered, suddenly having no idea what to do now that he actually opened the door. “Not anymore,” he said harshly, but his tone wasn’t quite angry or the like. “What can I do for you, Miss Y/l/n?” he continued, his voice clipped and low.

You blinked. “Um, here—” you held out the flower, nearly shoving it into his arms “—it’s a Christmas Star, erh, flower for you,” you continued, feeling mortified as heat crept under your skin. “I can see what it is,” he drawled, looking from the flower to you with eyes betraying none of what he was thinking or feeling. “Why am I receiving it?” he continued. “I— Well, I thought I’d— You see, I— Um, well, yes, that’s a good question,” you rambled, turning warmer in your heavy cloak by the second. “Um, Merry Christmas,” you finally managed to force out while wishing the stone steps below would swallow you whole.

You hadn’t thought it would go like this, you hadn’t thought you’d lose any semblance of speech and thought by just seeing the man again. But, as usual, your teenage habit around the intimidatingly gorgeous man had you tongue-tied and unable to coherently say or think anything.

He was still gorgeous. More ravaged by harsh times, more distant than ever, and less fearsome yet more intimidating with the lack of feelings coming from him. Get yourself together! “Another gift,” he drawled, looking at the flower while he held the bottom of the pot in just one hand. “You have sent me quite a few.” You spluttered, dying of embarrassment it felt like. “I— Well, yes, I did… I’m sorry. Sorry, Professor, I shouldn’t have— and I shouldn’t have come now, you never opened before so I didn’t think you’d— No matter, I’ll leave. Um, Merry Christmas,” you rambled. “Yes, you said that already, miss.” “Oh, right, yes, right, I did. Sorry,” you whispered while burning up from the rushing of your pulse and the searing heat of embarrassment.

You turned to leave, rushing down the stairs without another word. “It’s slippery at the— Careful!” he shouted in a hoarse manner that could barely be classified as more than a murmur in the lone tone. But, it was too late. You flung your arms out, your feet sliding out from under you as you fell helplessly backwards. A crash resonated through the air and with barely a millisecond to spare you levitated in mid-air with your hair gracing the snow below.

You panted and heaved, completely still in the charm he had cast over you with no time to spare. The stone beneath could have cracked your skull, so adrenaline kept rushing through your body even though the danger was over. “T-Thank you,” you said in a stuttering exhale as he straightened you up. As soon as your feet hit the ground and his charm released you you shivered and drew in a deep breath to calm yourself.

“As accident-prone as I remember,” he murmured behind you. “Do you never learn, Y/n?” You turned, only to find him standing in the fully open doorway with the shattered pot and snapped flower at his feet. “Your gift,” you whispered, feeling your lips turn down in a saddened frown. “It took ages to grow that thing and make the pot,” you sighed to yourself. “You grew it?” he asked, making you look up from the mess. “Well, yes, I can’t give you store-bought flowers.” “Why?” he asked, making you scrunch your brows. “Why would anyone do such a thing?” “What do you mean? You saved the world, you must have gotten all kinds of flowers and gifts. I wanted mine to… be something else,” you admitted while looking at the snapped stem and scattered red petals. Your heart ached at the sight, all those months of work and magic you’d poured into it — gone.

Snape aimed his wand at the mess, not a word uttered but his brows scrunched. You sighed. “It can’t be mended…” He looked at you. “Magic?” You shook your head. “No, it can’t be fixed with magic… I grew it in… It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, brushing down your cloak to have something to do with your errant hands that wished to scoop up the broken pieces of your love at his feet. No amount of wand waving would be able to mend either flower or pot — they were impervious to any and all magic.

Snape looked at you, tilting his head ever so slightly before he waved his wand and the broken pieces flitted up into a levitating ball. “Come in,�� he said and you damn near lost the capability to breathe. “W-What? Come-, come in? Into your home?” you asked, your voice nearly rude. He looked at you while standing half-turned in the doorway. “Or do not,” he simply stated before you lurched into action. “Slippery,” he reminded harshly and you slowed your climb up the stairs. Your heart and mind had no intention of slowing down though.

The door closed behind you and the gloom of a narrow hallway took over. The scent of him was overwhelming. Your mouth popped open at his back as he moved away from you, towards a door at the end leading to what appeared to be a shabby kitchen in a dull green with chequered flooring.

You scrambled out of your coat, in the gloom your dress glittered like a star-strewn sky and the silvery buckle of your waist-belt shimmered. I can do this, I can absolutely do this, this is what I wanted. Yet your hands shook and your entire body felt strung tightly as you used magic to dry your boots and the hem of your dress. You weren’t about to drag in slush and gravel into the man’s house.

With careful steps, you moved toward the open door where Snape stood by a small table only large enough to seat two people. The kitchen was gloomy as well, and it hadn’t escaped your notice that there were no decorations or hints of Christmas in the house. The man himself stood leant over the remnants of your shattered gift as you stepped up.

“Just throw it out,” you said quietly, despite how it hurt. “It’s rubbish—” “Don’t,” he snarled in that hoarse voice while throwing a harsh glare at you. “It is not rubbish.” You blinked. “Professor, it’s broken. Can’t be mended.” “It’s not Professor anymore,” he muttered. “Then, what do I call you?” He glanced at you, something swept over his features before his shoulders stiffened. “Severus, if you wish. Mr Snape if that is more to your liking.” “Your— I can call you… Severus?” you asked, stunned and floored and bewildered and, well, everything at the same time.

He didn’t reply. You both looked at the broken pot and flower in silence. All the months of work you’d put into it, gone. The endless hours you’d spent teaching yourself to do pottery by hand and the countless failed attempts — it had all been a waste. But, I knew it would be… Even if it hadn’t shattered it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. This was just selfish of me, my own need to tell him I... You couldn’t finish the thought, too many horrid memories crept up just thinking about it. All the tears, the ache in your heart and fear in your gut as times had grown dark years ago.

Severus straightened. “You stopped sending letters,” he said but kept his eyes on the mess atop the table. You looked up at his profile. “Well, yes… I…” You drew a steadying breath, readying yourself to be honest. “I got scared… I knew of your place beside Voldemort, and I suspected your place beside Dumbledore… I couldn’t imagine you ever truly being on the wrong side… But, they took family members, friends, people who—” People who mattered to others… And even if I know I don’t matter to you, they wouldn’t have known that given the letters and gifts…

“So, you read them..?” You almost didn’t want to hear the answer — either way, it would feel weird. He nodded, his hair falling forward. “Many times. You did not sign a single one until the very last, why?” You released a deep breath. “I… I never have and never will think I’m worthy of someone like you.” His eyes widened and he was about to speak but you rushed on. “Don’t worry, I’m not hurt by it. I understand,” you said with a dejected chuckle. “I’m just me, and I was your student, you know I’m nothing special, just average.” “That was many years ago, I only taught your last two years,” he said. The depth of his voice and its new raggedness had a shiver crawl down your spine.

