#only like two or three chapters till its all done

[reading-writing-dying]

Finished editing next chapter of the Hotguy/Cuteguy Love-square fic, now the question is do I post now or wait until my original planned date of Friday/Saturday?

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SEVEN: INHIBITION (OR LACK THERE OF)

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SUMMARY ↳ The three C's (carnival, chaos, and cuddle pollen). Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words. "In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?" Fuck. Your. Life. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: mentions of having sex (as a joke/none is actually had), cuddle pollen (kind of non-con cuddling and kissing, but reader really doesn't mind) wc: 4.4k

Nari wakes you up by screeching in your ear. You groan and roll over, snatching him up and gently throwing him off the bed. You sit in bed and contemplate if you really have to get up and function as a normal person, but alas, you do. Grabbing your phone, your eyes widen a tad. Jesus, you slept till ten? Good thing it’s the weekend.

You have the day off from work, so it’s up to you to find something to do. You feed Nari, making sure to give him a bunch of apologetic kisses. Maybe you’ll swing by the Den today. It won’t hurt to work some more on the badassium.

You groan and stretch, doing some warm-up exercises. Nari perches on your back as you do push ups. He weighs nothing, but it’s the thought that counts. Karen pipes up from your laptop.

“I’ve done you the liberty of adding Victoria’s contact info on your phone.”

You release a fond sigh. “Bit of a meddler, are you?”

“I am simply saving us time.” You snort. You grab your phone, changing Victoria’s name and shoot her a text.

sugar mommy

whats good how we doing

i dont need anything just wanted to say hi

also its [name] btw

Her response comes a minute later.

[Name]???

How did you get my number?

karen did

shes kind of my guy in the chair

does all the super cool behind the scenes stuff yknow how it is

I thought I was your ‘guy in the chair’

fym ur my sugar mommy

Her only response is a money bag emoji, making you chuckle. She’s got personality and it makes you smile. A knock at the door catches your attention. Probably May coming to make sure you’re not dead. She’s gotten used to leaving early now. The lock clicks as you open the door.

Oh, it’s not May. It’s Jon .

“Jon!” you say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, a friendly one. “Hi, [Name]. I was just visiting Dami, but he seems to be in a mood… so I was wondering if we could hang out?” he asks, hopeful. “If that’s okay with you?”

You coo internally. You’ll never get over how sweet he is. “Yeah, of course. Just text me next time, yeah?”

He nods, stepping inside as you open the door for him. Nari trots over to him and rubs against his ankles. “What time did you get up? I don’t think Metropolis is that close to GC.” You feel a little evil, putting him on the spot because you know he flew here.

He pauses, thinking of an appropriate answer. “Uh, I don’t know. Six, maybe?” he winces, hoping that answer makes sense. You don’t have it in you to do the mental calculations so early in the morning, so you nod. You wouldn’t actually out him like that, anyway.

“Got any ideas are we just gonna have hot sex the whole day?”

Jon, to his credit, only lightly blushes. He’s long gotten used to your sense of humor. “There’s that carnival that just opened.”

“Mmm, maybe later. Carnivals always look better when it’s dark.”

“Then…” he thinks, “...let’s just go for a walk. See what we find.”

You grab your keychain with far too many charms on it and your other essentials, hooking your arm in Jon's. “Lead the way.”

May doesn’t have any outward reaction save for a knowing look as you exit the building. You squint your eyes at her in response. The noise of the city greets you as you walk out. People around you go on with their days, each living their own complex life.

It’s silent for a moment as the two of you walk. You take the moment to just think for a moment. You thought life was crazy when you found out you had crazy spider powers, but then you turned it around and made it into something good. You thought life was crazy when you got asked to officially join the avengers, but then you found a family in them. You thought life was crazy when you found out about the ‘spider verse’, but from that you realized you weren’t alone. You should’ve known better than to think it couldn’t get any crazier than that, but here you are. Very far from home.

You just wonder what will come out of this .

“You’re quiet,” Jon notes, voice barely a murmur.

“Just thinking.”

“That’s not good,” he jokes. You scoff and consider flicking him, but it would probably hurt.

“Just thinking how hard it’ll be for Damian to look me in the eye the next time I see him.”

Jon raises a brow. “What… happened between you and Damian? Is that why he was in a mood?”

“So crazy story, he walked in on me making out with my kind-of bully.” Jon’s eyes widen incredibly. His pace stutters and he chokes on air. You grin as you watch his flail. “Making out might be generous, but it was pretty passionate.”

You continue, “God, you should’ve seen the look on his face. He genuinely stopped functioning for a sec! He’s a bigger virgin than I thought. Or maybe it was just that it was with Tori of all people. It’s okay though, she’s not all that she seems.”

Jon stops walking altogether, accidentally yanking you to a stop as well. You blink at him.

“Ok…” he starts, “first of all, you kissed your bully?” he asks incredulously.

“Well, like I said, she's not all that she seems,” you shrug. He nods, still looking at you in disbelief.

“So… what? Are you guys… dating?” he hesitates to say the word.

You scratch your nose, looking down. “Nah… we talked it out, she uh…” you trail off, “...it was a spur of the moment thing, we’re just friends. Now, anyway.” You feel bad saying you rejected the girl who was in love with you, but you also can’t say everything that went down.

You look at Jon, seeing him also looking down in thought. His brows are furrowed, you wonder how strange it is to Damian if it’s so strange to Jon. He nods after a bit, continuing his walk. His arm holds yours a bit tighter.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he laughs disbelievingly.

Probably because this isn’t your universe. “Probably because I’m so awesome all kinds of people want a piece of me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” you grin.

For as drab as Gotham City is, at least this carnival provides a little bit of color. The vibrant lights provide an enchanting atmosphere. You can’t help but grin. Jon watches you with a smile.

“What do you want to do first?”

“Pie eating contest.”

He blinks. “Okay?” He’s a little confused by your quick and confident reply. Now don’t be alarmed, you usually eat three meals a day. The meals are just… well, some might argue if they’re actually meals or not. Tony estimated that you should be eating five proper meals a day to combat your increased metabolism. You’re not starving or anything as you are now, but if you ever get injured your increased healing won’t help.

“I wanna eat,” is your only explanation as you drag him to the stand.

Jon chuckles as you drag him along, his smile widening at your enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll join you,” he smiles, matching your energy. The two of you approach the stand where a small crowd has gathered around a makeshift stage. A lively carnival barker stands at the front, rallying contestants and spectators alike.

“Step right up, folks! Who’s got what it takes to be the pie-eating champion of Gotham tonight?” the man announces enthusiastically, his voice carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd.

You and Jon sign up eagerly, taking your places at the contestant table. The rules are simple: eat as much pie as you can within a set time limit. The pies, piled high with whipped cream and fruity filling, look delectable under the carnival lights.

The contest begins, and you and Jon dig in with gusto. The pies are delicious, each bite bringing a burst of sweet flavor. The crowd cheers and laughs as you both devour your way through the pies, alternating between bites and glances at each other, each trying to outpace the other.

Jon manages to finish his first pie just as you’re halfway through yours. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, grinning at you challengingly. “You’re pretty good at this,” he remarks between bites.

You flash him a competitive smirk, determined not to be outdone. “I eat a lot,” you quip back, mouth full of pie.

The contest continues, the pace quickening as the time ticks down. Cheers and encouragement from the crowd spur you on, adding to the thrill of the competition. Despite the messiness and the rapidly filling sensation in your stomach, you keep going, driven by the desire to win and the sheer enjoyment of the moment.

Finally, the timer buzzes, signaling the end of the contest. You and Jon set down your forks, breathing heavily but grinning broadly at each other. The man approaches to determine the winner.

“And the winner is…” he declares dramatically, waiting. After a tense moment, he announces, “It’s a tie!”

You and Jon exchange a look of surprise and then burst into laughter, both of your mouths covered in pie and thoroughly satisfied. The crowd applauds, appreciating the spirited effort you both put into the contest. You fancy yourself smug, seeing as you kept up with a kryptonian.

Jon wipes his hands and face with a napkin, chuckling as he looks at you. "I can't believe we tied," he says, shaking his head in amusement.

You nod, still grinning widely. "Yeah, I can’t believe you kept up with me.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

The man hands each of you a small prize—a colorful ribbon that declares you both "Pie Eating Champions of Gotham City Carnival". You both accept the ribbons with good humor, pinning them onto your shirts proudly.

As you step away from the contest table, Jon nudges you playfully. "So, what's next on our carnival adventure?"

You glance around, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling carnival. The vibrant lights of the rides beckon in the distance, and the aroma of cotton candy and popcorn fills the air. "Let's hit the Ferris wheel," you suggest, pointing towards the towering structure adorned with sparkling lights.

Jon nods eagerly. "Sounds good to me. Let's go," he says, grabbing your hand as you make your way towards the Ferris wheel.

The line isn’t too long. The worker wishes you a good ride as the two of you step into the brightly colored gondola, slowly ascending to the sky.

As the ride reaches its peak, you both fall silent for a moment, taking in the view. The city skyline looms in the distance, a stark contrast to the colorful and carefree world of the carnival. For a brief moment, you feel a sense of peace and contentment, grateful for this simple yet memorable night with Jon. 

"This is nice," Jon remarks, leaning back comfortably in his seat. You nod in agreement, admiring the view.

Jon looks at you, thinking. There are a million things he wants to say, wants to admit to you. He wonders how you would react to each and every one of them. With only positivity, he’s sure. You’re the type to go with the flow, whatever happens, happens. He’s certain he could trust you with his life, eventually.

He takes a deep breath, unsure what’s about to come out of his mouth. “[Name]–”

The Ferris wheel rocks violently for a heart stopping moment. For the other riders, mostly. You and Jon immediately stiffen to attention, because Ferris wheels aren’t supposed to do that. Jon crosses over to you, locking you in his embrace as he looks over the edge. You try to look as well, but a simple tense of his arms prevents you.

A threatening green is making headway across the carnival grounds, sending people running. Vines bloom, crawling over stands and attractions. Poison Ivy, looking as prickly as ever, strides in gracefully.

"This carnival is a blight on this land," Ivy declares, her voice carrying over the chaos. "You trample on nature for your own amusement, but no longer. Tonight, the Earth fights back."

Oh, great. You can’t do anything because you’re stuck in the air with Jon. Jon can’t do anything because he’s stuck in the air with you. You sigh, leaning back against him.

With a wave of her hand, flowers bloom amidst the destruction, a stark contrast to the panic around her. Ivy's plants begin to dismantle the carnival, reclaiming the area for nature. Her message is clear: the environment will no longer be taken for granted, and anyone who harms it will face her wrath. Vines crawl up the Ferris wheel, wrapping around the gondolas in a nightmarish display.

“Um. Any bright ideas?” you ask Jon.

He says pulling out his phone, he pulls it out of your view and begins to type furiously. You bet a hundred bucks it’s Damian and Jon is furiously texting him to haul ass and get here now .

A vine thrusts itself into the box, making Jon yank you both to the floor in the middle. It spreads slowly, hauntingly, slowly encompassing the gondola. Flowers bloom… ah shit—

Jon shifts the two of you, blocking you from the flowers. Also putting himself directly in front of them. “Jon don’t–” you warn, because regardless of his heritage, it can still affect him. Even more so since he’s only half. He presses your face into his chest right as the flower coughs, releasing the spores right in his face.

“Don’t breathe them in,” he growls. Thanks, you weren’t planning on it anyway. You hold your breath, anyway.

He’s getting antsy. “[Name],” he mutters gravely. “Please. Close your eyes and trust me.”

You internally sigh, preparing how you’re going to act like the most aloof fool after this. You nod and close your eyes. Jon picks you up, arms under your knees and around your back. You wind your arms around his neck and rest against his chest.

Jon, to his credit, doesn’t just fly down the ride. You feel him jump down the bars of the Ferris wheel, making sure to keep you secure in his arms. His landings are precise and calculated, avoiding the chaos below. You hear the gasps and shouts from the people around you as Jon navigates through the mess of vines.

Finally, you feel the solid ground beneath you as Jon gently sets you down. “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he says softly.

You open your eyes and find yourself standing amidst the carnage, the Ferris wheel towering above you. Vines continue to spread, and the air is filled with the panicked cries of carnival-goers trying to escape. Jon stands protectively beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Ivy.

“We have to stop her,” you blurt. He looks at you incredulously. You ignore it and look around, trying to find a way to do this without Spinnerette. Eyes narrowing, you spot something in the distance.

“There.” You point at a nearby water tower. “If we flood the area, it might disrupt her control over the plants.”

“Good plan. You should leave it to the professionals.”

You blink, turning around. It’s Robin who spoke, arms crossed and looking at you. However, it’s the sight of the 6’2 emo bitch dressed in a bat fursuit that makes you stiffen.

“Robin! You came!” Jon brightens, before coughing into his fist. “I mean. Of course you came, you’re Robin.” The urge to roll your eyes at his silliness is strong, but you resist.

Batman doesn’t react, though you’re sure he just sighed on the inside. “You should get to safety with the rest of the civilians,” he grumbles out in his Batman™ voice.

You nod rapidly. “Yup yup. Yessir Mr Batman.” You grip Jon’s wrist and drag him away. Fuck that, majorly. If he says leave it up to him, you’re perfectly fine with that. You’re pretty sure he’s gonna take what you said and connect some dots, and you don’t wanna be around when that happens. He can take his theories and shove it up his ass.

Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words.

"In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?"

Fuck. Your. Life.

Jon is looking just a tad bit worse for wear (you’re lying, he looks haggard) when you arrive at your apartment. May, thank god, wasn’t at the desk, so you managed to get by without having to deal with that. You  shove Jon onto the couch, wincing with a small apology. Frantically typing, you google how to deal with cuddle pollen.

The number one suggestion is to visit Gotham General Hospital, but given Jon’s less than human nature, that's a no go. Other results suggest drinking lots of water and sweating it out to dilute its affects.

You throw your phone somewhere and quickly fetch some water for Jon. Nari meows at Jon, sensing something is wrong. When you make your way back you see that Jon has trapped Nari in his arms, cooing unintelligibly at him.

“Drink,” you tell him urgently, lifting his chin. He leans into your touch, obeying. You make sure he drinks every last drop. When he finishes you turn around to get some more water, only to be yanked back. You crash into Jon’s arms, watching as Nari trots away, happy to be free. You wish you were Nari right now.

Jon nuzzles into you, humming contently.

“Jon…” you warn.

“Yeah, baby?” he hums. Jesus.

“You’re under the effects of cuddle pollen. Your mind is scrambled. Just let me get you some water–”

He hugs you tighter at the mention of you leaving, standing up with you in his arms. You try to get free, holding your own for a bit. But alas, he wins. Stupid kryptonian biology. He carries you to the bedroom, setting you down on the bed.

You blink. “Okay, hang on–”

Jon belly flops right on top of you, earning an ‘oof’ from you. He wraps his arms around you, snuggling into your collarbone. He sighs in content as he relaxes on you. There’s no hope for you to escape, is there?

“Jon, come on. Let’s… do jumping jacks or something. Sweat it out of your system. You can even hold my hand!”

Jon grumbles, burying his face in your neck. “I know something else we can do to get sweaty.”

You blink. Then snort. Damn, is that the cuddle pollen talking or is your influence taking effect? You feel Jon smile against your neck.

Sighing, you acknowledge that you’re not getting out of this situation. You hesitantly rest your arms around him. You feel his grin get wider, and then he surprises you even further by laying a goddamn kiss against your neck. You grumble and mutter, “I am going to make fun of you so hard after this.”

Laying there, you think. If you didn’t just compromise yourself to Batman, then hopefully you won’t be approached when you next patrol. Or worse, when you're just being a regular civilian. 

You blink, deciding you’re gonna be a little shit.

“Jon,” you say, “give me your phone.”

Jon reaches into his pocket, unlocking his phone and handing it to you. It’s got a couple cracks in it, and his wallpaper features a photo of a sunset over a vast farm. You scroll through his contacts, clicking the one that says ‘damian !! (stinkin loser)’. You click the call button, hoping he’s done superheroing and has time to answer.

He answers on the third ring. “Jon, you fool, what were you–”

“Damian,” you interrupt before he says something you’re not supposed to know. The line goes quiet on the other end. “I’ll keep it brief. Jon got absolutely fucked over with a face-full of cuddle pollen and he won’t let me go. We’re at my apartment, so if you can pull some rich people strings and get an antidote or something I would very much appreciate it.”

“...He won’t let go of you?”

You roll your eyes and snap a picture of Jon wrapped around you. “Help,” is all you say after you send it.

You hear him sigh. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” is all you hear before the call cuts. Jon yanks the phone away from you, throwing it somewhere in the room as he flips the two of you over. You lay on his chest now, feeling his chin rest on your head and his hands come up to rest on your waist, fingertips creeping up under your shirt.

Your phone is in the other room and you didn’t see where Jon threw his, so you’re left to stew in his arms until Damian comes. You begin to hum a song, for your own peace of mind, ignoring the way Jon’s hands rub your skin in a back-and-forth motion. Jon removes one of his hands and places it on the back of your head, pushing you into his neck. The bastard lays another kiss on your head, muttering comforting words.

Damn, you think you’re starting to fall asleep. Sue you for feeling safe in his arms, he’s literally Superboy. It doesn’t help that you're lying in bed and he's rubbing your back so softly you feel like he’s your boyfriend comforting you after a long day.

You hear your door kick open, and the only reason your fight response doesn’t kick in is because you’re still stuck in Jon’s arms, and because you know it’s Damian. Jon on the other hand, immediately sits up, glaring hard at your hallway. When Damian shows up in your doorway, bag in hand, he relaxes. He lies back down in the bed, snuggling in to you.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

He ignores your weak greeting, digging into his bag and pulling out a syringe filled with what can only be the antidote. You pointedly make a note to definitely not mention how the needle is green.

“Just be careful he doesn’t grab you. He’s… really strong,” you mutter.

He grabs Jon’s head, pushing it aside to bare his neck. You’re surprised Jon lets him, but cuddle pollen does leave people without inhibition. Damian sticks the needle in, making Jon groan. You watch the fluid disappear, feeling peaceful knowing that this will soon be over. Damian finishes administering the antidote and takes a seat on the bed.

“Thanks for… coming through,” you say. You don’t know what else you can really talk about right now.

Damian just looks at you. “What were you even doing there?”

He means the carnival. You furrow your brows. “Hanging out? Sorry we didn’t predict that Poison Ivy was gonna be there. Maybe you should talk to Batman about that.”

“You could have been hurt. Jon did get hurt.”

“It’s just cuddle pollen, Dami,” you reassure, placing a hand on his arm. He grasps it tightly. “You gave him the antidote, he’s not hurt.”

Damian’s grip on your arm is firm, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lucky it was just that. It could have been worse.”

You nod, understanding his concern, but feeling a bit annoyed at the same time. “I know, I know. But we’re fine now. Jon’s going to be okay.”

Damian's expression softens slightly at your reassurance, though his concern is still evident. He looks at Jon, who seems to be coming out of the pollen's effects, his grip on you loosening. Damian then turns his attention back to you, his gaze intense.

"You shouldn't take unnecessary risks," he says, his voice low but firm. "Especially not with someone like Jon."

You raise an eyebrow at the implication in his tone. "Are you implying something about Jon?"

“Jon is… brave, but restless. Just be more cautious.”

You give him a playful smirk. "Are you worried about me, Damian Wayne? That's almost sweet."

He scowls slightly, clearly not amused by your teasing. "I'm serious, [Name]. This city is dangerous enough without getting caught up in avoidable situations."

“I promise to be more careful in the future,” you say, eyes earnest. It seems to settle Damian, for now.

Jon groans under you. He sits up, taking you with him. You fall to his lap as you look at him. He blinks for a moment, taking in his surroundings. You hear his heartbeat slowing, calming. He looks at Damian, looks at you. Stares at you, whom his arms are around, in his lap.

He freaks, shoving you out of his embrace and scrambling back. Damian catches you, growling, “You fool, Jon, careful!”

“I’m so sorry!” he cries. “I was… oh my god, I’m so sorry–”

You hold out your hands to placate him. “Jon, it’s okay! I’m fine, I don’t care. You weren’t in control. You didn’t do anything.”

“I should have left when I got hit,” he growls to himself.

You sigh, looking at Damian for help. “What’s done is done. No use in whining about it now,” he huffs, shifting you to sit up.

Jon purses his lips, looking like he wants to cry. You open your arms, “Come on.”

He hesitates, so you grab him and haul him into your embrace. He stiffens, before wrapping his arms around you. He melts into your embrace.

Damian clears his throat, making Jon pull back with a sheepish expression. “I should really get home before my parents worry.”

You nod, patting his arm. “Of course.”

He thanks Damian as well on his way out. You don’t hear the door open, so you figure he just got antsy and couldn’t stay in the room longer. You don’t blame him. You sigh when you see he left his phone, grabbing it and handing it to Damian.

“Thank you,” you mutter. You look into his eyes, he looks back. In a moment of weakness, you place a hand on his cheek and lean in, pressing your lips to his other one. The kiss is chaste, barely lasting for a second before you pull back. “You’re paying for my door.”

Damian says nothing in response, simply watching you. He raises his hand, clasping yours and gently bringing it down. He nods.

“It was nothing.” And then he and Jon are out the door. You sigh, laying down in your bed that smells like Jon now. No patrol tonight, again.

notes: jon was about to risk it all on that ferris wheel just saying

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐮𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 3.4k

chapter summary: You have dinner with Joel and Sarah. Tommy has a preposition that starts the process of healing.

warnings: mostly fluff with a hint of hurt/comfort, mentions of grief

a/n: I should've just called this chapter "I wanna hangout with the millers" Also thank you to all who showed interest in the series, I'm really excited about this one 💜

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Joel sits at the head of the table. There’s a navy blue napkin between his fingers, his eyes continuously darting to the kitchen. The napkin is subjected to his fidgeting, twisted, tugged, and torn, the remnants scattering across the table like confetti. You can’t stop staring. Your own fingers, too, betray your nerves, as you nervously trace the contours of the fork, its smooth surface a pleasant chill against your burning fingertips. 

The only noise that occupies the silence is the clatter of dishes and the sizzling of meat. Your eyes move from Joel’s fingers to Sarah in the kitchen. Your gaze drifts from Joel's fingers to Sarah in the kitchen, where she hums a melody unknown to you, her head bobbing in time with the tune, her wild curls escaping the confines of her hair tie. She seems at peace. Which is in complete contrast to what you and Joel are feeling right now. 

It's a mystery to you, this strange dynamic between you and Joel. You're neighbors, you see his brother and daughter nearly every day, yet when the two of you are alone together, which is a rarity in itself, words seem to fail you both, as if they've become adversaries instead of a means of communication. It leaves you to question why it is that you both seem to struggle when in each other's presence.

Taking a deep breath, the lingering garlic and tomato scent filling your lungs, you call out to her, “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

“I’m sure,” she answers without looking up. “I’m almost done anyway. Just soaking the buns in the sauce,” 

Buns…in the sauce? 

When you turn to Joel, he’s already looking at you. His lips turn up, arms crossing over his broad chest. He beats you to it before you can voice out the question echoing in your head, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” 

The effect his voice has on you is instant. It’s playful, soft, a barely there cool wave of the sea. A ghost of a shiver licks your spine, forcing you to sit straighter. You both relax and tense that you’re finally talking. You swallow, look down at your plate, then wet your lips. 

“As long as there aren’t any mushrooms we’re good,” 

He cocks an eyebrow and scratches his beard, “Now, what kinda person doesn’t like mushrooms?” 

You blow a raspberry into the air which makes him grin. With a dramatic flail, you raise your hands to the air and tilt your head back. “Everywhere I go it’s the same. When will this judgment end?” You call out to an invisible god. 

Joel laughs. 

He laughs. 

And it feels so fucking good to hear the sound. You’re pretty sure this is the first time he openly laughed next to you. Not a polite giggle, or a stifled chuckle. But a full-on, chest-vibrating laugh. It feels good. Sure maybe you didn’t paint anything today, again, but you made the neighbor that you thought hated you laugh. If that isn’t a win you don’t know what is. Your own smile blossoms on your lips. It’s a small one. However, you think it sends the point across that you’re happy to be here. 

His hands fall to his thighs, hidden underneath the tablecloth. “Maybe me and Tommy can change your mind. Our grilled mushrooms are to die for,” 

“Good luck with that,” you tease. “I’ve been hating them since the day I was born,” 

As soon as you finish, Sarah places a large plate of burgers down the middle. They aren’t really big, maybe a bit bigger than your hand. Just like Sarah said, they’re covered in sauce. But the smell is to die for; meaty, garlicky with a hint of spice. She plops down to the spot right across from you.

“Hating what?” she asks as Joel reaches out and places two burgers on her plate then two on yours. He takes four. “Because if it’s fish I agree,” 

“Fish?” you balk at her. “You don’t like fish?” 

Joel snorts, “Don’t act like her’s is sacrilegious when you don’t like mushrooms,” 

Sarah’s eyes go wide, eyebrows reaching all the way to her hairline, “You don’t like mushrooms?” 

“Okay, I did not come here to be judged for my food dislikes,” you silence them both with a light-hearted click of your tongue. Father and daughter look at each other, smiling. “So what are we eating?” 

“Wet burgers,” Sarah perks with excitement. “The buns are dipped in a garlicky tomato sauce and there’s just a beef patty in the middle. They’re really good.” 

Joel nods and picks up a burger with one hand. He addresses you without looking, “I wasn’t sure about it either, but the darn things actually taste decent,” 

“You should never doubt my cooking skills,” Sarah answers and stick her tongue out. You let out a hushed giggle. 

“Darlin’ I pick out eggshells from my breakfast every mornin’” 

“The eggs you buy are faulty.” 

“You guys should join me for breakfast,” you cut in, raising the burger to your lips. Red sauce stains your fingers tips. “I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes,” 

You don’t look, but you feel Joel’s eyes on you. The small hairs scattered over your arms raise, heat building under your skin. Ignoring it, you take a big bite of your burger. 

You’re mad that it tastes so good—good enough that you moan, very loudly, and follow it up with another bite without even properly swallowing the first. 

“Told you,” Joel grunts. 

Sarah’s eyes sparkle. It’s such a beautiful display of emotion. The eyebrows move first, lifting at the same time her lips start to stretch from side to side. The happiness always hits the eyes last. It’s also the place where emotion lingers the most. Long after it drains away from the rest of the features. 

The happiness that Sarah feels is so vivid there that it almost sparks something within you. A faint image of a girl appears in your mind. A girl similar to Sarah sitting in front of a window closed in with climbing roses, only bits of light shining over her skin—

The image fades as quickly as it appeared. You chew thoughtfully, a sting settling behind your eyelids. 

“You like it?” she asks. You nod and she turns to Joel with a smug grin. “See, people like what I cook. I should be a chef,” 

“I never said the burgers taste bad.” 

You chuckle, taking another bite. 

“Cut the girl some slack. It’s harder to function in the mornings.” 

Despite your protests, Joel is set on walking you home. 

You tell him that it’s only two steps away, he doesn’t listen and shakes his head, “If it’s such a short distance it shouldn’t be a problem to walk it with you.” 

You’re holding the doggy bag Sarah prepared for you. It rustles in the wind, the burgers still radiating a bit of heat, it makes your skin come alive where it brushes against. The pleasant conversation that seemed to flow effortlessly with Sarah present is nowhere to be found. You dared to open your mouth a total of two times but not a single syllable followed through. 

So instead of forcing it, you focus on the pleasant ambiance; the soft wind that feels like velvet on your skin, the soft blades of grass that tickle your bare ankles, and the moon that pours from the heavens. All of it combined to form the perfect night. 

You cheat a glance at Joel, his hands are in his pockets, one cheek hallowed out, a clear sign that he’s gnawing at it from the inside. He’s a perfect canvas for the raining moonlight. Dark hair, dark eyebrows, dark eyes. His skin glows in a hue that you can only describe as angelic, the fading scars more vivid in color. 

You stare longer than you realize. He steals a glance and clears his throat. 

You notice that he’d stopped walking, and your body had too, just by instinct. 

“We’re here,” he says, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. 

“So we are,” you answer dumbly, forcing your eyes to move to the door. Recollection hits when you see the two chairs on the porch. You turn back to Joel. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?” 

He blinks, brows pinching together in confusion. “Is something wrong?” 

“Oh no, sorry I should’ve made that clear. I just remembered that when I first moved in I asked if I could ask you questions about my grandfather then never did,” your eyes drop to the ground. Your chest feels tight and uncomfortable. “I guess I never had the chance to ask you before. But we don’t have to now.” 

Joel isn’t the type of man to feel regret. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling it right this second. 

His hand touches your shoulder. A brush of fingertips that takes you by surprise and makes you flinch. Joel recoils quickly, fingers curling into his palm as he pulls away. 

“We can sit,” he says. “I have time.” 

You observe the stars and the moon. Something you used to do frequently with your grandfather whenever you stayed over. 

Something must be wrong with you because you don't remember the last time. 

You take a series of deep breaths. Collecting your thoughts and preparing yourself to ask Joel what you wanted to ask. You know what your first question is going to be. It scares you to actually go through with it. The minutes tick by. The night grows darker, the stars brighter. But he doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t say a word. He looks up to the sky with you, dark brown flicking from star to star. When you look at him you can see the sky directly reflected in his eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“Was he happy?” you finally ask. Your voice sounds scratchy to your own ears. Joel leans back into his chair, fingertips digging into his palm enough so that he feels the sting of blunt nails. He swallows thickly before turning to you. 

“He was,” he answers. “He talked an awful lot about you and your brother. He was proud of you,” 

You laugh at that, it’s a sudden voice that booms from your chest. Unexpected, and jarring in the silence of the night, “Not so much my brother?” 

“Let’s say he ain’t a fan of the choices he made. Not a fan of the military that one,” a small smile peeks underneath his mustache. “He did still love him though. You can tell him that if he asks,” 

You nod, eyes once again tracing over every star in the sky, “Noted.” 

Comfortable silence envelopes you both. Joel makes no move to get up and return home. His words had doused the fear that lingered deep in your heart. 

He was happy. In his last days, he was still talking, complaining about your brother, and saying that he was proud of you. You’re sure you have more questions but all of them seem to slip your mind for now. He was happy. That’s all you need to know. 