You looked up at him, your arms crossed over your chest in a self-hug and your lips in a small smile both sad and soft in its nature. “Yes, quite, and from that time to now you’ve saved the world, protected children and adults, offered all of yourself with only loss of years to show for it I guess.” “Your point?” he drawled, a deeper darkness to his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up, it must be painful for you.” This is going bloody well, absolutely fantastic, can I be more of a damn idiot?

He crossed his arms over his chest, too. Yet, in a harsher manner. “Your point,” he demanded and you instantly felt as if you were being scolded by your professor, a fantasy you were far too shy to ever admit to having had several times during your more lonely nights. “I have nothing, sir,” you whispered. “I’m nothing compared to you. I went into hiding, I didn’t even fight like so many did…” “You wrote of your fear,” he drawled and your shoulders drew upwards, toward your ears in shame. “You stayed alive. More people did that than those who fought against the Dark Lord in battle.” “I hid, I ran away to the north and… I was of no help,” you admitted with a forced smile to hide the shame within your heart.

He glared at you, but it didn’t feel like a glare out of anger. It still had you tensing even more though. How on earth you’d managed to get into such a deep conversation with the man of your dreams — and nightmares — you weren’t sure but you barely dared to breathe for fear of being kicked out of his home.

“War is a terrible thing,” he said quietly. “Many fought. Many lost their lives and loved ones, but more still fled or hid. Staying alive, there is no shame to it, Y/n. No shame.” His words were harsh, unyielding and said in a manner that had you believe he might be speaking equally for your and his benefit. He was still alive, too. “Yeah, maybe…” “No. You should not be ashamed for staying alive.” “One day, maybe I won’t be,” you admitted while a heaviness seemed to blanket the room.

Severus glanced from you to the broken pot and flower once more. “Perhaps a helping hand is all we need when times are the hardest,” he said in no more than a whisper. “Your letters… they were, important to me.” You gulped down a lump that had formed in your throat. “They were..?” “Yes.” He seemed to soften next to you. “I feared you had died, when it all stopped… Seeing your name in the last letter, I cannot tell you how it affected me when I realised no more would come.”

I affect him? You weren’t sure what to say to that. You hadn’t ever imagined that you meant anything to the brave man, yet here he stood and said the opposite. But perhaps it was more of a comfort thing, a friendship thing. You shivered, your shoulders shaking. It wasn’t any help that the house was quite chilly.

“Come,” he said, turning and leaving the kitchen before you had barely reacted. You stumbled after him with a final glance at the shattered love left on his little kitchen table. He led you into a sitting room while your mind kept spinning with questions of what he thought of you, what he felt, how much he had cared when he thought you had died. Don’t go there. You had imagined far too many times that he had met a slow, painful death. Far too many nightmares had forced you awake with a scream as his death and torture were featured within your own mind.

“Sit,” he said before flicking his wand to light the fireplace. “I shall bring some tea.” A wave of warmth washed over the room and the golden light of the flames had shadows dancing all around. “Tea? Oh, thank you,” you said in a shocked rush as you sat yourself down on the two-seat sofa. He disappeared out the doorway and you were left looking around the room with the growing memories of all the nights and days you had been a complete mess, absolutely in shambles, over the man whose house you were now in.

Your eyes zeroed in on the fire as you squeezed your own biceps. He was different from how you remembered him, both in a good and bad way. Despite the harrowing life he had led, he was still the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes upon, and despite the slight hint of a scar that shouldn’t be there at all at the very top of his throat and the hoarse voice, you found him perfect. He was darker, he was harsher and more reserved in his behaviour but he talked with you and there was something about him that hadn’t changed at all.

You squeezed your biceps again, the memories coming unfiltered of all those times you had cried yourself to sleep or woken up screaming in horror. Your head swam with images of a bloody Severus, of broken limbs and a twisted neck. Gurgling breaths and wheezing noises. You barely held onto reality and the roaring fire attempting to warm you. Being in his house, and seeing him again after all these years, kicked everything to the forefront and you couldn’t get a handle on your emotions or mind.

You drew a stuttering breath, closing your eyes to try and banish the horrors of the past as they multiplied — both false nightmares and memories of re-tellings in the news of Severus’s heroic actions that had only led him to experience pain and suffering for Merlin knew how long. Get it together, get it together, you told yourself over and over as you drowned in the raging flood released by the very realisation that it was all over — that he was safe. Out of reach, but safe and alive.

You jolted up from the sofa at the sound of porcelain breaking and scattering. “Severus?” you called out, your voice shrill and your heart in an uproar. “Severus?” you called again before rushing toward the kitchen, in the direction of the noise. But you stopped short in the hallway where he stood with open hands and a mess of broken teacups and steaming water at his feet.

He looked at you with ghastly pale skin and slightly heaving breaths. “Are— Severus, are you okay? What happened?” you asked while walking up toward him, your pain and fears from the past forgotten for a moment at the sight of him. “What… was that?” he asked in a dark whisper. “What was what?” you asked, spinning around to look down the hallway, was there something in the house? No, you couldn’t see anything. “There’s nothing there.”

You turned back toward Severus, his eyes eerily fixated on you. Then you felt it. A prodding sensation and a presence in your mind that wasn’t supposed to be there. “What are you—” Your temples strained and your hand flew up to your forehead. “That,” he snarled as you saw flickers of so many horrid memories revolving around him flash in your head as he scoured through it all. You couldn't push him out, his skill was too great. “S-stop,” you pleaded. “That’s private,” you continued while looking away from him.

Embarrassment, shame, hurt, it all filled your chest as he retreated from your mind and left a palpable void where he had been a second ago. “T-That’s private,” you whispered, holding back tears as your back curved under the weight of your shame. Severus had gone through literal hell for years on end where your imagination had only brushed the surface — yet it was more than you could handle and he had had to live through it all, and possibly far worse things than you could imagine. Your fear and anguish was false, and in the presence of true bravery and strength, you wished to vanish and never come out of hiding ever again.

“You cried, for me?” he asked, so quietly you could barely hear it. “Please, I’m ashamed enough as it is…” you whispered while turning your back on him to wipe away the tears refusing to stop now that they had begun to spill over. “Ashamed,” he said as if tasting the word for the first time. You tensed. “I’m sorry, I— I shouldn’t have come to see you,” you whispered while snivelling as quietly as you could. “I’m sorry,” you forced out before bolting toward the door with a suffocated cry, grabbing your cloak in passing before gripping the door’s handle and tugging.

It didn’t budge. You tugged again, twisting one way and then the other but it wouldn’t open. Let me out, please, please let me out. You couldn’t stand the shame, the fear, the unwanted longing you were filled with for the man behind you. Through all the pain, the fear, through everything, all you had wanted was to hold him tight and make sure he was safe. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, it was unrequited and a lost cause.

You snivelled and spluttered a cry. “Please, let me out,” you whimpered while tugging on the door again. “I can’t do this,” you cried quietly. But two large hands atop your shoulder had you gasping a breath as you were spun around in a rush, your back pushed against the unyielding door with strength you stood no chance against.