“Hey,” you hear him call out, voice a rough whisper. “Are you okay?” 

Without looking away from the sky, you raise your hand to your face, fingertips touching the wet streaks going down your cheeks. Your hand drops to your mouth, the salt stings your chapped lips. You close your eyes and take deep breaths. You should be done crying.

But then why is your throat swelling? The simple act of breathing becomes harder and harder. 

When you open your eyes he’s there, kneeling, one leg tucked under him with the other firm on the ground. His fingers brush a line down your forearms, goosebumps rising in their wake. 

“Do you need me to get you anything?” he asks, his eyes looking rounder than ever. “We can talk about it if you need to darlin’. All I want you to do is say something to me so you calm down okay?” 

You nod, and his fingers tighten around your wrist, “Words. Please.” 

“I’m—I’m good,” your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. You wet your lips and try again. “I’m good. Sorry, I was actually happy. I don’t know what came over me,” 

“You’re still grievin’. And I doubt anyone with a heart would expect you to apologize for that. Do you need anythin’?” 

You shake your head and Joel stands up, the warmth of his hand going away with him. There’s a brief pause where you don’t know what to do. Your eyes are still wet. Chest tight. You follow the way he moves; taking a step back and rubbing the corner of his jaw with the pad of his thumb. The sudden mood change disorientates you. He’s anxious. The hand that touched you, twitching like it’s been burned. 

“I think you need some sleep,” he says, taking a step down backward. “If anythin’ happens call me—or Tommy,” 

Tommy. 

The uttered name feels like a slap to the face, a rekindling of a feeling that makes you feel small. A complete mess. 

Of course, Joel doesn’t want to deal with all your shit. He’s just being nice that’s all. He already has his fair share of baggage, he doesn’t need yours to stack over it as well. You understand. And to a degree you’re grateful. It had been a lovely evening, one that would make you smile upon remembering. In the end, he’s giving you the comfort of knowing that you can call him—as a last resort. 

Standing up, you smile. He’s about to hug you good night, you can tell by the way his body leans forward, arms starting to stretch from both sides. But you stop him by extending a quick hand.

“Goodnight,” you say. His eyes drop to your hand, confusion stirs in his eyes. A soft sigh part his lips and he closes his eyes, taking your hand into his. 

“Goodnight, neighbor.” 

You stand behind the counter, wiping down the counters with a damp rag as the last of the customers filter out of the shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of baked goods from earlier in the day.

Beside you, Olivia moves with an easy grace as she washes the final dishes of the night. Her hair, thinly braided and made into two separate low ponytails, falls in loose waves around her shoulders. Her dark skin glows in the dim light of the shop, and her hazel eyes sparkle with amusement as she catches your eye. 

“You have someone waiting for you,” 

Your brows furrow as you follow her gaze. There’s a matte grey truck out and inside you see Tommy, thumbs impatiently drumming against the steering wheel. You hold your gaze, he peers inside the coffee shop, he waves and you wave back, then you hold one finger up signaling him that he’ll have to wait a bit. 

“You should go,” Olivia says. “I’ll close up,” 

You raise an eyebrow, not really willing to leave your only friend alone to clean up after you, “You sure?” 

“Yeah yeah,” he waves you off, glossy lips stretching into a full grin. “Tell your boyfriend I say hi,” 

“Liv…he’s not my boyfriend,” you shake your head but you’re smiling. “He’s a friend. A good one,” 

Olivia pouts and you let out a laugh as you untie your apron. “Why not? He’s cute,” 

“I didn’t say he wasn’t—Also we’re still on for Saturday right?” 

“You know it, babe.” 

You head to the back of the shop to grab your bag. As you sling it over your shoulder, you make your way back to the front of the shop and bid Olivia farewell. Tomorrow is your day off so you’ll be seeing her Saturday. She waves to you and Tommy, who—in a state of slight confusion—waves back. 

Outside, the warmth of the night envelops you, and you can feel sweat beads starting to form on your skin. You make your way over to Tommy's truck and he greets you with a grin as he leans over and opens the door for you.

“How was your day?” he asks, turning the key and filling the inside with a familiar hum. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking mine; It was shit and I don’t wanna talk about it. I just need food—you good for some fried chicken?” 

“If you wanted me not to ask about it you shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” you grin, playfully punching his shoulder. “So what happened?”

Tommy sighs. He flattens his palm against the steering wheel and makes a turn. “Let’s just say that I fell into some very questionable fluids and Joel has pictures,” before you can say anything he adds. “Chicken?” 

“Chicken sounds good,” you grin, turning your eyes ahead. “And I can’t wait to see those pictures,” 

“Please don’t.”

You notice that something is off by the way Tommy’s fingers curl around the steering wheel. The truck shakes as you wait at a red light. Your eyes are fixated on it, burning your irises. “Are you okay?” he blurts, prompting you to pull away from the red light. A circle of blue forms right in the middle of your eyes. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Joel said that you cried last night. I probably shouldn’t say anythin’ but he mentioned it to me in good faith. And I’m worried,”

You internally coil into yourself. Your stomach rolls, hands on your lap forming tight fists. “You don’t need to be—” 

The truck starts to move again and he raises a hand, silencing you. “I’m just tryin’ to say I might have an idea that might help. If you’re willing,” 

“And what’s that?” you hate how closed off you sound but you can’t help it. 

“You need to change the house up a bit,” he answers, he’s talking like he always does but for some reason it feels like he’s mocking you instead. “And I know that’s hard to hear, so, how about we start from a room? Just one room that’s all yours, new paint, new furniture, new things. I’ll help you build it,” 

“I don’t want to trouble you,” 

“If it was gonna be trouble I wouldn’t have offered it,” he scoffs, his eyes flitting between you and the road. “I’m off tomorrow so I can come by then. Sounds good?” 

A soft smile breaches your lips, “Sounds great.” 

Joel can’t stop thinking about her. 

Her smile, her laughter. The feel of her skin under his fingertips. The way she looked at the stars. How the night sky came alive in her eyes. None of it he can ever forget. Her voice cracked when she spoke, her eyes sparkled under the white moon. It all felt like a movie to him. The tears. The heavy breathing. He calmed her down. She actually listened and allowed him to help. 

His life wasn’t a movie though. Some stories didn’t have a happy ending—Some relationships are never meant to last— not even begin. His happy ending was Sarah. The moment she was born his life became a bright light that continuously blinds him. 

She’ll have her happy ending too. Just not with him. Someone else, maybe his brother. At least he would still have you close then. He could still see you. 

He wanted to hug her. Wrap his arms around her as an unrealistic promise to never let  go. But she didn’t want that. He blamed the fact that she was still emotional, too raw to be touched. Some part of him wanted to believe that. He didn’t want to feel hurt by the offered handshake. 

Joel swallows down the disappointment. A thick knot in his throat. He grabs his jacket. He’s about to leave and invite her over for dinner again when he hears Tommy’s truck pulling in. 

He really shouldn’t but he goes to look out the window. She jumps out of the truck, almost tripping. Tommy’s laughter follows and he offers her his arm. She takes it, the two of them walking to the door. The sight angers him but he’s not sure why. A warm, boiling feeling rolling in his gut. It makes him feel dirty almost. As if he’d betrayed his brother. He hasn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

Joel feels helpless as he hangs his coat back, heading to the living room. He falls to the couch, a heave to his chest. 

Joel needs to stop thinking about her. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Four.

So, since it's Good Friday, allow me to be good to the NG bookclub! I think this is the chapter that people have been most excited for, so without further ado...

Previous chapters - One Two Three

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,656

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Awaking the next morning, Emily rolled onto her back, away from the warm body that still acted like torture upon her emotions, sighing to herself. She’d hugged up against him, but he hadn’t reciprocated beyond holding her hand and kissing it, leaving her sexually fizzing into an utter frenzy, so acerbic that sleep had done little to quell the desire she had for the king of the mafia.  

Still, he slept on, softly snoring beside her, Emily lying there at the utter mercy of everything that coursed through her blood like wildfire. It forced her hand, literally, licking her fingertips and reaching beneath the covers, pulling her nightgown up as she let her thighs fall apart, her fingers stroking softly over her apex, humming quietly as her eyes took in his chiselled back.  

Staring hard, she fantasised about him turning over and catching her touching herself right at his side, how it would feel to be touched by a man who possessed his kind of experience, the twenty-year age gap doing nothing but stoking her want to have him all over her. She willed it, dared him even, through each sweep of her fingers, for him to turn over and take over, show her how a real man touched a woman, bring her to the heavens with his prowess.  

And then, he did.  

“Busy hands, honey?” he asked sleepily, noticing immediately what she was doing. Even though she wanted it, her energy calling out like a siren to him, her shyness made her cease. He tutted, preventing her hand from moving away. “Carry on, doll. But let me watch.”  

He pushed the covers off of her, his stare fixing upon her for the first time, pupils inking as a long, laboured breath fluttered over his lips, feeling himself beginning to harden instantly. She closed her legs immediately, and he tutted, a hand smoothing between her thighs to stroke them back to parted. “Let me see you, bella donna.”  

The green sparks of his rapidly blackening eyes bolstered her confidence, letting her legs fall open, her fingers resuming their soft stroke. It was so intimate, to watch him watching her, the heat of the connection between them still not acted upon crackling like a firework fuse, lit and primed to explode, Luca not able to prevent his reaching for her.  

His hand pressed against her chest, heated and eager in its glide, his mouth leaning to her neck, kisses raining, Emily gasping when his fingertips joined hers.  

“Oh, god,” she moaned, closing her eyes, her hips rising from the bed. “Please, don’t stop.”  

He groaned against her throat, fingers trailing further, teeth gently nipping her skin. “I could have a hook pierced through my hand being towed by a chain, and it wouldn’t be enough to stop me, baby.”  

She felt him open her, two fingers pushing within, the sensation shooting up her spine, Emily jolting, blinking a few times in utter confusion before it dawned on her. Turning to her side, he was lying on his back, eyes fixed upon the ceiling. Oh, god! Had she moaned in her sleep? Had he heard it?  

“Morning,” she spoke shyly, his eyes flitting to her.  

He looked at her with a slight smile, his focus returning to the ceiling. “Did ya sleep well?” 

“I did. And you?” God, she felt so awkward. 

“Yeah, ‘till you woke me. Nightmare? You groaned kinda loudly.”  

If the ground was ever going to open up and swallow her...  

Before she could shame herself with rapidly pinking cheeks, she climbed from the bed, heading for the bathroom. “I don’t remember my dreams, so I’ve no idea.”  

“Ah,” he breathed, the bathroom door closing with a thud. “Wish I didn’t.” The only thing that had ran through his brain all night was dreaming of beating Giacinto Calabrese to death, each blow connecting until bone shattered to mere fragments, the man’s skull reduced to soft goop. In his dream, he’d then turned to see Emily there, her eyes wide with horror, whispering the words that had broken him.  

“You’re just like the rest.” 

It wasn’t true, either, and that was what killed him. He was worse, and he always had been. He didn’t meet her eyes when she left the bathroom, picking up his clean clothes and entering, Emily pulling on some underwear and a dress, moving to the kitchen and making coffee with a sigh. Coming to realise that he would likely be nothing but approving if he’d guessed she was having a sex dream about him, she had to conclude he was suddenly being quiet with her for another reason. But what?  

Her heart ricochetted into her throat at hearing the bathroom door open, daring to glance over at him. He moved to one of the large sets of windows, twirling the blind rod until they opened, looking down at the street below. Picking up the other coffee, she carried it to him, holding out the cup.  

“Thanks, doll.”  

Her eyes snapped to his hand immediately, damage present that she hadn’t noticed in the dark the night before, or that her shame hadn't allowed her to witness so far that morning. “What in the name of...” she trailed off, reaching for his red, slightly swollen knuckles. “What happened?” 

“Gave someone a beating,” he surmised, bringing the coffee to his lips and blowing before taking a careful sip. 

“Who?”  

He looked at her for a second, eyes darting away again. “Giacinto.”  

“Oh,” she breathed, wondering what had reared between them this time, even though of course she knew that the families were pretty much in constant battle. “What did he do?”  

He took a breath and another sip of coffee before placing the cup down on the windowsill, eyes casting downwards, his thick, black lashes concealing the bright green that then met her gaze with strong intent. “Raised a hand to you.”  

Her eyes widened a fraction, her heart somersaulting within her rapidly tightening chest. Finally, there he was. Somebody who wanted to protect her, a person she had both needed and craved her entire life. “You, you beat him up? For me?” 

His shoulders tightened a fraction, sagging then, reaching to stroke her cheek. “For other reasons, too.” Lie. “Mostly for you, though.” Lie. It had solely been for her, and she saw it right there in the way he looked down at her. “Give me a minute, darlin’.”  

He left her standing there breathless, moving over to the other side of the apartment, lifting the phone to his ear to make a call. She didn’t get the gist of it at all, Luca speaking exclusively to whoever was at the other end in Italian, her feet taking her back over to the end of the bed and sitting down. Once he was done, he resumed his place at the window, the atmosphere between them growing heavy.  

“Will you be in trouble, for beating him?” she asked, the tall Italian not replying right away.  

“Probably,” he spoke with nonchalance, his mouth curling into a slight smirk. “Ain’t nothing I can’t handle, though. He wanted you back, Emily. I told him that wasn’t gonna happen.”  

Another silence followed for a time, Emily taking a breath. “Am I safe here, Luca?” 

He sniffed, running his long, tapered fingers through his hair, his magnetic green eyes moving from the street below over to her. “From them, yes. But maybe not from me.”  

She gulped, and he saw it, the fear flashing through the storm grey of her eyes, moving to crouch before her, resting his hands upon her thighs. “Not like that, honey. I ain’t gonna hurt you, but the more time I spend with you, the more I fuckin’ want you more than any other woman I’ve ever met.” 

And he did. He wanted her so badly, it drove him to maddened distraction. She was unlike the women of his past, the fiery Italian broads who matched his ire and deafened his senses with their brashness. This dainty, quiet little creature was all sweetness and softness, a light he knew the dark in him was drawn to, a helpless, enchanted moth to her flame.  

He wanted to sink his teeth into her, eat her like a ripe summer peach, but he held himself back, resisted the urge. She was too delicate for it, for the lust that prowled through his veins like a fire breathing dragon. His heat, he knew, would burn her to ashes, yet Luca never assumed for one minute that Emily actually wanted to feel his fire against her skin. 

After all, she’d handled much worse than a horny Changretta. 

Reaching for his face, her dainty fingers toured the scars, shuffling nearer to the edge of the bed, the potent smell of his skin and cologne heady upon her senses. Her touch rained like rose petals over everything in him that was hard and foreboding, her fingernail idly tracing the black cross marked upon the side of his neck.  

“Maybe I want you just as much.”  

When she replaced her finger for her lips, his blood set to boil, heart hammering, a neon blaze of arousal illuminating his insides as his hands began to slowly creep up her thighs. How he managed to continue tethering his want for her, hanging onto it like a roped in wild bull, he didn’t know, the flick of her tongue against his throat setting his teeth to clench. “You sure?”  

She’d had enough of being nobody’s girl, coveting to be his and his alone. Her soft lips laid kisses along his jaw, a bloom like no other fluttering through her insides when she felt him grasp her underwear, but pause, awaiting her permission. “Yes, Luca. I’m very, very sure.”  

Green met grey in an unblinking gaze, his breath hot against her cheek, hands pulling her underwear down her legs, her fingers trailing over his chest as their lips met at last. He let go of the rope in that moment, setting the bull free to charge, and how it did as he pushed her back onto the bed, settling himself between her thighs as he kissed her with every last drop of longing he’d held ever since she first walked into his life.  

Her insides tingled with the arousal of it, feeling a man atop her for the first time, skilled hands smoothing over her body, her clothes removed as his kisses rained over her neck, Emily suddenly feeling the sharp pinch of nerves as her nudity was finally exposed to him. Her arms moved to her chest, covering herself, Luca seeing it in her face as her muscles stiffened.  

“You ain’t ever been with a man before, have you, bella donna?”  

She shook her head.  

Taking her arms, he unfolded them, sitting back on his heels as he looked down at her. She was so breathtaking, he almost felt faint. All that beauty, and he was the first man she’d trusted enough to enjoy it. And boy, how he would. “S’okay, baby. I promise you’ll enjoy it. Fuck, you’re so damned beautiful.” 

She felt it, too, watching the path his hands took as he toured her skin, lowering to her again, kissing her with hunger. He wanted to be wild with her, show her a new world of everything sexual, devour her completely, but she still lay a little tense beneath him. It had been a long, long time since he’d been with a virgin, Luca knowing well he needed to pull himself back a little again for the sake of her comfort, but god, she didn’t make it easy.  

He wanted to shred his clothes to tatters in order to feel the bare press of her flesh against his, but let her be in control of that, eventually feeling her hands move to begin undressing him from the finely tailored suit still acting as an annoying barrier, her mouth gliding from his neck to his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt and waistcoat.  

Feeling her relax, he smiled, panting as her hands explored him, her skin so lily white against the olive of his flesh, dark and light entwining as she wrapped her arms around him, hands trailing over his back. He was all lithe muscles and sharp angles, but his body melded to hers perfectly, fit like a missing jigsaw piece, Emily enjoying the heat of his skin against hers, beginning to yearn. 

Her fingers undid his pants, her heart amping up a few notches at realising exactly what was straining for release within. The bashfulness of knowing that she had no clue what on earth to do with it once he was fully naked prickled through her, his hard cock springing free, her eyes widening a little. She had no base for comparison, but oh, it wasn’t small.  

Curling her hand around it, she marvelled at how hard it was, encased in such soft, dark skin, her mouth moving back to his neck as she squeezed, but then stilled, feeling a little useless until he reached down, covering her hand with his own. He guided her touch, his other hand stroking her face as he stared at her, the want in his eyes killing her shame at not knowing what she was doing dead.  

“Like that, baby.” he whispered, releasing her hand, letting her go it alone. “Fuck, yeah that’s good.” 

She felt empowered by his praise, even more so when her hand reached the head of his hardness and her thumb skimmed the tip, oozing fluid onto her, a deep, lust drenched moan rattling his throat. It arrowed her insides, feeling herself becoming wet as her walls tingled, repeating the same action that had roused that primal sound from him.  

When he made it again, his mouth crashed against hers, a kiss of torrid thirst as their tongues entwined, his hips swaying against the pump of her hand. She gripped just a tiny bit harder, experimenting a little, a slight twist of her hand pulling more sounds of approval from him, her wrist suddenly grasped. “No more.” She thought she’d done wrong for a moment, a little shard of panic grazing against her chest, Luca pinning her arms above her head. “Feels a little too good.”  

Relaxing, she lay there and instead surrendered to him, his mouth gliding to her tits, lips closing around her nipple. Tiny daggers pricked her flesh as she felt the warm suck of his mouth, not releasing it until it stood hard, a pink pebble he flicked his tongue across, kisses descending while trailing his hand to her thigh, shifting as he stroked the soft skin, creeping ever closer to where she ached to be touched.  

His fingertips finally met her petals, dewy and warm, pulling a soft groan from him. “God above, you’re so fuckin’ wet.” 

Her eyes widened, looking down at him with trepidation. “Is that a bad thing?” 

Oh, she was so sweet and naive. He chuckled quietly, tongue circling her navel. “Uh-uh, no way, honey. No way in this world is a pretty, soaking wet little cunt a bad thing.” She expected him to begin working his way back up to her mouth, but instead, each kiss was peppered lower, his tongue gliding over her hipbones as his fingers gently stroked at her, Emily feeling a little uneasy suddenly when she cottoned on to exactly where he intended to place those kisses.  

When he finally did, though, tongue pushing through her folds to lick at the syrupy wet of her, her eyes closed, head thudding back against the bed, the feel, the intimacy of it, his mouth on her most sacred of places, was absolutely mind blowing. Mind blowing, and not what she’d expected. 

“Oh... I um, I didn’t think Italian guys liked doing that?” 

He snorted a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Where’d you hear that bullshit?” 

“Around,” she spoke, her eyes darting away, embarrassment pinking her cheeks.  

“Ya did, huh?” he rumbled, giving her inner thigh a little bite before he pushed the flat of his tongue against her folds, dragging it slowly and firmly. “Not this Italian, darlin’. Trust me, you ain’t gonna see my face for so long, you’ll forget what I look like.” 

He repeated the action, Emily shivering from the heat of his mouth. “I’m fine with that.” 

He chuckled, deep and raspy, his tongue flicking the bud of her clit before he kissed it softly, still smiling at how wrong her assertion was. “Thought you might be.” The pressure of each lick was like a blaze of stars twinkling through her, his fingers joining, stroking her folds until he held them spread, tongue pressing her clit as it began to rotate a slow, firm circle.  

The beautiful whimper that spilled from her lips almost made him come on command. “Think she likes my tongue.”  

“Oh god... don’t you dare stop!”  

He laughed, low and dirty against her, lips wrapping her clit in a soft, warm suck. She almost cried at that, Luca knowing exactly what he was doing to her. “You gettin’ feisty with me? Making your demands, huh?” 

“Luca! Stop using your mouth for speaking!” she whimpered, her chest rising and falling rapidly.  

He looked up at her, arching an eyebrow, his gaze flitting between her and her gleaming sex a couple of time before he winked. “Alright Guess I’ll say what I gotta without words.” And god, how he did. Long licks from her streaming opening to her bud told her exactly what he wanted to say, that she was beautiful, that he couldn’t get enough of her, that the nectar of her hot little cunt drove him out of his senses with rampant desire.  

His mouth upon her was unlike anything she could have imagined, hot and eager, so expert in how he touched her, each lick bestowed having the kind of focus that tore little cries from her throat, her walls flexing as her clit hardened against the fast beat of his tongue. She’d never even touched herself with that kind of knowledge before, the experience he had in shades awakening her to the divine.  

The pleasure tumbled through her, her blood running hot through her hammering heart, fingers combing his raven hair as her hips shook. She was alight and glowing from the tight circles pressed over her bud, his fingers slipping down to push inside her, sinking in deep, stroking at her until she wailed, her thighs skimming the sides of his face.  

Those clever fingers slid back and forth with god-given dexterity, speeding up, coaxing noises from her that made his cock harden even further, the need to be inside her all-encompassing. Emily could feel it, the climbing pleasure weaving through her like a creeper vine ascending, his fingers and tongue working her faster as her cries filled the air.  

She didn’t understand how something already so good could keep on feeling better, her cunt hugging upon his fingers as her body went rigid, and then... white hot bliss poured over her bones, every fibre of her being ablaze with the nirvana of her first orgasm. He watched her keenly as she writhed, her body jolting before her muscles all relaxed, the afterglow gleaming her like a summer dawn, a smile crinkling his eyes as his tongue gentled against her, but didn’t cease.  

“Luca, oh my god,” she panted, trying to push him away. He had other ideas, though. “Stop, it’s too much.” 

Shaking his head as he gently sucked her folds, his eyes seemed to glow brighter, the peridot flecks gleaming, glittered by the triumph of her pleasure. “You told me not to,” he shrugged lightly, tongue still lapping lazily over her sensitive clit. 

“I know, but really, it’s too much!” 

A soft grunt welled his throat. “Not yet it ain’t, doll.” Her thighs closed around his head, Luca grumbling, turning to bite her flesh, laughing quietly when she squealed, his fingers softly stroking over the puffy, ruined wet of her pretty folds. “Can't expect me to stop right now. A woman always tastes the sweetest right after she comes." 

“Is that a fact, huh, my handsome man?” she laughed softly, her chuckles like sweet music to his ears. 

Hearing her call him that, her handsome man, his heart skipped on a beat. Taking her hand, he shifted up a little, placing a soft kiss against her inner wrist. “That’s a fact, cara mia.” His mouth returned to her, each lick carefully laid, until her sensitivity passed and once more his touch elicited nothing but moonbeams. She’d once overheard a woman speak of the fact that Italian men were the greatest lovers on earth, and so far, Emily had to confess that she was in complete agreement with such a statement.  

His hands stroked over her body, making her feel nothing short of worshipped by him, the coolness of his gold rings contrasting deliciously with the heat of his fingers, Luca clutching her thighs and keeping her spread wide for his mouth, unabating as he continued to lick and suck at her.  

“Got another for me, huh baby?” he murmured, reading her body expertly as her breathing became more rapid, her soft curves quaking as he teased fire through her veins.  

“Mmhmm!” she hummed, lips clamped tightly as her hands fisted the covers either side of her head, writhing against his mouth. His lips pulled at her clit in a hard suck, tongue flicking at the tip, her release a flurry of pleasure that glimmered up her spine, leaving her breathless once more. 

Emerging from between her legs, he kissed his way back to her mouth, pausing to gaze down at her, fingers stroking tenderly over her cheek. “You got no idea how fuckin’ beautiful you are, do you?” 

Reaching between them, her hand grasped his cock. “This tells me pretty well.” He laughed softly through his nose, shaking his head. Her other hand moved to cup his face, thumb stroking over his smile. “This tells me, too.” His lips parted, sucking the tip of her thumb as she guided his cock to her, his body falling a little more to hers, sinking in with a fluid push.  

Her mouth fell open, his eyes questioning as he stroked her face, Emily answering with a nod as she pulled him closer, kissing him with soft, syrupy heat. Bottoming out, he pulled back, the slick hug of her around him beautiful, watching the desire dance in her eyes as she gasped at being filled up again. It knocked her sideways, being breached so deeply, his mouth claiming hers as their lips crushed together in a passionate, consuming display of arousal. 

“Holy fuck, you feel like fuckin’ heaven.” he groaned deeply, mouth leaving hers to bury at her delicate neck, the drum of her pulse bouncing against his eager lips as he glided effortlessly in and out of her heat. Her walls clenched around him, snugly enclosing his cock in wet heat, making him shudder against her body as they writhed together in complete and utter bliss.   

She twinged a little at being split around a cock for the first time, little pinpricks of pain that merged with the divine pleasure of such heated thickness invading her, Luca repeatedly reminding himself to keep slow, knowing he was a lot to get used to.  

Helpless, soft little exclamations fluttered over her lips, his fingertips stroking them, gently grasping her jaw and turning her head to sear her mouth with his once more. Her hands glided over his shoulders, delighting in the delicious feel of him beneath her palms, sparks skittering over every single nerve. 

He felt heavy both atop and inside her, pressing into her so forcefully, Emily felt herself drowning in his consuming passion, his raw masculinity, everything about him imposing, but in such a way that he could have poured into her forever and it’d never be enough.   

She felt drunk on him completely, Luca locking his arms around her, lifting her body as he sat back on his heels, letting her sink down onto his cock. She clasped on around him, thighs tight at his hips as she felt him even deeper within her walls than before, clenching on him, stroking his face as they shared more kisses of pure, erotic frenzy.   

The hunger she keened with for him was unmatched, her body opened like a flower before the sun, drinking up the rays of warmth he gilded her with. He let her to find her own way upon him, allowing her to set the pace he then began to move in time with, groaning at the slow, rolling rhythm. It might have been all brand new and shiny for her, but for Luca, he couldn’t remember the last time when sex had felt so blindingly intimate.  

Her hips bucked into him, ensnaring his slippery length with each undulation, his hands grasping her ass and hauling her closer, wanting to be even deeper within her. His teeth grazed at her throat, nipping at her lily pale skin, deep moans flowing from his mouth to hers as they shared kisses of fiery honey once more.   

She swallowed them back, her cunt hugging him in a series of strong flutters as they undulated together so perfectly, she never wanted him to retreat. It was scorching, one hundred percent passion, and lord, it was everything she’d ever hoped sex with him would be. 

He shifted her higher on him with ease, her thighs loosening their grip as he bucked up against her with thrusts that hit hard, his mouth everywhere, sucking and tasting her petal soft skin, her head tipping back, exclamations of bliss pouring from her mouth.   

She stared deep into the twinkling green of his eyes, continuing to roll against him, the heat of his cock scorching her insides, saturating him in a gloss of her arousal. His hands drifted up her back, grasping her shoulders, nuzzling her softly while pulling her down against his thrusts as he moved with greater friction beneath her. 

Tensing around him, she began to pant against his mouth, her cries spilling out like a fountain bursting into life, his hand splaying over her hip between them, thumb stretching to rub tight, firm circles at her clit.   

Each one drew the wildness out of her more, Emily grinding on him almost savagely in the pursuit of the ultimate undoing, taking him by surprise at the sudden urgency she displayed. She rode him with all the intensity he fucked her with, their bodies colliding together frantically.  

His muscles flexed with effort, deep, furious grunts peppering the air as his body stiffened in spasm, his cock twitching and spurting deep, glazing her cunt with cum as the lightning flickered, her spine tingling and thighs shaking.   

He had her cresting hard against him, nails grazing his back as her release struck home, a bonfire of pleasure roaring through her so torridly, she felt completely unmoored. The hammering of his heart against her breast eventually brough her back from the cloud she floated on, feeling dreamy and drunk, smiling as he kissed her.  

“Damn, you sure ride wild,” he panted. She laughed, Luca lying her down on her back, his cock exiting her with a slippery pop before he lay on his side next to her. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, baby?” 

“That I’ve been seriously missing out on something so amazing for a long time.”  

He kissed her shoulder, fingers idly tracing around her nipple. “Glad I could be the one to show ya. Gimme a half hour to recover, and I’ll help you make up for a little more lost time.”  

Moving closer, she hooked her leg over his hip, fingers trailing over the soft, dark hair upon his chest. “Is that a promise?” 

The way he kissed her said it probably wouldn’t even be half an hour.  

[theredofoctober]

MANNA— CHAPTER THREE: TOAST

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic: TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, mild Daddy kink (it'll all make sense).

This chapter is chronologically the third in the series

Keep reading after the cut

Daybreak: you come to in a spare room in Hannibal Lecter's house, as dark about you as a bloody inner mouth; pain decants itself between your thighs, and you remember what was done to you, in the punishing night.

You rise on your knees and scream in despair at your violation, at your abandonment, at your misfortune in falling tail-side of a coin flip, condemning you to the treacherous care of two men engaged in the pretence that there is some benevolent end to this.

Yet it occurs to you, from the sylphs of memory, that perhaps only one of the pair is pretending: Will Graham, still so glued to the principles of society that he put up a hero’s protest against the rape. He had shaken like a rib-kicked dog after fucking you, face-down, on this very rock of a mattress, while Hannibal’s firm hands guided you onto his colleague’s cock, so gentle, so deathly that your cunt still throbs sickly at the thought of them.