“You cried for me,” he whispered. You couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry.” A gusted breath fanned your face as he snarled. “No. You cannot be sorry for that,” he said with finality. “Do not apologise for caring enough to shed tears for an unwanted man.”

You glanced up through the tears, the view of him hazy despite how close his face was to yours. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t.” “I was useless,” you cried quietly. All the shame, the guilt, the pain welled up further. “Useless…” You snivelled and gripped your dress so harshly you could feel your nails through the fabric. His hands hardened around your trembling shoulders. “You cried for me,” he repeated — as if he was as stuck in his mind as you were.

You had no time to react before he sank before you, his knees thudding to the floor ominously as his hands slipped down your arms only to hold on to your wrists. “I thought you were dead,” he murmured with his face tilted toward the floor. “The letters, the gifts… I thought I had lost my chance,” he continued while his hands hardened to the point of pain around your wrists. But you felt him tremble, heard his voice waver, felt the coldness of sadness seep from him and into you.

“What chance?” you asked, barely able to breathe when he tilted his head back only to view you with tear-lined eyes. The onyx colour appeared black in the gloom. “To tell you…” “T-Tell me? W-What?” you managed to force out between snivelling breaths and clogging cries. “You matter to me. You… are important, to… me,” he said darkly and forcibly through gritted teeth as his hands clamped around your wrists and a bewildered look filled his eyes while the rest of him remained utterly harsh. “But I can’t be,” you whispered. “I did nothing.” “You saved me,” he snarled.

Your breath hitched as he tugged on your wrists, forcing you down on your knees before him. His hands gripped your shoulders anew, steadying you before you would have fallen face-first into his chest. “Your words saved me, your gestures, you have no idea what you did for me,” he ground out. “Do not think, for a second, you are useless, Y/n. If it weren’t for you… I am the one who should feel shame.” “What? No! You saved the world!” He glared at you. “Only barely.” “That doesn’t matter. You did it.” “Because of you. I could not… I could not fail when I thought you had died because of what the Dark Lord persisted for.” He was so calm in the next second. As if, somehow, he found control again while you spiralled and kept snivelling and whimpering cries.

Your body sagged under the weight of his words. “But, I am nothing to the world—” “You are important to me,” he interrupted. “And until you sent that card to St. Mungos, I had believed you dead — as I had wished to be.” “Severus, no, no,” you cried, instinctively reaching up to grasp at his chest. He allowed the touch, reaching around to pull you closer. “You saved the world, and then you saved me. All you had to do was stay alive, and you did. Nobody has a right to ask for anything more than that, yet, I will…”

You leaned back, a snivelling and trembling mess before him. He reached up and wiped your cheeks with the back of his chilly fingers even if the tears just kept on coming. “Let me know you, Y/n.” You held his gaze. “You know me better than anyone, what I told you in those letters are things I haven’t told anyone…” His eyes widened, his fingers tensed and then he pulled you closer by your waist. “Stay,” he said.

You buried your face in his chest, beyond emotional and out of control. You trembled and shook, your brain misfired and had you scrambling for the connection with your voice to speak the only word you wished. Instead, you cried into his chest and grasped at his clothes with clawing strength. He held you closer, his embrace firm and warm. “Stay. Gift me what I thought I had lost forever…” “A-and, w-what, is that..?” you said between snivels and rushed breaths. “You… A chance to be with the woman who saved the world through me…” It was too much, yet you managed to find your voice. “Never let go,” you whispered. “Never.”

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Well, this made me emotional.

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @morphineisouthoney @meteoritewolf69 @bionic-otp @elizabeth-baelish @romanceandsarcasm @severuslovebot @glowstar826 @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @a-queen-and-her-throne @impulse-anchor @commodoreseverus @writewithmarites @alisongurl13 @yan-senna @writewithmarites @reinekefoxart @nixislight @lokisbjchnl @lght-n-drk @ladykardasi @lyrixsnape @sunset90 @meliasnape @B3lls @canihelpyou201 @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @theheartwants-what-itwants @sanji-simp @snapesrn @thatlittlefangirl @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

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[al1fers-haven]

"OH DEER"

Alastor x Vox's wife!reader

Part 1 - Part 1.5 (You're here!)

You had been at the hotel for a couple weeks now, completely ignoring the news and any form of technology that Vox could find you on, even trying to steer clear from going outside, to begin with after a couple of times trying.

You had bonded a lot with the fellow members of the Hazbin hotel, you and Angel had bonded the most it seemed. Both having worked with the Vees and had romantic and sexual relations with them, it brought you together. Especially when it came to the harder nights the porn star seemed to have because of Valentino. "So...what's your deal?" Husk looked towards you as you looked down at the margarita he had made for you about 12 minutes ago. Attempting to figure out what exactly was going on and why you were here to begin with.

"What? Oh- nothin' much. Trying to wrap my head around this whole.." You waved your hand around in the air. "Redemption thing?" Husk nodded, grabbing his own bottle of whiskey and sighing. "What? You really believe in it?" You shook your head no, giggling a little bit. "No, I've met heaven. They won't let any soul go through anytime soon unless it is someone really important. You would think if souls could be redeemed I wouldn't be here, right?" Husk sensed the slight tension at the mention of heaven. A small smile on your face. "I uh...yeahh..." He let out a small noise and opened his bottle. "Well, why are you here? Alastor got you on a leash?" You sat up at that. Suddenly getting a lot livelier at the mention of the radio demon. "Oh! No, he would never! Uhm...i ran into him on the street, we had a nice talk. He's helping me hide from my ex-husband." Husk deadpanned, pointing his bottle at you. "What?" You lifted your glass up and chuckled a bit behind it, rolling your eyes. "I seem to get that answer a lot...I ran into him after me and my husband had gotten into a huge fight. Luckily enough he is one of the many people Vox can't touch! So here I am..!" You laughed nervously. Watching as Husk got more and more confused. "You were married to Vox? as in the overlord Vox?" You deadpanned, running a hand through your hair as your smile dropped. "Well he wasn't 'Vox, head of Voxtech' when I married him! We go way back to the living world." He slowly nodded. "Is he uh....treatin you well then?" Husk took a sip of his whiskey, leaning against the table. "Oh! He's been a complete sweetie to me! Making me snacks, even getting me some new clothes from Cannibal Town!" Your cheeks grew more and more colorful as you spoke about the overlord. Take a flustered sip from your drink. "You don't-" You took a loud sip from the drink. Your face continued to get red as he stared at you. "You do!?" "Listen, its just a small thing! It ain't going anywhere...Just...having a couple dinners with the fella.." Husk rubbed his face. A shameful look on your face. "What! He's the only guy who's actually treated me like a girl and not something to wife up! Can't blame a girl can ya?" Husk nodded. "Yes, yes I can blame you." "Really? Is it that bad for me to have a small thing for Mr. Strawberryhead?" Husk sighed, rolling his eyes with a mumble. "Well, it's not horrible? I mean, just fair warning he is a horrible person." You waved your hand, putting down your drink. "Eh, I've married worse. Believe me, vox was nothing more than an obsessive drunk who can't handle being told no. As long as he doesn't force me into anything I hate, then we are good! Or hit me." Husk stared at you baffled, a horrified expression on his face. "What? Is that bad!?" Husk nodded quickly. Grabbing your drink and refilling it. "Yes! That's- That is below the bare minimum Y/n! Cmon girl, you need to think about standards- Cmon, your standards are to not date a rapist or an abuser! That's- oh god angel has better standards." You slumped a bit. "Y/n, dear! I made some fruit salad, would you like some?" Alastors voice boomed throughout the bar room, making you perk up and look towards the fellow. "Coming Alastor!" You stood up, grabbing the margarita with a smile as you looked at Husk. "Uh..." He looked towards Alastor with a growl. "Thank you...Husk. I'll think more about what I want, how about that?" The cat demon nodded slowly, turning around and cleaning out a cup or two.