Their beauty, their talent, so fabulously cruel, arranging your suffering to their aesthetic approval—

Dr Lecter didn’t accept you for inpatient care to better you, but to ruin, and make worse all the dun and violet horrors of your tortured mind. You are a jewel in the hand of a god of death to be held captive; you must serve to survive, or else perish for your pride like the girls in all the recent headlines, never to be found till you are roaches and dust.

Will and Hannibal will not have you starve to death, but they might well be your decay in another fashion, now that you are the bruised and buckle-kneed prey to their hunter dreams. You hate the devil-horse drag in your stomach as you think of their hands on you, making a doe of you in their degradation.

You scrub the bedsheet between your thighs, choking at the dirt-salt scent of the stain the endeavour leaves behind. Standing up, you feel strain and bruising in every limb; you stagger about, taking inventory of the studiously bare surfaces, locked drawers, a barred window, an en-suite bathroom with its absence of a razor. There is a toothbrush and paste, expensive soaps, which you are obviously expected to use.

The sight of them reminds you that you are here on an indefinite stay, that according to your loved ones—and likely to the law—you are precisely where you need to be. No one will guess at your abuse, beguiled by the beautiful sham of the prestigious doctor and his accolades. They will think you fortunate, to have been accepted at such a discount, for your family is not rich, and had, in fact, been overjoyed by Hannibal’s gracious reception of their plea to see you.

They’ll want you to do well, here, to strengthen, to thrive, but how can you, when the doctor and his friend will fuck you for your failings, and dope you into drunken insensibility, should you protest?

You cling to the sink and cry until you heave, clammy and juddering in a fit of abject despair. Then, with slow, weary resignation, you wash, scarcely wanting to touch yourself, to feel where you are most hurt.

You return to the bedroom, noticing immediately a set of clothes laid out on the quilt. Cold touches the back of your neck as you realise that Dr Lecter must have put them there, likely heard you sobbing through the door.

How smug he must be, to have provoked you into so amusing a reaction.

Fear strikes a sort of sense in you, and you dress quickly, hating how soft and luxurious the garments feel upon your skin. You crave your own clothes, the comfort of the known, of routine. Yet as you try the bedroom door and let yourself cautiously out into the chill hallway beyond you’ve made the decision to go along with Dr Lecter’s treatment until an opportunity to escape comes to you, which you know it must, being that he is not God, and cannot watch you in perpetuity.

The house is, of course, quite beautiful, grand, and dark, and full of art, magnificent and elaborate; you are intimidated by Dr Lecter’s commitment to beauty, and wonder at your place within it. You feel cheap and inelegant, cumbersome as you blunder from room to room in search of your keeper. He did not take you in for your beauty, you think, with a grim and bitter certainty, unless it is the breaking of your mind beneath his ministrations that is lovely to him.

The sound of an instrument winds through the house, sinisterly pretty, like something played in the court of Marie Antoinette. From the quality of the noise you discern that it is a recording; you had noticed a harpsichord in Hannibal’s office, and wonder if this is a piece he himself has composed to make elegant even the sonic elements of his home.

As you descend the staircase, one shaking hand squeezing the bannister, the music ceases, and Dr Lecter emerges from a doorway, artfully casual with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The expanse of skin revealed to you feels intimate, and as you remember the inferno of your flesh beneath those very arms, you retreat into the shadows of the stairway

He is lower than the devil, this man, yet possesses all of his cunning, and more.

“I am glad to see you this morning,” he says, pleasantly. “I was unsure if you would leave your room. It can be daunting, venturing into an unfamiliar place.”

You don’t answer, can think of nothing to say; it is like making conversation with a puma, more inclined to claw out the garnet hollows of your throat than entertain the vapidity of words.

Hannibal studies you, taking in your appearance in your borrowed clothes with noted pleasure.

“I have made breakfast,” he announces. “French toast: brioche, nutmeg, cinnamon, topped in caramelised sugar. Such simple sweetness is a necessary counter to so bitter a night spent under my roof. A shame that your first evening here was not as welcoming as it should have been.”

You find yourself repulsed by his manners, a taunting pretence of civility. This is a man who knows what he is, and carries himself with pride and comfort in that being; his abuse would be easier to bear had he been coarse, and mad.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper.

A lie: you are always starving, a walking ache, thinking of little from daylight to darkness but the sustenance you cannot allow yourself, gluttony in the slightest morsel.

Hannibal looks at you with pity, and yet a cold and knowing pleasure, also.

“You must eat, little one,” he says. “Your health is my responsibility, and I am required to see that you fuel your survival, by whatever means I deem appropriate. If neither reason nor encouragement will bring down the battlements you have built around yourself, then I am not opposed to alternative methods of siege.”

You remember the feeding tube shown to you on the previous night, and sag against the bannisters, felled by the impossibility of your situation.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, let me go home. Why are you doing this?”

Hannibal moves towards the stairs and extends his arm to you, meaning to help you down, as though you would ever accept his assistance. His calm is a slaughterhouse silence, the echo of the chamber when all the killing is done, and it lies empty but for the recollection of screams.

"I'm willing to answer any questions you have for me," he says, congenially. "If you will do something for me, in return."

You step past him, avoiding his arm.

“I don’t trust you,” you say, softly. “What do you want me to do?”

The answer is a penumbra in his eyes.

"For each question I address, you must finish a mouthful of the meal I have set out for you. Finish the plate, and I will allow you a phone call home, to let your parents know that you are settled. It will be supervised, of course."

Suppressed, he means, a hand poised to snatch the receiver, should you speak ill of him and his trembling brute of a colleague. Yet you see that consent to Dr Lecter’s will is the currency that will buy you consolation, in this house, so you nod slowly, coughing down a lump in your throat.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll try.”

Hannibal smiles, the rictus of some corpse-eating entity.

“That is all I ask of you.”

Some minutes later, seated at a table in a room the blue of some under-sea cavern, opposite the man who aided in your assault, you think how pathetic it is that your greatest ordeal of the past day is neither your kidnapping, nor the attack, but the food oozing butter as though from some golden wound before you.

You cannot count the calories, which are surely around the seven-hundred mark, cannot imagine the fat and the filth contained on that slippery plate, an indulgence you haven’t allowed yourself in years.

“Can’t I have something else?” you plead. “This is too much. I can’t eat this.”

“I suspect that you would find an equal challenge in anything I put before you,” says Hannibal, though not unkindly. “I believe in setting a precedent for what difficulties you may expect, under my care, not only to take note of your strengths for study, but to enhance your understanding of your circumstances. Hunger is the power with which you have averted combat with every assailant of the mind. It is time you went to war, little one, and what better place to begin than at my table?”

The toast smells divine, this you cannot deny; you have heard, vaguely, of Dr Lecter’s mastery of the kitchen, one of many facts clumsily reeled off to you by your parents to assure you of his character and esteem. You know that if you allow yourself to eat there will be as much pleasure as agony in every bite; you percieve, suddenly, the parallels between eating this meal, and having been fucked, ingenious, insidious.

“I can’t eat it,” you say again, rather desperately. “You don’t get it. I can’t just... eat, like other people. I didn't choose to be this way.”

Hannibal looks at you with an expression so close to sympathy that you find yourself confused, unable to reconcile the care in his eyes with his sure evil.

“It's not your fault,” he says. “This mechanism is a friendly fire whose direction you cannot change. Nevertheless, you have no choice but to proceed against it. You may discover a certain liberty in having no other option afforded you.”

A tear rolls from your left eye, fracturing like a bead of glass on the tabletop. Hannibal utters your name so gently that you find yourself hardening against him, reaching for the fork out of spite alone, for all that your illness screams at the act.

You cut a slither of toast and look at it balefully, considering how much exercise and restriction will atone for the sin of swallowing. But eat it you do, ashamed of how delicious that sole piece is, how your stomach roars for the rest of it.

Dr Lecter watches you with the faintest and most odious smile upon his lips.

“I must congratulate you,” he says. “The greatest obstacle before you was to begin, and you have conquered it admirably.”

His praise makes it difficult to swallow. The urge to spit the bread back onto the plate is restrained only by what knowledge you may purchase, if you acquiesce.

“Are you a real doctor?” you ask, your voice small, difficult, coarse with tears.

“I am,” says Dr Lecter, plainly. “I assume that your implication is that my profession is a guise for my unconventional curiosities. In that case, I would argue that all workers are tainted by the passions that drive them. Would you discredit the teacher for the selfish pride he feels in imparting knowledge upon an ignorant pupil?”

“I heard you talking to that man,” you say, pointedly ignoring the metaphor. “Your friend, Will? I know this isn’t just about treating me. What you did to me— you enjoyed it, both of you, and... and you’d do it again. How is assaulting me supposed to help me?”

Hannibal raises a delicate little coffee cup, ingesting its dark aroma before he drinks.

“If you wish me to respond, then you must eat.”

With a pained little shudder, you force down another mouthful, chewing it so many times that its texture is pulp as it goes down.

“There,” you rasp. “Answer me.”

A disgruntled gleam passes the man’s gaze, fading so swiftly that it might have only been a reflection from the windowpane.

“From consulting your records, and having spoken to you myself, I perceive your stubborn absence of response to sensitivity,” says Dr Lecter. “You rebel against it, interpreting any benevolent aid as its opposite. Under pressure— fear, anger, violence—you perform well, however. You submit to change in order to survive. Therefore, it is these methods that will most effectively control your disorder, and I see no shame in resorting to that which will foster the greater good.”

So many words, you think, with so very little honesty behind them.

“There’s some other reason,” you insist. “I know there is. Will Graham— why did you make him do it? Why does he have to be part of this?”

You saw off another piece of toast, suppressing a moan at the spill of salty butter across your tongue. Hannibal observes, knowing, without expressing it aloud, how much you love his cooking, so expert as to be a thing of art.

“I am as dedicated to Will’s growth as I am to yours,” says Dr Lecter. “There is a mutual benefit in his involvement in your care. He lacks confidence in his identity, and certain skills; I aim to coax it out of him.”

“You mean, make him messed up,” you snipe, cutting aggressive slivers from your toast. “Just like you. Like you’re doing to me.”

Your flared sense of injustice stifles the pain of having to eat, the agitation of it.

“Why me, out of all your patients? I’m not special.”

“On the contrary, your particular ailment intrigues me,” says Hannibal, pouring himself another measure of coffee. “As individuals, you and I are at direct opposition. I intend to foster an enthusiasm for eating in you that is akin to mine. The complexity of doing so possesses an allure in the frontiers that we both must cross.”

Your jaw pounds from the effort of mastication; you’ve long forgotten how it feels to eat so much.

“Will you let me go home when you’re... finished with me?” you ask, without much hope.

Dr Lecter’s face betrays little of his inner mind, so controlled as to be a pleasant blank.

“Once you are fully recovered, you will be free to leave at will. Until then, I must withhold your liberty.”

You eat, tortured by the repetition, and by the growing pain in your abdomen, unused to being filled.

“Who else knows what you’ve done to me?” you ask. “And what you’re planning to do?”

“Beyond this room, only Will is aware of my most unorthodox practices,” Hannibal replies. “Those unaccustomed to experimentation may find it distasteful, even disturbing.”

You push your plate across the table with a screech of porcelain.

“I find it disturbing,” you say. “You’re really just going to hold me prisoner?”

“Finish your breakfast, or I cannot give you my reply.”

“I can’t,” you say. “I feel sick.”

The French toast, cooling in its basin of fat, suddenly revolts you, and you wish that you were in the habit of purging, to bring up the sodden bread you’ve ingested.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” says Dr Lecter. “In that case, I am afraid you will not be permitted to speak to your parents.”

With an air of disappointment, he rises, coming behind you to take away your plate. Your dominant hand clenches your fork, and you wait for the man to lean down, offering you an angle to pierce his throat. You’ve never killed before, are unsure if you’d have it in you to drive home the slaughtering blow.

As it stands, you will never know.

Dr Lecter’s hand closes over your tensed arm, bringing it up against your windpipe, choking you with the pressure of your own wrist upon you. His body is a prison bar at your back; he holds you securely, and without any particular violence, as though doing nothing more unusual than shaking your hand.

“You did not yet strike,” says Hannibal, as you hack and cough for air. “So your punishment for considering my murder will be mild. You will sit in a corner and face the wall until I leave for my first appointment at the office. After this, you will return to your room, where you will stay until I come home. If you must behave like an unreasonable child, then I will respond, likewise.”

Fear makes you almost insensible as Hannibal’s lips draw close to your cheek.

“I am aware of your habit to regress, in such dire moments," he murmurs. "I heard the name that passed your lips, when Will withdrew from you—"

Daddy, you'd called him, in your hopeless vulnerability.

"—Your loved ones failed you, at some vital point, in your youth. We will not.”

He releases you, and in the adrenaline fog of regaining your breath you realise, with a flush of horror, that you are no longer hungry.

What else will be taken from you, child as you are in the ravenous dark of this house?

[virgo-mess]

Can you make a terry silver x fem reader smutshot based off the song "one of the girls" by the weeknd?

Thanks for the Request!

And I've finally got the first part of this request done! Aiming for two parts but it could end up being three depending on how the next part goes! This request ended up CK Terry adjacent I hope that's okay. I've also taken some creative liberties with this song, but I will do my best to incorporate most of the pre chorus in the next part or parts ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Broken Spirit: Chapter 1

TW: Stalking mostly, Terry being hotly deranged, its implied reader is also lowkey deranged though a match made in heaven essentially, and that's mostly it for this part. I know it's short, but I hope you enjoy!

😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

Terry’s POV

A haze of purple hues, pulsating strobe lights, and wispy lines of thin gray smoke swirl around the crowded dance floor of the Hollywood bar, Warwick. The thrum of wavey synths filled Terry Silver’s ears while his incisive blue eyes surveyed the room in languid motions from his spot against the bar wall having just ventured from the classier, more adult lounge upstairs. He gazed at the drunk, strung-out LA clubbers with a certain degree of distained apathy. He hadn’t been inside a club or had a line of coke since the 80s, a rather contentious phase in the older billionaire’s life. To be quite honest he didn’t enjoy the hubs of the LA youth’s night life anymore now, in his graying age, then he did back then. Now a club like this only served as a bitter reminder of the days John Kreese raged through Terry’s lavish LA life like a tornado. Only to leave it in shambles just as suddenly, even all these years later the thought left a bitter lump forming in the back of his throat.

What’s passed has past, of course, as far as Terry was concerned John Kreese no longer existed. John was as much a ghost of lifetimes past as the cocaine fueled daze of Terry’s dim, but still flickering empires of addiction. Once an addict, always an addict is what they say after all. It only took Terry over a decade to replace that ghostly powder with something else, something corporeal, in all its lovely delight and there it was now. Terry couldn’t help the delighted somewhat bashful way his lips curled upwards when his eyes finally spotted you. There you stood, glittering in a hazy sea of strung-out blurs adorned in the black miniskirt and silver halter top. He’d been moving that outfit to the front of your cluttered closet during his routine visits to your empty condo while you sunbathed next to the complex’s pool in the most conservative one-piece swimsuit you had. Terry swiped all the tiny bikinis you owned on his first inconspicuous venture into your empty bedroom, the evidence of which now lay neatly folded in his dresser drawer. Normally he’d work his way up to petty thievery, but it was a necessary risk to take. How else could he ensure outside eyes didn’t linger on what he silently declared was his, the moment he’d laid eyes on it…

Terry met you exactly a year ago last week at some trendy art gala in Beverly Hills. He’d stumbled upon you, sitting on the terrace rail in a fetching cream gown almost as if you were contemplating flying off into the starry night sky like an enchanting swan. But in one hasty conversation Terry came to realize you were more akin to a black mare, a free spirit immune to his charm. A beautiful yet fully untamable party girl with a captivating aura of intrigue surrounding you. How you ended up at a sophisticated gala was beyond him in the last year he’d learn night clubs and house parties in the Hills was your prerogative at least when you weren’t holed up in your swanky corner office. You kept a surprising balance between work and play, a balance Terry wouldn’t quite achieve till his early to mid-forties and here you were mastering it just shy of thirty. That steely ambition was all it really took for Terry Silver to become infatuated with you. Though the conversation you gave him that evening was equal in measure to the passive niceties one would share with a cashier at the grocery store. Thus began a yearlong game of cat and mouse.

For months after the gala, you appeared uninterested in him despite all the “chance” run ins and “spontaneous” cocktail invites Terry meticulously sent your way. Terry tried to be “discreet” about his yearning for you at first, even as tedious as it was. That was way before he realized you were merely making a game out of the chase at his expense like the wild mare you were at heart. Terry caught on to your coy little game during one of his chance run ins with you on Rodeo Drive. Intrigued alarm bells were ringing his head when you suspiciously delighted him with trivial small talk over lunch for an entire afternoon, up until then you’d been incredibly frivolous. Terry considered it a win if he was fortunate enough to hold you up for an hour or so on your weekly trip to the grocery store. He had basically made it impossible for you to avoid him or sneak away anyway, he all but glued himself to your side as you rolled up and down routine aisles of produce. Never questioning why he’d strayed so far from Malibu to linger by your side amongst pints of Ben and Jerrys in west Hollywood. He had thought perhaps you hadn’t noticed but it was quite the contrary, you had noticed.

It struck him over lunch that day on Rodeo drive when you nonchalantly let it slip you and your friend Bea would be attending one of the four raves in LA that weekend. You had the gall to tack on a cute “You’re welcome to join us” with a coy smile etched on your plump lips and mischief swirling in your big eyes. Terry couldn’t help but smirk, taking in your thick fluttering lashes. He found your very first attempt at lying to him right through your pearly little teeth surprisingly endearing. He had already seen the phrase “Napa Valley with Bea” elegantly scribbled in pink ink on the calendar you had sitting on the desk in your home office.  A million thoughts raced through his mind at that very moment.

Part of him wanted to call you out on your lie right then and use it as an excuse to “lure” you into the back his Ferrari, whisking you back to his Malibu mansion whether you wanted to or not was beyond the point. The image of you stripped bare and bound on your knees in front of his California king, begging for forgiveness and mercy among other things was quite tempting after all. But what would it get him in the end? He could fuck you hard and raw until you were incapable of forming coherent thoughts or words let alone, running away from him. You certainly wouldn’t be out roaming the droves of sordid LA raves you seemed most privy to into the early hours of the morning if he had. But breaking in a rouge mare was no easy feat. Regardless of whether you break a horse in hard or soft, it requires time, patience, good groundwork, and attention to detail. Luckily, Terry Silver was an expert at all of the above in his greying age…

So, after weighing his options he decided to take you up on your coy little game. He could play along and let his prized mare think she had the reigns for quite some time, and he had. Terry waited an entire day before coincidentally running into you and Bea on your oh so, “last minute “, Napa Valley getaway. Your aura was more aloof than usual that day, but your big eyes gave away your dumbfounded wonder when he strode into the hotel lobby like some aplomb show pony. And that dumbfounded, endearing sort of wonder swirled in those big eyes every night Terry managed to track down his unbroken little mare since. Surely tonight would be no different once you finally spotted him lingering coolly in the back of yet another lively LA bar for the hundredth time in the past few weeks. But, most unbeknownst to you, his prized untamed mare, tonight would be very different… It was finally time for, Terry Silver to finish breaking you in properly and he knew just how to do it. He’d been planning it meticulously for weeks now, the perfect corral for his free spirit was set, decked out quite lavishly and sat out on the Malibu beachfront. Now, all Terry had to do was get you there, which shouldn’t be too hard, he clocked your subtle jealous tendencies when you found him engaging Bea in polite albeit meaningless conversation at some bar in the Valley last week, when you’d finally found your way back from the bathroom. It was quick, a mere flicker in those big eyes of yours in the warm bar lighting but it was enough for Terry to perceive a degree of unspoken but requited loyalty on your part. That was all the proof he really needed that you were finally ready to let go of this frivolous game. To finally let him “ride you”, metaphorically speaking, whether you knew it consciously now or not. If you didn’t know it now, you’d know it by Friday evening Terry was sure.  After all, if there was one thing Terry Silver knew how to do without a doubt, it was throwing a party….

“They don’t know that I love you…

I broke you just to own you…”

Terry pushed himself off the wall, his lips still curled in a smug predatory smirk as he eyed you from afar. Your doe-like eyes looked bored while they surveyed your surroundings quite pointedly as Bea rambled in your ear about something trivial, most assuredly. If it weren’t for the hordes of ogling eyes from young vulture-like reprobates on you at present, Terry would be keen to watch you like this all night. Those doe eyes gave way the fact they’d been looking for him for quite a while in all their feigned innocence, silently begging for him to swoop in and save you from your untamed proclivities. Begging to be broken…

“You’ll get what you’re begging for soon enough, sweetheart…” Terry cooed under his breath, letting his legs carry him to your shimmering corner of the cluttered dance floor. He knew ignoring you in that little black skirt and silver halter top was going to be hard. Terry had never longed to touch anything the way he longed to touch you but ignoring his little prize was a necessary measure to ensure you’d show up at his mansion hot and ready. So, Terry straightened out his Tom Ford blazer and ran a large hand through his nearly silver hair coolly. His eyes bore into you intensely enough for you to finally meet his gaze across a sea of blurred gyrating bodies, everything around him always seemed to fade when you were around. Every high he had in his youth failed in comparison to the one his ethereal free spirit provided him, how he lived without you all these was beyond him.  But that would all be remedied come Friday, he’d make up for every ounce of lost time…

Terry closed in on you and Bea, feigning a polite smile, he watched as a dusty pink blush spread across your cheeks. Your plump lips fought the urge to curl into one of your coy little smiles as you eyed him up with dilated pupils. The rapid rise and fall of your ample breasts made you look like a dog in heat, Terry had to bite back an ominous chuckle at the sight of you before him.

“Good evening, fancy running into you here” Terry said charmingly, he finally peeled his steely blue eyes off your curvy form and let them settle on Bea with a coquettish aura. Bea was the type of girl he would’ve dated at the height of his coke heydays. She was the hallow type of pretty you’d find on the cover of Vouge with a personality to match or lack thereof, the type of girl he’d take to a charity gala and nothing. You on the other hand were quite pretty but in a petite cute, ingenue beauty type of way that most people wouldn’t find intimidating. You made up for that with your exuberant, quick witted, occasionally sarcastic charm.

“Look what the cat dragged in Bea, we’ve been standing in this corner of the dance floor all alone for almost two hours now, did you get lost?” You quipped coyly, Terry saw your signature coy smile twitch on your plump lips out of the corner of his eye and fought the urge to let his eyes stray from Bea. Bea looked up at him before looking at you almost anxiously as she realized he was talking to her, and only her. Terry let the wave of awkward silence stretch on for quite some time, his blue eyes bore into Bea expectantly. Silently urging her to put her dry personality to the side and play along with his little game long enough for him to slip her a meticulous invite.

“Oh, uh, Mr. Silver what brings you to Warwick…” Bea trailed awkwardly, Terry maintained his polite smile though internally he was rolling his eyes. He would trudge through tedious trivial small talk with your snooze box of a friend for you, and only you.

“Oh, you know just out on the town, they have a more intimate lounge just upstairs for us oldies. My friends packed it in early, so I thought I’d come down and see what all you young darlings were buzzing about.” Terry said in the same mildly coquettish tone. He allowed himself to glance at you long enough to catch the way you were adorably grinding your teeth as you glanced between him and Bea with a faux aura of aloofness. Terry fought a giddy smirk as he watched your ample breasts rising and falling faster than they had even a moment ago. You were silently seething already, and he hadn’t even mentioned the party yet.

“Don’t be silly Mr. Silver, you’re not that old, you blend in down here just fine” Bea said still looking incredibly awkward under his gaze. Her brown eyes seemed to be silently pleading with you to save her from whatever was brewing between the three of you right now. Your eyes bore into him, lit up by the hues of flickering lights as a new wave of intensified synths poured through the speakers overhead. If it weren’t for the obnoxious club atmosphere one might say the stare off the pair of you were having was pulled right out of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. An exasperated huff escaped you plump lips as you finally turned you seething gaze towards Bea. Terry let his polite smile falter just so, getting the urge his prized filly was gearing up to buck at any moment.

“Don’t be silly Bea, you don’t have to lie to Terrence just because he’s a billionaire. He is that old and he really doesn’t blend in with us young commoners in his Tom Ford blazer now, does he. You know, aside from the fact its 85 degrees outside (29 degrees Celsius 😉)” you said in a biting yet sickly-sweet kind of tone with some attempt at a sinister smirk on your face. And there it was, Terry chuckled under his breath at the pointed usage of his full name you’d be paying for that little jab at his greying age real soon…

“Y/N, that was rude…” Bea muttered to you softly, it was nearly impossible to hear over the blaring of supposed music above them. Terry waved his hand dismissively, pulling an emerald, green envelope with an elegant, gold wax seal out of his blazer pocket before you could respond. Your big eyes swirled with eager curiosity at the sight of the lone invitation clutched in his large hand, Terry did his best not to let such an endearing look dissuade him from the task on hand. He assured himself he could relish such a look in due time as he forced yet another polite smile; he settled his blue eyes on Bea once more.

“That’s quite alright, I’ll be heading back up to my rightful place on the lounge sofa Y/N just as soon as I give Bea this…” Terry said weaponizing the sickly-sweet biting tone you had just used on him with an almost sadistic look in his eyes. Your face fell astronomically though you did your best to play it off with your signature aloof expression, but your eyes appear slightly…glassy as they peered over at the emerald envelope. Honestly, the look in your eyes was enough to have the faintest twinge of guilt bubbling in the older man’s chest, a feeling the coke had numbed for quite some time. “It’ll all be better Friday, sweetheart you’ll see” Terry replayed the thought in his head like a mantra in the brief stretch of silence that lingered in the air.

“Um, what is it…” Bea trailed looking at the letter with a constrained look in her eyes. The twitch of Bea’s hand suggested she wanted to take it, but your sudden withdrawn expression made her hesitate. Terry considered the fact that maybe he was taking this a step too far but how else could he make sure you waltzed into his mansion Friday evening? One split second decision would allow him to both wrap up this tedious small talk foreplay and strike hard with no mercy.

“It’s an invitation to the party I’m hosting Friday evening, I’m willing to give you the details if you accompany me to my rightful place on the lounge sofa” Terry said in a tone that managed to be charming towards Bea and mocking towards you all at once. Bea’s dry expression for once looked dumbfounded, her brown eyes looked between the two of you, equal amounts conflicted. You, however, were gritting your teeth again with a fire a blaze in though big eyes of yours. Terry didn’t fight the urge to smirk, instead he turned and looped an arm with a still dumbfounded Bea and guided her a fair distance through the droves of strung-out blurs on the dance floor. He ignored Bea’s soft cries of protest though he felt her trying her hardest to unloop her stringy arm from his. “Strike first, Strike Hard, No Mercy” a new mantra swirls in Terry’s head and he forces himself to a stop in the middle of the cluttered club floor. He turns to meet doe eyed gaze with a giddy, sadistic smirk that leveled the one he bore in the dojo with the ghost of his lost friend John Kreese all those years ago…

“Oh, Y/N, you’re welcome to join us” the words float out of his mouth tauntingly. The blaze in your eyes dies down just enough for a smirk to curl onto your lips.

“…He knows how to get the best of me

I’m no fool for the world to see

Trade my whole life just to be….”

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

[pompomegranate]

homesick

⇢ miguel o'hara x f!reader

⇢ warnings | angst. casual alcohol consumption. mentions of death and miguel’s past in atsv. descriptions of loneliness, depression, etc. shifts from miguel’s pov to your pov. note that this part is not 18+ but the next part will be. meet cute? but not really? let me know if you want to be tagged in part two – i won’t block minors/blank blogs for interacting with this part one, but will for part two! edit: i’ll be fleshing this out into a longer series. read more about this in the next chapter/on ao3!

⇢ a/n | on the anniversary of the worst day of his life, miguel o’hara meets you. you can tell he’s suffering, so you do your best to comfort him. strangely enough, the loneliest man in the universe opens up to you.

⇢ chapter one | chapter two | ao3

One night per year, Miguel allows himself a break. It’s barely even that.

He eats, sleeps, breathes heroism. It’s embedded in his DNA – but there’s a small part of him (a very, very microscopic part at that) that aches for freedom. Freedom from the burden that comes along with shouldering the weight of the entire universe.

It’s not a holiday, per se. For anyone else, it’s just another day, but for Miguel, it’s the only day that matters. This time, it falls on a Friday – last year, a Monday. A Saturday the year before that.

He doesn’t tell anyone he’s leaving – save for LYLA, the only one who’s even remotely allowed to get close.

…until you.

It's not your fault you happened to be in the right place at the right time on a day like any other. You weren’t expecting to meet anyone.

The drinks slide down easy, the casual conversations even easier, but you want some time to yourself, so you settle in on the balcony, drink in hand.

The setting sun is balmy and warm on your skin. As the night approaches, the city bustles, alive and breathing beneath you.

The balcony is surprisingly calm, quiet. The buzz of the city below drowned out by the smooth beats rattling the thick walls of the bar. it’s loud in there, it’s loud down there, but not here.

You exist in this sliver of space that feels unreal, almost dreamlike, like the stars aligned perfectly so that you could take a deep, settling breath.

If the universe were as loose as your favorite sweater cardigan, you’d be nestled in the microscopic gaps, a sanctuary between its threads. You give it your thanks by taking a little extra time to drink in the sunset. You’re content. 

And this place is where you find him.

Of all the places he could be, this seems like the last one he’d enjoy. He's stiff and unrelenting, his hard-ridged, tense body sucking the air right out of the sky as he peers down over the edge.

“Hey, want some company?” You’re hospitable as can be when you approach, still high off of the gorgeous atmosphere.

“No.” His response is immediate, the word, icy and biting, cuts through the air like a sharp blade. “Thanks.”

He says he wants to be alone, but… you sense his loneliness. He doesn’t need solitude, nor does he want it. But clearly, friendliness does nothing to crack his hard exterior.

You stay, elbows perched against the brick-lined balcony, the gentle summer wind caressing your exposed skin.

There’s barely three feet of space between you, but even then he’s a thousand miles away.