[edenmemes]

resident evil: 4 remake starters

❝ man, that stinks. ❞ ❝ this just keeps getting worse. ❞ ❝ you’re still a kid holding onto fantasies of what’s right and wrong. ❞ ❝ i’m gonna let you in on a little secret. just between us. ❞ ❝ the hell is going on? ❞ ❝ hey, we’re a team, right? ❞ ❝ where’s everyone going? bingo? ❞ ❝ you and me are two sides of the same coin. ❞ ❝ that’s just like you. you always had poor judgement. ❞ ❝ ah, so you aren’t heartless after all. ❞ ❝ like i told you, i’m gonna get you home safe. ❞ ❝ i’m not falling for your mind games. ❞ ❝ you proved you can handle yourself. ❞ ❝ you haven’t changed a damn bit. ❞ ❝ you look like you’ve got something to say. ❞ ❝ gotta fix everything myself. ❞ ❝ you can’t run. you got to keep moving forward. ❞ ❝ you’re nothing but an extra in my script. ❞ ❝ i thought you were gonna die. ❞ ❝ i don’t pay you to ask questions. ❞ ❝ there’s no time for resting. ❞ ❝ revenge? you think i’m doing all this...for revenge? ❞ ❝ i need you to trust me, and do exactly as i say. ❞ ❝ you’re too soft to do what’s necessary. ❞ ❝ i know your potential better than anyone. ❞ ❝ you’ve made it all this way, but you haven’t learned a thing. ❞ ❝ maybe you’ll live to meet me again. ❞ ❝ the most important thing in this world is pure, unadulterated power. ❞ ❝ i’ve something to ask you...but i don’t think i’ll get a straight answer. ❞ ❝ you didn’t answer my question. what’re you after? ❞ ❝ you know, you were always an asshole. ❞ ❝ you have a strange sense of humor. ❞ ❝ you are nothing if not unyielding. ❞ ❝ i just wanna feel good about myself. make amends. or something like that. ❞ ❝ just give me a heads-up before you stab me next time, okay? ❞ ❝ it’s okay to be afraid, you know. ❞ ❝ what do you think? people can change, right? ❞ ❝ not looking good, eh, my friend? ❞ ❝ you try to save one person; a hundred others die. ❞ ❝ was that an act of defiance? against me? ❞ ❝ a well-tuned weapon can make up for a lack of skill. ❞ ❝ i’ll let myself out. ❞ ❝ you won’t get away with this. ❞ ❝ be a shame to live the rest of your life wondering ‘what if’ - am i right? ❞ ❝ you have the stench of battle on you. ❞ ❝ so, tell me, why did you come to this horrible place? ❞ ❝ you wanna help? cause i could use it. ❞ ❝ if i could just forget what happened that night, the pain - even for a second... ❞ ❝ i knew i could count on you. ❞ ❝ i think you’d be pretty dashing in it. ❞ ❝ i’m not used to having such good company. ❞ ❝ hey. it’s dangerous outside. ❞ ❝ god damn...i was almost a pancake. ❞ ❝ a lot of people have gone missing around here. and it’s been like that for a while now. ❞ ❝ sorry. i, uh, screwed up. ❞ ❝ i’m so scared. when that happened...i wasn’t myself any more. ❞ ❝ well done. you’ve proven yourself reliable. ❞ ❝ won’t be going anywhere in this thing. ❞ ❝ sorry, didn’t realize that was yours. ❞ ❝ this time, it can be different. it has to. ❞ ❝ everything will work out just fine. ❞ ❝ you missed. that’s not like you. ❞ ❝ come to my rescue, prince charming! ❞ ❝ sometimes it’s more fun not knowing. ❞ ❝ if you do well, i’ll make it worth your while. ❞ ❝ that hurts, you know. ❞ ❝ this is one hell of a gloomy place. ❞ ❝ why help me, though? what’s in it for you? ❞ ❝ oh, well, maybe just untie me then? ❞ ❝ knowledge is power. remember that. ❞ ❝ i can’t tell if that’s meant to be a compliment. ❞ ❝ i’m sure you’ll do your best to help me. ❞ ❝ bill me for the repairs later. ❞ ❝ it seemed like you really wanted to talk. ❞ ❝ you know, those things will kill you. ❞ ❝ you haven’t changed. you just think you have. ❞ ❝ don’t let the smallfry distract you from the big fish. ❞ ❝ quiet type, eh? ❞ ❝ guess you picked the wrong spot to vacation. ❞ ❝ a most warm welcome to my castle. ❞ ❝ bet you’ve been in spots like this before. ❞ ❝ to think you could be this foolish. ❞ ❝ give me a break already. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. i wish i could do more to help. ❞ ❝ i don’t want to recall what happened down there. ❞ ❝ years haven’t been kind to us, i suppose. ❞ ❝ finally, some peace and quiet. ❞ ❝ who are you? and what are you doing here? ❞ ❝ i’m just an average guy who happens to be quite the ladies’ man. ❞ ❝ you should really be telling me what a good job i did. ❞ ❝ is this the first time you coughed up blood like this? ❞ ❝ so much for helping me. ❞ ❝ so, who are you working for this time? ❞ ❝ you think i’m gonna give up that easily? ❞ ❝ hey, are you sure you’re good? ❞ ❝ i’m gonna get you home safe. ❞ ❝ i have a plan. but you’re going to have to trust me. ❞ ❝ gimme some space. ❞ ❝ i don’t get you. why risk your life like this? ❞ ❝ it’s a little over-the-top, don’t you think? ❞ ❝ they’re coming! get behind me. ❞ ❝ does that hurt? are you in pain? distressed? ❞ ❝ you are really starting to become a giant pain in my ass. ❞ ❝ you know i don’t work and tell. ❞ ❝ you’ve done well to make it this far. ❞ ❝ tell someone who gives a shit. ❞ ❝ happy to help. now you owe me. ❞ ❝ are you just trying to use me again? ❞ ❝ what’re you, my mother? ❞ ❝ i’m definitely gonna catch a cold. ❞ ❝ this artwork...doesn’t it look like it’s telling some kind of story? ❞ ❝ what do we do? there’s no way out. ❞ ❝ what’s wrong with wanting the same for myself? ❞ ❝ it’s a little old fashioned for my taste. ❞ ❝ you’re losing your cool. making mistakes. ❞ ❝ don’t scare me like that. ❞ ❝ you’re slow. and so goddamn weak. ❞ ❝ wow, you’ve really gone all out for me! you shouldn’t have. ❞ ❝ i will send you back to the hell you came from. ❞ ❝ heheh, having a rough day? ❞ ❝ the reaper comes for cowards and the careless alike. which are you? ❞ ❝ i’ve got to think. need to get my head straight. ❞ ❝ i shall leave tomorrow. go far away. ❞ ❝ here’s my question...have you changed? ❞ ❝ we will beat this. together. ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? show no mercy! ❞ ❝ i admit - you’ve done well to stay alive this long. ❞ ❝ this means death. a slow, miserable death. ❞