He hasn’t made a move to look at you; he hasn’t glanced your way once. Time keeps ticking, the sun slinking lower till golden hour envelops everything it touches, long brush strokes painting the city in its gilded warmth.

You’re nearly done with your drink. Is a refill worth it or should you just make your way home?

It should be an easy decision, but this chiseled stranger is anchoring you in place. You’re too curious to leave, but not nosy enough to prod.

“Apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he murmurs finally. “I won’t be here long.”

You shake your head, the movement catching his eye. He glances your way and you finally get a glimpse of his rich brown irises, a similar color to his disheveled hair, thoroughly raked through with his long fingers.

His brow is set, deep wrinkles framing his eyes like warning signs.

But… although everything else about him is intimidating, his eyes are not.

There’s a fire that burns in him, the flames threatening to lick your skin raw if you get too close, but his irises, sooty and morose, tell a different story.

You stamp away your nervousness, instead pulling from the little bit of courage you’ve gained from your curiosity.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Stay.

His posture relaxes ever so slightly at your admission.

More time passes and it’s clear he’s reflecting. He can’t tear his eyes away from the street.

“You don’t seem like the type to take to strangers.”

A ghost of a smile and he turns to face you, finally.

“It’s easier this way.”

Something in the way he says it makes you want to embrace him.

He says it like there’s no other way, like he’s resigned to his fate. Like no one could ever possibly understand.

That doesn’t stop you from trying.

“It could be easy, though,” you start, taking a tentative step towards him. He doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t know me, I don’t know you,” you continue. “If you won’t judge me, I won’t judge you.”

You flash him your palms and shrug. “I promise I’m a good listener.”

“I’m not much of a talker.”

You shrug again, less animated this time. “There’s no harm in trying.”

He winces ever so slightly and a brief spark of something you don’t recognize flashes across his face.

“We could start with your name,” you say.

“Miguel,” he says, voice gravelly, almost unused. “O’Hara.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you repeat back. “We’re getting somewhere.

––––

He doesn’t know why he told you his name. Of course, you wouldn’t know that he’s Spiderman, because this earth’s Spiderman hasn’t been bitten yet.

So, he’s safe – for now.

There’s a tiny part of him – buried deep – that wants to blurt it out. I’m Spiderman. I help people. It’s consumed my entire life. I’m a good guy.

Does it matter? If he told you the truth, you might not think so.

And similarly, any self-importance, any need for validation died inside of him when he lost her that day. Today.

He stares down at the paved road, soaks it in.

The parked cars and meandering bodies twisting between the spaces – careless sprints across the street to greet friends who linger in the lamplight. Beat up parking meters and camera phones flashing – idle chatter and the bliss of shared company.

Miguel soaks it in like he does every year, reliving the worst moment of his existence on repeat while the world keeps turning without him.

He can still feel the earth crumbling beneath his feet as he helplessly tried to outrun the inevitable – the demise that he brought upon himself.

She’s weightless and trembling in his hands, terrified and screaming for him – and then she’s gone.

One moment, she’s the center of his universe; the next, it’s as if she never existed.

One moment, he’s at the dinner table helping her with her homework, icing homemade cupcakes for her class party, bringing her to Saturday morning soccer games at the local park – and the next, the world he tried so desperately to fit into fades away into nothing.

Bound by fate, a finite end.

Miguel was never supposed to be happy. It wasn’t in the cards for him.

The universe proves it to him time and time again.

“So… Miguel. How are you? Really?”

He tears his gaze away from the ground and back to you again.

You watch him with a curiosity and care that he’s not used to. It’s been a long time since anyone paid attention to him like this.

Fuck it. Maybe it’s time for a change. A brief break in the neverending cycle.

----

sorry this is short !! i wanted to put out this part to see if anyone’s interested in being tagged in part two – which is going to include smut, and like i said in the a/n please have your age in bio! just comment below if so :-)

i’ll be putting this on ao3 tonight as well if you’d rather read it that way! likes/rbs/comments appreciated <3

[keylovesstuff]

It's Finally Finished hehe

Little Events-Chapter 5

AO3

FFN

Peach hummed softly tapping the end of the pen lightly against her cheek. The Princess could feel a headache coming along as she reviewed some of the papers scattered across her desk. There had to be some information that she was overlooking and not considering all the facts. Placing the pen down, she pushed herself away from the desk and slouched back into the chair, rubbing her temples, she let out another long sigh and for a few moments, she let her mind wonder. It's been four years since she's taken on the role as her people's leader. Only In the last couple of years did she begin to feel confident in making and handling decisions on her own with her team of advisors backing them up. Policies were either modified or removed as they all deemed fit.

Peach had to admit that she was proud to see just how far her home has come from her childhood to the current day. What was once a small and humble community consisting of thirty people now has hundreds. Tiny tents were now fully built and furnished mushroom houses and all the toads were finding their place in the Kingdom. Through alliances she's made over the past few years, some toads moved to different areas. Those were more bittersweet and the first few times it happened, she took it to heart that she was doing something wrong that made them want to leave. It took a long conversation with Toadsworth about where life takes others sometimes for her to understand and that she shouldn't take such actions personally. There were times she felt a little envy for them being able to leave and make their home elsewhere.

Sometimes she would get in her head about remaining in the Mushroom kingdom till old age. The idea wasn't necessarily a bad thing since that's what came with pledging her life to the people as they had done to her all those years ago and of course she'd do it all over again. It's just that at times she wished she'd got to experience more things before taking on all that responsibility. Maybe some time away would do her good, three days would be enough. It had been awhile since she'd been out or even just seen anyone. 

At that thought with another sigh she pulled herself up to the desk once again and rested her cheek in the palm of her left hand picking up one the pieces of paper with the other, glancing at it not being really bothered to read. Not that she particularly wanted to see anyone even with the fact that the only two people she could think of were probably busy with their own things. In the few letters she's read from Bowser, she remembered him telling her about finally succeeding in creating an egg. That part she was quite happy with, what annoyed her the most about him though was the persistent proposing in both the letters and anytime they met face to face and that started not even a week after she ended her engagement with Haru. It's been two years and she still wasn't sure if she'd ever have the confidence to show her face to him or step foot in his kingdom again after the way she broke things off. The King and Queen of Flower kingdom for its credit didn't seem to mind renegotiating their alliances via letters. Haru had sent letters of his own, seeing if they could arrange some sort of meet-ups, to which she'd always write back about being busy.

Shaking her head she refocused her attention to the matter at hand as it was approaching the early part of the evening. The summer was approaching and it was looking to be a little hotter than the last one. Seemed like a simple solution she told the council earlier in the day, she'd look over the paperwork and see what sort of power ups there were and if needed would see if there was any way to have them imported within the next few weeks. In the three hours of looking through what seemed like the same thing over again nothing seemed to be clicking. Sometimes she wished there was a better way to keep things organized for easy searching instead of having to dig through filed paperwork. It was a Longshot she thought as she pulled out a map of the entire land, her eyes tracing the areas in the blue regions. It took her about twenty minutes between her pinpointing the source she had to go through and referring to a book on everything they gathered over years.

"It would take a couple days there and back even with the shortest route it seems" Peach spoke aloud to herself as she continued studying the map while marking multiple routes to the destination with the pen. "I have no choice though, I took an oath to do everything in my power" she reaffirmed to herself. 

There was just one thing or rather person who she'd have to convince to allow her to go on this mission. Peach took a few minutes to prepare all her findings, herself , and Think about what she could possibly say. With one final exhale she gathered up everything and left her office and was faced with the closed door across the hall. Raising a gloved hand up she gave it a knock and opened it when the voice gave her permission to enter.

"A pleasant evening to you my dear Princess wouldn't you agree?" The mustached Toad behind the desk with his own paperwork asked. 

Peach nodded her head in response and took a seat on the other side when he motioned for her to sit down.

"I was just about to come check on you once I finished up here. It would seem that it's one of the rare times you've got done first" he said with a chuckle, writing some last minute notes before closing the book and giving her his full attention. "You are finished right dear? I noticed you bought some materials" he pointed a finger at the objects she held loosely in her arms.

"I have just about everything completed. Though I could use some of your help reviewing it once more before presenting it all to the council tomorrow morning. If you don't mind, that is." Peach told him while laying both the book and map down on the table.

The Princess figured this would be the best way to open the discussion with Toadsworth. This wasn't the first time she asked him to read over the details of plans she wanted to put in motion. There were times he'd pick out the tiniest bits she had overlooked or ignored completely. It also wasn't the first time she asked him to review speeches she had written out before presenting it to everyone. These weren't firsts and certainly wouldn't be the last. Toadsworth was her trustworthy advisor for a reason, he'd give the truth to her straight. Been doing that all her life actually, she couldn't ask for no one better.

If there was one thing she could get him to see more often, it would be for him to see past the tiny little girl he'd constantly worried about all those years ago and acknowledge her for the strong leader that sits before him now.

"Of course Princess. I'm ready whenever you're ready to start." He folded his hands in front of him and sat them on the desk.

Toadsworth let Peach explain the first draft of her plan and If it wasn't for the growing concern and hesitant nod of his head she saw from the corner of her eye the longer she went on, the Princess would've finally thought she came up with the perfect plan from the start.

"And so you see while we never had use for the ice flower before, It would be very useful now and I think it would be for the best if we add it in our monthly imports" The Princess concluded finally looking him in the eyes. "The trip will take a few days but, I trust you and the council will be able to take care of everything in my absence." She added. 

The silence between them lasted for about two minutes. The mustached toad let out a long sigh removing his glasses and placing it on the desk. With his hands crossed and placed under his chin he gathered his words.

"You are asking for quite a lot out of us my Princess as I'm sure you're aware of, yes?" Toadsworth asked and she nodded. "And while I'm confident in our abilities to handle everything, are you certain you have thought it all through?" He questioned, prompting her to look everything over.

"I believe so," Peach said, now more uncertain than when she initially came in at first. 

Toadsworth had certainly seen something she hadn't considered and instead of just saying it he wanted her to figure it out on her own. Peach found it a bit annoying when he insisted on doing that on one hand but understood it completely on the other hand. As a leader she had to think outside the box and about all the possibilities before advisors bought them up. Always had to have an answer to everything.

So what was he trying to get her to see? Was the question that ran through her mind as she reviewed the materials.

"Well we already have an alliance in place for a little over six months now. Sure we haven't traded resources but I'm certain I can set up something. While we have an abundance of all different types of mushrooms, the same could be said for their flowers." She talks it out while flipping through her notes. "Their King does seem like a reasonable person to agree with if that's what you're getting at" she told Toadsworth as she skimmed through the Penguins profile.

"You've only met him in person once, Princess. How can you be so certain? You are aware that just having a feeling that it'll just work out doesn't guarantee anything without having the actions to back it up" Toadsworth pointed out.

"While I can't be 100% certain it will all work out, it's all I can think of and I'm willing to give it all I got." She told him honestly cause as he's pointed out she really was just going off the feeling that everything will just fall into place. "I can write up something that no one could pass on," Peach added, hoping that would satisfy him.

"Princess you've never used an ice flower before-" Toadsworth started but the princess cut him off.

"The effects aren't as different compared to the fire flower I've noticed and I've been using that for years now. See?" She told him as she showed off the notes on another page. "Sure there might be a curve to it but, I'm confident in my abilities to master it" she assured him.

"Have you thought about any other options if this doesn't work out?" Toadsworth asked her again. 

Oh so he was really wondering if she had thought of a plan b and maybe even a c is what went through Peach's mind.

"Truthfully no and I know it's not the most ideal way to go about it but I haven't gotten a yes or no yet. Until I get something I can't properly come up with other solutions." Peach closed the book and rolled up the map. "Just trust me to do it this way first and if for some reason I come back empty handed, you and the council can do some research in my absence and once I return we can all look it over" she told him.

"You will take a couple of the royal guards with you, yes?" He asked and she looked like she was thinking against the idea. "Please Princess, if you're placing the responsibility of the Kingdom to me here then I want others there to ensure your safety." He got up from his seat and walked around the desk in front of her grabbing her hands.

"Yes Toadsworth I will. As they will be there to ensure my safety, I will do the same for them." Peach Promised him, squeezing his hands. "I will prepare that speech and turn in for the evening. I want to try to leave by the afternoon tomorrow and I will be back in three days." She let go and stood from the chair picking up the stuff she bought in.

"You had better or I'll journey to the Snow Kingdom myself to see what's taking you so long. I may not have a bike like you but I'm not beneath walking or finding any other means to get there you know" Toadsworth told her.

"I know you will," Peach laughed though she knew from experience that he was serious. Toadsworth was literally the embodiment of not allowing old age to hold him back from doing anything being in his fifties. "Please enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll see you in the meeting tomorrow morning." She bent down for him to hug her the best he could with stuff in her hands.

After she had left and he heard her office door close he went back to sit behind his desk for a while in silence. It would only be for four days he told himself but that still felt too long for him if he was honest. The Princess is their leader though and as her most trusted advisor, he had to have complete faith in everything she does.

________

The Princess had everything and more with the insistence of Toadsworth ready to go. With the climate being the way it was in ice kingdom she would not be underdressed or returning back home ill if he could help it. After one final check of her bike and the sidecar the toad guards would be occupying, They all bid their farewells and left. 

Operations for the next couple of days ran smooth but to the elder toad the hours felt like forever. On one hand taking care of all the citizens brought back memories of the older days. On the other hand it also felt unusual without their ruler around. The members of the council seemed to agree with Toadsworth sentiment when he bought it up. That final night before her scheduled return, he was preparing to sleep and was anxiously looking forward to her return. Toadsworth had great faith that she would succeed but wanted to hear about the journey from her own mouth. 

Toadsworth deliberately took long on the last of his own personal work when the Princess had not returned by the afternoon. He wanted to be the first to welcome her home and was willing to wait as long as it took to make it happen. Going as far to even leave both the light on and door to his office ajar to capture her attention as she returned to her private chambers. It was going on 11 at night before he finally heard the distant sound of the castle door open followed by heavy footsteps. That puzzled him for a moment but not enough for him to leave his office to investigate. The Princess had the guards she initially left with to help carry whatever they had bought from their trip. If they needed extra muscle power they surely would've sent for some of the staff members who resided in the castle. 

"Oh dear, it would seem that these numbers are slightly low compared to last month." Toadsworth talked aloud pulling out his mini notebook making a note to bring it up in tomorrow's meeting. At the sound of his door opening up the rest of the way he didn't look up from his writing. "Welcome home your Majesty, I trust your trip went well and you must be exhausted." He smiled fondly with a chuckle and only after looking up did that look get placed with one of disdain at the person who entered.

"By the sound of that statement, I take it Her Majesty's out?" The Koopa King asked closing the door shut behind him after walking all the way inside.

"To what does the Kingdom owe a visit from you at such a late hour of the night King Bowser? Something urgent I presume?" Toadsworth responded with a couple of questions of his own. Doing his best to remain respectful.

"If Marrying your Princess is something you'd consider urgent or important, you could say that's why I'm here."  He said a sinister smile slowly gracing his face "Thing is, I've grown more than tired of the rejections. If you know what I mean."

"If you're expecting me to talk her into accepting a proposal from you, then you're sorely mistaken Bowser." Toadsworth raised his voice a little higher slamming his tiny fist on the table. "In fact I would rather drop dead myself before giving you any sort of a blessing of mine" at that moment he got up from his desk and was just inches away from the giant dragon turtle.