[climbthemountain2020]

Still Beautiful Things

Happy Eris Week! @erisweekofficial

It's my very first Eris Week, and I have something for every single day! As always, thank you for the beta reads @cauldronblssd @witch-and-her-witcher

Eris Week Day 1: Bonds | Bargains | Ao3

[After a horrible morning, young Eris makes a bargain with the person he trusts most in the world.]

And I've been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with

Me and we can be pirates

Then you won't have to cry

Or hide in the closet

And just like a folk song

Our love will be passed on

“Eris?”

He heard her whispered voice before he saw her, and he let out a breath he'd been holding. He'd been afraid it was his father’s guard looking for him; perhaps Beron had decided that his punishment hadn't been enough. The terror in his chest hadn't quite subsided yet. He took a deep breath to try and steady his pounding heart.

“Eris,” she hissed out, her voice still quiet in his chambers. He could see her through the cross hatches of the door, her dark hair pulled back in a white bow and swishing down her back as she trotted over to look under his bed on quiet feet.

It wasn't a secret what happened in the Forest House–not to the Lady of Autumn, and not to the heir either.

“I'm here, Aida.” He kept his voice low, but cracked the wicker closet door open enough to give an invitation.

Nearly immediately, two dark eyes framed by long lashes were swimming in his vision as she popped her head through the door.

“Hi.” She pulled the rest of her body in, closing the door tightly behind them so the low light flickered in on them in miniscule squares, a checked pattern dotting her pale skin.

“Hi.”

“How'd you know?”

Aida smiled sadly, her rounded cheeks shifting with the movement. “My mother.”

Aida Franc’s mother was one of the court ladies of Autumn, and his mother's best friend. Of course she'd already known what was happening today, likely having already seen his mother with the gash along her arm. Hopefully, she'd healed it. Hopefully, he'd bought her time when he'd drawn Beron’s ire to himself.

“I told him to leave her alone,” Eris ground out, the venom and hatred barely overcoming the exhaustion in his voice. Beron would call this weakness, and he’d be right. Aida grabbed his arm and he winced, her brown eyes widening and then narrowing at his reaction.

“I hate him, Eris.” She spoke too loudly for the space they were in and Eris startled, putting a finger to her lips, cringing when he saw the blood still wet on his hand.

“You must be careful. If anyone ever heard you…”

Aida shook her head, her loose curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I don't care.” She lowered her voice at his frantic eyes. “I don't, Eris. What he does to you, to your mother, is wrong.”

To that, he had nothing to say. She was right, and he was embarrassed, the shame as hot as the big, fat tears beginning to slip down his face. He was nine; he knew he shouldn't cry like a baby any more. Beron had done everything he could and more to break him of the habit, but once they’d begun, he couldn’t stop them.

He wiped violently at the tears, his vision blurring before he remembered too late that the hand he’d wiped with was still covered in.

“Oh, come here.” Aida ripped the fabric of her skirt, tearing a sheet of it to wipe gently at his face.

“Your mother's going to have your hide for that,” he tried to joke, but the crack in his voice gave him away.

She scoffed. “She'll be with your mother well into the night. I doubt she'll notice.”

Their mothers were thick as thieves, having met in court when they were both new to the Forest House and immediately taking a liking to each other. Both married young, both from noble houses, and both pregnant with their first children, they'd become fast friends. Eris and Aida had been born within weeks of each other, and they had been tied at the hip since.

The difference between them, of course, was that Aida’s father loved her mother, dearly, deeply, and in the most profound way that a fae could love another: they were mates. Aida had been born from a union of love, not whatever cruel fate had bound Eris' parents together out of spite. Aida loved to tell Eris the story–her father had been visiting a foreign court on his own father's behalf when he'd stumbled–literally stumbled–into a rock hewn wall upon seeing her mother. He described her as a sparkling gem hidden in a mountain, and when her dazzling eyes had turned on him, the bond had snapped for them both. It was mere weeks before they were back in Autumn, and only months more before they were joyfully expecting Aida.

Perhaps that's why Aida always seemed to glow, to radiate joy, even when she was wracked with anger. She had been wanted, a treasure given from true love. Eris was only an heir, a means to an end, no love to be found between his mother and father.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

The words seemed to echo in the chamber of the closet, stretching out endlessly in the darkness.

“All the time. But there's nowhere to go.” He winced as she touched the cloth to his bleeding brow, then began working on his arm.

“What if I went with you?”

He'd thought about leaving, of course. Nearly every night as he tried to sleep, tried to convince himself that the nightmares at night were better than the ones he faced during the day.

He imagined running into the red and orange woods, the mists at his heels as he tore away into Prythian. But he'd never dared to dream that Aida might come, too.

“You couldn't, your parents–”

“Would find me again if we went to Night. You know I have family there.” She hadn’t met his eyes, but these weren’t answers that she was coming up with on the spot. Eris knew Aida, and that meant he could tell she’d thought this through.

His words were so quiet, just a whisper on his lips, that she wouldn’t have heard if she hadn’t been inches away. “They'd kill us if we were caught.”

“If we were caught.” Her brown eyes sparkled when she finally looked at him, the endless depths nearly black and twinkling with the stars of galaxies within them.

He considered. What if they left together? What of his mother? Would Beron kill her? Would he kill Aida’s parents if he pieced together how they'd fled? He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I can practically hear your thoughts spinning. It doesn't have to be today, Eris. Or even this year. We have all the time in the world.”

The thought calmed him.

“You would leave with me? Truly?” Even in the sparse light, he could see her wide grin stretching across her face.

“Of course, Eris. You're my best friend.” He couldn't help but smile back. She was his best friend, too–the first and only person he'd ever loved apart from his mother.

Aida tore another strip from her skirts, then paused, taking in Eris' bleeding palm.

“Here.” She gestured in the air, and was suddenly holding a knife with a jeweled hilt.

“You're getting better at that.”

She smiled wickedly. “I've been practicing stealing from the kitchens.”

He gasped when she moved her grip from the hilt to the blade, slicing a gash down her own palm then pressing it to his, intertwining their fingers tightly.

“I swear to you, Eris, we'll leave here one day. Somewhere your father won't find us. You and me.”

He could feel her warm blood leaking down his wrist where their hands had clasped, her dark determined eyes fixed on him. He felt the sharp sting of magic on his palm.

The wild grin hadn’t left her face as she pulled back and wiped at their palms, the wounds already nearly healed.

There, where the scars were, were matching identical marks. The skin was pink and delicate, smoothing around it before his very eyes, but it held a definite shape.

In both their palms was a star within a maple leaf, small enough to look like the remnants of a scraped hand acquired while playing.

He looked at her in the low, mottled light, her features bright and lovely even in the dark, and he thought about a life away from here. A life of adventure and new discoveries. A life with his best friend.

“You and me,” he echoed quietly, as her hand found his again.

The events of the morning were forgotten in the back of his mind, her hand back in his all that mattered.

Taglist for the week (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

@cauldronblssd @witch-and-her-witcher @chunkypossum @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @the-darkestminds

[classicanalyzer]

Dragon Prince S6 Thoughts

"Sometimes the line between mercy and cruelty can be thin." Aaravos and Startouch Elves

Well holy shit, that opening really went from wholesome Viren (who is alive) hugging Terry and celebrating Aaravos’ supposed “lie” to OH GOD CLAUDIA KILLED A CHILD. God, it's really terrifying seeing Claudia give so much to save her father...it really hits home how Viren felt responsible for leading her down this route. The tragic thing is that I think Viren knows deep inside that as of now, he can't help her...but he hopes he can inspire her to turn back. Despite everything she did, Claudia's actions to save her father were all for nothing. She lost a leg and her soul (it is yet to be seen if her soul can be brought back) and yet by the time she reached home, her father died yet again...this time for good. Claudia's screams were really chilling and sad.

At least, Terry is always there for Claudia...though I'm worried about what will happen to him given Claudia's increasing mental dive into darkness and insanity. He rightfully points out how revenge is different from love and how it drove Aaravos to the deaths of God who knows.

I really love that Viren didn't choose to reveal what he did to heal Soren. It would've just caused Soren more grief and pain. That's one of the most best things Viren could have done before his sacrifice. He carries on the absolute shame (I felt chills when I heard how he obtained the last part of the spell) that he caused rather than “pass it on” so to say to Soren.

Viren’s true death feels fitting for him. All this time everyone close to him ask if he was willing to risk his life for another. Dark Magic has ruined so many lives and yet also saved so man in some cases. There is a price to be paid. But finally, he proved that he was willing to do that rather than find some other way to pay the price or back out. This time he paid the price and did a truly selfless action where nobody had to get hurt...other than him. He lived his whole life choosing what he felt was pragmatic and selfish with only a few moments of his good self showing...he chose to finally die a servant of his home. While Soren will understandably never forgive him for what he did to him and the world, he will remember him for his last act of unselfish genuine goodness and living up to his desires of atonement rather than going back. I also love how his last words are the last words spoken by Harrow to him.

"I am a servant. I am a...servant." Viren's last words

That entire ship episode is so hilarious with the meta-commentary. The Celestial Elves were a really cool sub-ect of Skywing Elves. I also love the parallels between dealing with Ice Behmeath in the present and the Magma Titan in the past. Instead of killing the beast which left people killed, they found what made it so sad and everyone lives.

Also Callum and Rayla are back together! So happy and I wished we didn't have the break-up personally but still finally.

I now understand the Soren and Corvus ship, and I approve.

I'm so happy that Amaya and Janai finally got married at last. Too bad Karim had to ruin all the vibes temporarily, thankfully, the two were able to salvage it. Amaya and Janai truly deserve the world.

The build-up to when Ezran and Corvus realizes the true plan of Karim is really chilling.

S6 really has me lowkey ship Ezran and Aanya haha. Two badass, wise, and compassionate young rulers who lost their parents...speaking off, I can't imagine seeing Ezran in S7 now that he knows his kingdom is destroyed.

Sol Regem really is responsible for the events of the show. While it is dark how he died and it's horrible how he was responsible for his soulmate's death, I can't say he didn't deserve his death at all. He was the one who laid the seeds for humanity's conflict with elves and utterly despises humanity. He literally choked and burned on his own element.

Katolis being destroyed made me sad since it was our primary setting in the human realm for 6 seasons.

The Startouch Elves gave me so many Collector vibes. Aaravos really is the Ardyn of Dragon Prince with a bit of Collector and I'm all here for it. Now all that is needed is for him to get a stylish hat and turn the sky into an eternal darkness. Also, Aaravos was really that big in his natural mortal form...which made S5's horrifying reveal of what he said make a lot of sense.

A major theme of S6 and the show is how revenge won't get you anywhere but further metaphorically drown yourself. Another major theme is love (platonically and romantically), whether familial, platonic, or romantic.

S6 really is an amazing return to form, and it felt like the quality of the first three seasons was consistent. I cannot wait for the final season of this saga. I did hear about them wanting to make three more books and I wonder how they can go from here...but I trust them to do right based on S6.

[mcshizzle-the-fire-boy]

important

I have something very very important to share. Please pay attention. It won’t take long.

The other day I was scrolling through YouTube shorts.

I found a video of a plus size woman, lip syncing to a trending song. I liked the video, and out of curiosity went to the comments.

Most of the comments were absolutely horrible.

“You’re disgusting”

“Just go on a diet already”

“Kill yourself”

“Stop posting already”

“What the hell is this”

I was so upset. This woman, just trying to live her life freely, trying to do something she was passionate about, being bullied and made fun of. 

I was the only one who said anything to stand up for her.

No one else cared.

To make matters worse, I continued scrolling for a while, and I found a woman who lip synced to the same audio. It was essentially the same video. 

The difference?

One was plus size.

One was skinny.

And when I went to the comments, there were amazing comments.

Glorious praise.

“Oh my god, you’re so pretty”!

“I wish I could look like you”

“Ur so talented! Keep going”

“I just subbed, ur incredible”

I scrolled. 

Not one hate comment.

See, here’s the thing.

People ( after the devastating George Floyd incident ) began to realize that  prioritizing the “Black Lives Matter” movement was vital, and that the crimes pushed upon black people were wrong.

BLM was essentially  a campaign encouraging people to treat others with kindness and respect, no matter how they looked.

This campaign changed lots of things worldwide, making the world a better place. Not perfect, do note, but better. Improved. 

It was incredible, really, considering black people used to be seen as a disgrace, and were seen as criminals.

So why shame people who are bigger? On how they look?

Black people can’t just change their skin.

I mean technically, they can, but they shouldn’t have to. They’re beautiful the way they are.

So why should bigger people be forced into feeling ugly? Forced into thinking that they have to change?

They’re beautiful.

As is any human being.

I believe that if some people realized this, maybe we could make a change.

I’m sick of hearing jokes about obesity in school hallways.

I’m horrified by how many people are scared to become larger because there’s some notion in their head that they’d be ugly.

I hate how many plus size people hate their bodies and wished they were skinny.

It’s horrible and wrong, and it needs to end. 

Please consider re-blogging this so we can get the word out.

Thank you.

[margindoodles2407]

you are yet to tell us your fandom-controversial takes on the corrie guard and their poor marshal commander

I require this to be rectified posthaste (take your time lol)

Ask and ye shall recieve, friend-o (I spent three days on this)

(@whyoneartheven Hola. You'll also probably want to see this)

DISCLAIMER. Hello there. I urge you, if you are currently reading this dissertation, to perhaps- either now or later- step aside to read this glorious fic, which not only changed my brain chemistry in indescribable ways but also shaped at least 90% of my perception of Fox as a person. I am contractually obligated to warn you, though. That it's a T- rated fic. And it's a hard T. There is some dark subject matter here. However. If you are okay with that. PLEASE READ IT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE OH MY FORCE GO READ IT GO READ IT NOW I AM LOSING MY MIND IT'S SO GOOD IT'S SO GOOD IT'S SO GOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDD:

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3653110 (you're going to have to copy and paste the link but i swear it works)

And Now, Your Scheduled Programming.

---------------------------------------------------

Commander Fox

By MarginDoodles2047

What I see in Commander Fox is a man who is, fundamentally, deeply kind.

I see a man who was once a little boy, the youngest of his batch of brothers, and with a red giant for a heart. I see a little boy whose heart was huge and warm and beautifully bright, who loved like it was breathing, who gave and gave and gave without a thought to himself. I see a boy whose heart's deepest darkest desire was to be a medic, whose hands ached to heal and not to hurt, who wanted to fix what was broken and stitch back together what was ravaged and ragged and ruined.

I see a boy who could not ever see that dream become more, because he was created to lead armies to victory, no matter how high the blood-price.

I see a youth who worked like a madman to prove himself, and whose efforts were finally rewarded with the promise that he'd never have to see the battlefield he hated so much. I see a youth ecstatic at the thought that he'd spend his days protecting, for Coruscant, the beating heart of the Republic, was his to guard and to defend. I see a youth who spent his last night on Kamino with bright, excited eyes and a giddy racing in his huge, warm, bright heart, because he, of all his brothers, the youngest, little Fox'ika, had been deemed fit to spill his blood for the Supreme Chancellor himself.

I see a man who stepped off the transport, who took his first steps onto the planet-city, hand locked in his best friend and co-Commander's, with eyes still shining and a smile that could put the ecumenopolis's own glittering brightness to shame.

I see… that smile start to fade, as the days and weeks go by.

Because I see what Fox could not, not at first: I see the decadence, the degeneracy, the decay that lay just beneath that shimmering facade. I see the minds of people from all corners of the galaxy, some noble but most twisted and corrupted, as they go about their petty lives squabbling and backrooms-dealing in the name of Democracy but really for their own gain. I see the inflated, fragile egos of countless humans and aliens who are more than willing to treat their fellow beings as objects to use and discard when they're done with them.

Most horribly, I see at the center of it all the deceptively gentle smile and cruel beady eyes of a man in blood-red robes, who spins this web of corruption and abuse around him like a very patient spider that finds himself delighted to have caught a very earnest and very naive white-and-crimson-armored beetle right in the center of it.

I see a man who finds his entire world ripped out from under his feet, yet still a man who tries to make the best out of a bad situation for weeks. I see a man who fights back against every snide comment, every attempted backhanded slap, every derogatory sneer of Clone, with the fire from his red-giant heart flaring in his eyes and burning in his voice, yet who- increasingly exhaustedly- turns nothing but his innate kindness and warmth and empathy on his terrified younger brothers, despite being terrified himself. I see a man who is so determined to be cheerfully rebellious, even to the face of the most powerful man in the Galaxy---

But when he holds the broken, badly-concussed body of his best friend and right-hand man, the body of a brother beaten and battered and barely-alive as a punishment for his defiance, I see a man who resolves then and there that as long as he is Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard, no one but he will take the blows and the bruises and the fractures and the insults and the absolute hell that is the Senate.

I see a man whose heart is huge and warm and whose beautifully bright light is flickering and sputtering like a dying candle, who loves like it's breathing, who gives and gives and gives without a thought to himself.

I see him give his body to the blows and the slaps and the throwing and the names. I see him give his gentleness, his comfort, his protection to his brothers. I see him give everything he has to make sure the politicians' attentions are on him and never on his Guardsmen.

I see the sweet little boy get buried under layers of callouses, to be dug out only for the suffering men he's sworn himself to protect. I see him cut himself off from his batch-brothers, firstly because he feels they'd never understand or believe him and secondly, because he doesn't want that spider of a man to have any more leverage over him than he already does-- because I see a beskar will that only one person can bend and twist like taffy, I see a man hewn from marble that only one person can toy with like a marionette on a string.

I see once-dark curls shock themselves full of silver and once-bright eyes go dim and dull and sunken. I see too-sharp cheekbones and a once-smooth young face get violently gashed in half from eyebrow to mouth-corner, just because. I see black eyes and deep hematomas expertly hidden under layers of drugstore concealer and violent electric burns expertly hidden under the layers of his armor. I see the scars that are tokens of thoughtless cruelty and deliberate torture alike.

I see a man who spends his nights on Coruscant with exhausted, weepy eyes and a panicked racing in his shrinking, cooling, flickering heart, because he, of all his brothers, the oldest, Commander Fox, has been deemed fit to spill his blood for the Supreme Chancellor himself.

(I see, one particularly bad night, a glass of something dark and burning. Over time, I see that glass turn into two glasses. Then a bottle. Then three bottles. Then five bottles and a sobbing, heartbroken man slumped over his cluttered desk- a man who dried to drown his terror and his grief but instead finds himself drowning in them and a sea of cheap Correllian alcohol.)

I see it all, and I see it… go unnoticed, because what the Senate, the Media, the Public, sees is a perfect, polished Marshal Commander whose black-brown and silver curls have never a hair out of place, whose bleak eyes can hold perfect and even intense contact with those of their focus, whose sharp split face is nonetheless clean-shaven and unblemished and even- in its own macabre way- handsome when it's not hidden under his helmet, whose bruises and scars are rendered invisible and whose hands never shake and whose never-raised voice is measured and even and soft and always, always, polite.

Fox is not the only one I see, though. I see Command Batch, increasingly concerned regarding little Foxy's clipped, too-polite monosyllables and terse responses. I especially see Wolffe and Cody, angrily sad and deeply worried, respectively, about the change that has come over their vod'ika. I see Rex's relationship with Fox grow cold and distant and strained for reasons he's not entirely able to fathom. I see Thorn, worrier that he is, the only one able to really get through to his superior, his best friend, his brother, the only one who knows the extent of the wreck that Fox has become. I see the Guardsmen, from the oldest surviving veteran to the freshest most innocent shiny, ready to die for their Marshal Commander because he's the only one who makes them not want to die from the torture that is their job.

I see the Chancellor, who really doesn't care about him, because, in the grand scheme of things, he's nigh-inconsequential to his master plan, yet who keeps him around because isn't it fun to have one person on whom he can inflict all the mental and physical and spiritual torture he likes, because he has no safe space or confidante that could protect him? One person he can tell that plan to because he has no one to tell and stop the coming darkness? One person who can know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who the Dark Lord of the Sith is, because even if he did have someone to tell, who would believe that the kind, soft-spoken, grandfatherly Chancellor, who's so respectful of all his troops and fights so hard for the rights of the GAR, could possibly be the great evil behind the entire war?

I see Commander Fox.

I see a man who was once a little boy, the youngest of his batch of brothers, and with a red giant for a heart. I see a little boy whose heart was huge and warm and beautifully bright, who loved like it was breathing, who gave and gave and gave without a thought to himself. I see a boy whose heart's deepest darkest desire was to be a medic, whose hands ached to heal and not to hurt, who wanted to fix what was broken and stitch back together what was ravaged and ragged and ruined.

I see a man whose red giant heart is breaking, bursting at the seams. I see a man who still loves like it's breathing, who still gives and gives and gives without a thought to himself, but whose breathing is turning asthmatic and whose well to give from is by no means infinite. I see a man who still, in his heart of hearts, is trying to be a medic, trying to play doctor to a division that is horribly broken and fumbling with his own mangled hands to stitch back together a division that is ravaged and rugged and ruined almost beyond repair.

I see Commander Fox, and he's running out of time.

[brandwhorestarscream]

*see Mimi's new post*

Can we have Orion (and others) beating the living shit of sentinel?

Nyehehehe >:3 I intentionally left the ending right there, so we could decide if things still go to shit or if they salvage their relationship. Seems you're rooting for the latter, so let's explore what happens after Orion and friends hit Sentinel with the train

He's thrown off of D-16 and his body goes flying, D dropped and collapsing to the ground with a yowl of pain. His valve aches and throbs with every little movement, blood dribbling down his thighs. The pain is so great it's pulsing throughout his entire body, making his pulse hammer out of control and his vents struggling for air. He gags and nearly throws up again, and is trying to get his feet under him when Orion comes stumbling out of the train.

"DEE!" He calls, practically tripping over himself as he scrambles to the other’s side, hitting the polished metal on his knees and sliding in next to him. "Dee, are- are you alright?! What did he do to you?!" He reaches out to grab his friend's shoulders, and D-16 practically bellows at him.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" He all but roars, more tears flooding down his face as he slaps Orion's hand away. He backs up, crab walking away, one arm cradled over his chassis and the other sneaking down between his legs, trying to cross his knees and hide. Naked fear paints itself across his face. "Don't touch, d-don't look-" another sob flies past his lips and he crumples in shame, curling over his ruined body and weeping brokenly into his lap. "Don't look... pleeeaaase, don't look...!" He wails and begs helplessly, unable to face his best friend. Sentinel has taken everything from him. Everything. Even his body, his most intimate and private parts of himself, Sentinel just took them. Violently. Viciously. Without a care in the world. Orion is the last person D-16 wants to see right now: he can't stand the thought of his best and oldest friend, most trusted and beloved companion, seeing him so broken and ruined. "Just-" he flounders helplessly, struggling for words as his mouth trembles and he continues trying to drag himself away from Orion. "Please, just... go aw-way-!"

Orion is nothing short of horrified by what he sees. D's panel is missing, torn aside forcefully if the bent metal is any indication. He can't see it anywhere when he glances around, likely buried under the rubble. His EM field is steeped with the worst physical and emotional agony he's ever witnessed, and his thighs are splashed with blood. His own blood, leaking from his valve.

Nearby, Sentinel Prime suddenly rises, hovering in the air outside the destroyed window, and Orion, just, sees, red.

Screaming what can only be described as a warcry he charges the false Prime with reckless abandoned and they collide with such force they go careening into the open sky, and Orion isn't thinking aside from beating his fists into the miserable, slagsucking rapist as hard as he can, again and again and again.

"I'LL DEACTIVATE YOU!" The promise is roared as he rips and tears at the mech's face. "I WILL! YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY DEE!" Completely overcome with rage at the horrible crime committed on his best friend, Orion is a force to be reckoned with.

When Elita arrives with the others she tries to stop him, but he's not willing to listen, shouting at her that, "He's a MONSTER! A monster that rapes other people that can't fight back! Don't tell me to stop! I won't stop until he's gone!"

B-127 remains in the tower with D-16 even after Soundwave manages to free them. The high guard goes out to join Optimus, but Bee scrambles over to D-16 who's still collapsed in a miserable heap. Bee rambles and babbles helplessly, "Oh my Primes oh my Primes what do I do, wh-whaddo I- oh oh, y-your panel, I'll find your panel, he threw it o-over this way, whatshouldIdo, oh my Primes-"

He does manage to dig it out of the rubble, dented with the mark of Sentinel's fingers and covered in dust, but D-16 still takes it back and does his best to reattach it, though the latches are broken. He sobs as it presses over his torn valve, but as much as it hurts, he's glad to have it back. Glad to cover up again. Shame burns in his chassis as Bee helps him stand, offering himself as a crutch so the silver mech can limp over to the window to watch the carnage. The seekers are hard at work in the sky combating Sentinel's drones, and... Orion is down below on one of the bridges, beating the slag out of their false Prime while the crowds cheer and chant, "DOWN WITH SENTINEL! DOWN WITH SENTINEL!"

It takes five little miners to drag Orion off of Sentinel, and even then he's kicking and screaming and promising to end the miserable mech's life.

"Pax, STOP!" Elita grabs the top of his helm and forces him to look at her. "Stop it! He's down, you got him."

True enough. Sentinel's face has been dented and shredded to scrap, barely recognizable from the mess of energon smeared about his plates, Orion's broken all but one of his limbs and his body is twitching and whirring pathetically, as if trying to transform in order to escape. But it's not enough. He hasn't suffered enough, not nearly as much as the suffering he caused D-16! He snaps as much to Elita, demanding she let him go.

"Is he really the one you should be focusing on right now?!"

Her sharp response jars him, and he finally looks up, past her, to the tower where D-16 still resides. His optics zoom and enhance, and he can see his best friend standing shakily, knock-kneed and being heavily supported by B-127. He looks miserable, and exhausted, and haunted. Broken. Orion's spark shudders with worry, and tension drains out of his body.

"Dee...!" He yelps, suddenly desperate to see him, and sweeps right out of the miners' hold. "Dee, oh stars, I- I'm coming Dee, stay right there!"