Bowser was not at all intimidated by the older man getting all up in his personal space. The King crossed his arms over his chest as if to control himself, though his tail swayed side to side slowly. Toadsworth briefly took notice but that didn't stop him from backing down or finishing speaking.  

"That's my final answer to the matter." Toadsworth finished fixing his beady black eyes with Bowser's red ones. After a few tense seconds of silence, he went to open the door and motioned him out with his arm. "Now if you would like to be kind enough to exit, I have more important matters to attend to as it is getting late."

Toadsworth was initially shocked that Bowser was following orders from him of all people. He knew that was too good to be true. Just a couple feet out the door,  Bowser paused and slowly did a 180 facing the mustached toad with a threatening expression that sent a chill down his spine.

"If your dead body is all it takes for our marriage to be" He told him sadistically backing Toadsworth into the office once more. "Consider it done" he finished gravely.

With a spin of his body, Bowser's tail made contact with Toadsworth's right arm, sending him flying across the room. His body slammed hard against the wall first before plopping on the ground. Everything happened so fast, he could barely process the sensation of his bone breaking or the  piercing scream he let out waking up the entire castle.

"Don't worry it'll all be over soon" Bowser said, preparing what was looking to be a deadly fire breath.

Through blurry vision, Toadsworth closed his eyes and sent one last prayer and apology to the Princess he pledged his entire life too. All at once memories of her flashed through his eyes. While the majority were good ones, there were also some regrets of not handling things better. Still he prepared to meet his burning end and was surprised when it never came.

"Toadsworth!" A desperate scream of his name from an all too familiar voice was the last thing he heard before Bowser was forced away from his body with a swift kick to the face.

The last thing he saw was the back of her. Though he couldn't see her face, he imagined she wore an uncharacteristic expression of anger on her face. The Halberd she held was in an attack position as it seemed she was waiting for Bowser to make the next move.

"Princess" he all but whispered and reached out with his  good hand out to her back before dropping it to the ground as Toadsworth's body finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

“How lovely it is for you to show up just in time to accept my wedding proposal, Princess." Bowser started standing up and brushing off specks of dust. "As you may be able to tell, your dear Toadsworth isn't too keen on the idea of our union." He nodded in the direction of the fallen toad and relished at the sight of Peach gripping the weapon tighter.

"This is the only chance I'm giving you to leave peacefully" Peach told him, voice steady with a threatening undertone.

"Oh really? And what are you going to do about it if I don't?" Bowser chuckled, cracking both fists in the palm of each hand. "You know you never stood a chance against when it comes to hand to hand combat" with that he cracked his neck on both sides 

"I don't care about that right now. If you're planning on returning home in one piece, Leave now" she said again louder with emphasis on the last two words taking a few steps in his direction.

"All you gotta do is say yes." At his words, Peach stopped and her face scrunched up in confusion at the change in demeanor. "Become my Queen, My Kingdom has it all...except you" he explained coming closer to her.

Bowser was caught slightly off guard when Peach shoved the weapon just under his chin. He lifted his face up as she moved the halberd and put both hands up.

"Even if you had this world's most invincible artifact, I would never marry you" she told him with so much conviction in her voice.

"So you choose to go down fighting? I must admit that I like that in a partner. " Bowser said, raising a finger onto the blade prompting her to lower it a bit. "You'll be saying yes in a little while" with his other hand he grabbed the shaft and yanked it along with her forward.

With a yelp, Peach's grip loosened and the next moment she was across the room by the door. Bowser dropped the weapon to the ground in front of him. At that moment about five more toad guards showed up to her aid. One of the two that journeyed with her to the ice kingdom had returned with the native flower in hand. 

"Master Toadsworth" a guard had called out and started in the elders direction.

Time seemed to be moving fast and slow all at once for Peach to take in. One moment she saw Bowser preparing to send a breath of fire in the other direction. The next moment she didn't even register, demanding the toad to pass her the flower. A few seconds after activating its power with her current attire changing white and pale blue in color she sped their way just as Bowser released his fire. Forming an ice in front of her people with one hand, the fire made impact shattering it into smaller pieces leaving the toads unharmed. With her other hand she sent ice blasts the Koopa King's way encasing  his entire body in ice. Entirely immobilized, Peach worked on catching her breath walking towards him, only stopping to bend down to pick up the halberd.

"So this is how I meet my end" He laughed darkly as she once again held the weapon to his neck. Sensing her hesitation, he continued "Go ahead and do it Princess. My entire army will be here not even a day later after word of my death spreads. No amount of power ups in the world will be able to protect you or this Kingdom" Bowser moved his head up the best he could given his position to give her a cleaner cut.

Peach was silent. Thinking about what the next best course of action should be. Part of her mind was telling her to follow the movements through to be rid of him for good. At that she pulled the weapon away slightly to gather some force. The other part of her mind insisted that this wasn't her and begged her to consider the consequences of the future. The results weren't looking too desirable if she was honest and at that, she lowered the weapon again.

"You know Peaches, with how long it's taking you to make a choice, Any chance in saving that old man's life is slipping away" Bowser delightfully reminded her of what he had done to him just moments before she showed up.

"Huh? Toadsworth?" Peach spoke, losing her train of thought and glancing back behind. 

Another guard had joined the previous one and was knelt on the ground head against Toadsworth chest. 

"He's breathing but barely, go get help" the guard alerted, another disappeared down the hall.

"Make your decision Peaches. Kill me now or live to face me another day." Peach looked right back at him as he spoke. "Know if you choose the second option, I'll have you living in constant fear. You'll never know when I will strike. I'm going to make you wish you said 'yes' sooner" Bowser promised.

An ice blasts to his face followed that statement. Finally he was quiet, she thought with some satisfaction. Her attention returned to Toadsworth who was being carefully attended to a few medical toads. The other guards were now at their Princesses side with their weapons pointing at the Koopa King, awaiting her command.

"I can guarantee you I won't be thinking that. You guys can stand down." Peach told the guards and they did."If this is your way of proclaiming war against me then so be it."

All that was left to do was to remove Bowser from the castle. Unfreezing him wasn't exactly an option and she couldn't exactly trust him to just leave quietly. Just as she thought to get one of their many red mushrooms to make carrying the icy King to the pipe easier, floating shapes sparkled in the air followed by Kamek appearing.

"I sensed you needed a hand my lord" He directed towards his King and with a wave of his wand, Bowser started to disappear. "The Koopa Nation looks forward to taking down your pathetic Kingdom" was the wizards last remark before he disappeared as well.

There were some matters that needed her urgent attention. After a long trip, the last thing she wanted to think about was pulling an all-nighter on royal duties. However, making sure Toadsworth was taken care of was top priority.

"Take Toadsworth to the medical wing and you guys are to do everything you can  to make sure he's brought back to stable condition, Am I clear?" Though she kept her voice calm and collected, Her mind was racing with negative thoughts that it might be too late.

Minutes after everyone had left, she stood alone in his office failing to find comfort in the silence. It took her a little while longer to compose herself. A few steady breaths later, she headed out to go and be by Toadsworth side.

________

It was approaching dawn and instead of getting better, Toadsworth's condition was on a steady decline if the heartbeat on the monitor and labored breathing was any indication. The elder toad was a fighter through and through but, with old age, bouncing back from anything was a great challenge.

"Princess Peach" , one of the Doctors, called her attention after closing the door. "We've tried just about everything we can. We're not sure if there's anything else we can do" he broke the tough news to her.

"No, are you sure? Are you absolutely positive you've guys tried everything you could think of?" Peach asked as she stood up from Toadsworth bedside and sped over to the Doctor.

"All the herbal medicines known to toadkind and every power-up we've access to known to heal instantly" The doctor explained showing the clipboard of everything they did and the results.

"There has to be something we haven't tried yet. please" Peach begged frantically flipping through all the papers. 

The Doctor Toad hummed deep in thought. Making a mental checklist of anything else he's missed and other stuff they haven't tried. That's when an idea hit him, it was a longshot and there wasn't a 100% guarantee that it would work but it's their only option.

"The green mushroom" The doctor started and after her question, hummed he continued "We've still been studying it and haven't discovered a concrete use for it. If you give us permission to try it on master Toadsworth...may we"

"Yes, do it please" Peach spoke, not letting him finish. "We have to try all the options no matter how slim the chance. Go get it now" she told him.

The Doctor left immediately to gather the mushroom leaving the Princess alone with Toadsworth once again. Peach returned to sir in the chair by his bedside and grabbed one of his limp hands in both of hers.

"This has to work. You have to pull through for me, Toadsworth. I still need you for so much" Peach laid her head down on their joint hands.

Everyone in the room was amazed at what the green mushroom did for a person. Toadsworth's heartbeat on the monitor returned back to normal. There were toads scribbling notes in their notepads and observing Toadsworth condition the best they could while he was under the covers. They dubbed the power up, the 1-up mushroom. Even after testing It on one person, they came to the conclusion that it had the capabilities to bring the consumer back from any near-death experiences. While it did need more tests, No one, Peach especially didn't want her people putting themselves in that predicament just to be 100% positive of what it could do. The 1-up mushroom would purely be a last resort option and she had a lot of thinking to do if she was going to share this discovery with her current or future allies.

Thinking about her current allies, there was also an uncertainty of bringing them up to speed about Bowser's declaration of war on her Kingdom. Rulers had already been skeptical about forming alliances with her nation based on the ties she had with the Darklands before, what would happen now? Not just that Peach thought, it wasn't just about the safety of her Kingdom but others as well, Bowser wouldn't spare anyone. This is something she'd have to handle alone. 

It took a few weeks for Toadsworth to recover fully save for taking some time to properly adjust to using a cane.

"I would've had to use one of these eventually, my dear. That reptilian scoundrel just sped up the process" Toadsworth told her with a chuckle when Peach sadly looked at him as he walked across the room to his desk. "Alright let's review"

All access to the darklands via pipes were destroyed just a couple days after Bowser's surprise visit. It may have been extreme on her part, but she thought it had to be done. In that one day time window, anyone that's made their home in her kingdom but native to the darklands was to return. In her mind she just couldn't risk surprise attacks or those who's shaky loyalty was still to the King spreading valuable information. Surprisingly the termination of their treaty went through without problems, no talking just signing letters and returning it via mail. Toadsworth agreed with the majority of all the new policies but, when it came to the potential evacuation plan, that's where he had some problems no matter how many times they reviewed it.

"The people are to do no such thing, we will stand by your side or die trying before we let you surrender yourself to be his Bride. You are our Princess" He would always slam his tiny fist upon the table and raise his voice.

"And I'd rather avoid any casualties if possible, Toadsworth. I'm the one Bowser wants at the end of the day." Peach would always say to reason with him. "I rather you all live a peaceful life elsewhere than stay here and be enslaved under his rule."

"What you fail to understand is that people like Bowser won't just stop after getting what he wants. That madman wants it all. The entire world would be enslaved in months, no weeks probably." Toadsworth countered.

"Then you guys can live peacefully for weeks or months wherever you guys go and hopefully their leaders are able to put up better resistance than I ever could as a leader" she always said hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

"What's the plan if you end up taking him down though. You must have one for that possibility" Toadsworth challenged as she looked unsure.

"Then...Then I'll visit all the places where everyone would have settled and if they choose to return home, I'll continue being the best leader I can be as I promised." Peach would tell him after thinking for a bit.

It was still something that never sat right with Toadsworth even a few years later, though the Princess was very adamant about keeping that plan in place, not allowing any changes to it in the slightest. Toadsworth along with the guards and council members constructed a meticulous method of their own when it came to gathering Intel on what the King Koopa's plans were in the Darklands. With the elders Toads guidance and decision making, they met with a select few councils of other Kingdoms to put extra plans in motion, there would be signs and signals they were to look out for. Sure it was a bad look by not including their Princess in these plans, but in Toadsworth eyes it was necessary to do so, Peach would insist for them not to get involved at all. They did fill their leader in on an important piece of information they found out about four months later.

"The Power star" Toadsworth shared all his notes from research on the item. "Legends say it hasn't existed for centuries now but it holds great power. We're almost certain that's what Bowser's looking for if his airships traveling different places is any indication." He finished.

"It doesn't make any sense, why go through the trouble of searching for something that hasn't been seen I'm centuries unless he found a positive trail" Peach asked aloud.

"That we're not quite sure. Rest assured we're keeping a close eye on the situation and share any new findings as soon as possible Princess." He assured her with a hand on hers. "With any luck, let's hope that he continues his futile efforts in search for this star." He finished.

"If I'm honest it gets to me sometimes Toadsworth" Peach started after an awkward silence holding her head down avoiding his eyes. "There hasn't been so much as any direct attacks on his end since that day. I've upped my training regimen but I don't know if it will be enough when he does do something." She finished with a sigh.

Toadsworth wasn't sure what to say that would just be giving her false hope or putting intense pressure on her to deliver but it was the truth if anything.

"You will know what to do when the time comes Princess. We all have faith in you. So have it in yourself. " Toadsworth said, squeezing her hand.

A few more months went by and with nothing new to report on, Toadsworth or rather the others along with the Princess, thought it would be ok for him to take a well earned two week vacation to isle del fino. The council promised him that everything would remain in order while he was away and to send for him if anything came up as soon as possible. It took a lot of convincing on their part for him to finally accept it but by the next day he had everything packed up and was heading down the hall of the castle to get to the pipe that would take him to the airport.

The Princess met him in the hall after the usual morning meeting. She was surprised to see that he was still here.

"I hope you have a nice trip Toadsworth.  Please try not to think about work while you're on vacation, we have everything handled here." Peach told him feeling more confident than she'd had in a long while.

"I know you will. You're an amazing leader my dear. I will do my best to put work in the back of my mind but it can be challenging. I'll write to you as soon as I get there" He said, motioning her to give him a hug.

Peach kneeled down to his level and wrapped her arms around him. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes. She walked with him to the pipe and helped him up, waiting for him to completely disappear before returning to the castle. She quietly worked in her office for about two hours before one of the council members burst into the room with dire news.

"Princess Peach, The Ice Kingdom has fallen. It's Bowser, he's found the Power star." The blue toad desperately told her.

[aemontargaryen-bloodraven]

Jon Snow & The Trees With Faces

In Jon V, ADWD, Jon comes across three trees, the Ash, the Chestnut and the Oak. The way those trees are described and the fact that the number three always says something significant seemed to me that these three trees indicate phases of Jon's life?

The Ash Tree

The first tree that Jon encounters is an Ash Tree,

"The drunkard was an ash tree, twisted sideways by centuries of wind. And now it had a face. A solemn mouth, a broken branch for a nose, two eyes carved deep into the trunk, gazing north up the kingsroad, toward the castle and the Wall." Jon V, ADWD

The Ash Tree on the whole symbolises Jon's duty as a Stark, to the Nights Watch or the Nights Watch itself. It is called the "drunkard", which is a nice call back to Jon's first chapter where Jon got too drunk because he was upset and blurted out that he wanted to join the Nights Watch.

Also, the fact that it is twisted sideways is intriguing because the Nights Watch is not what it was once before. Its purpose and state are twisted, it was meant to keep the Others Beyond the Wall and not the Wildlings. The same can be said about the Starks as well.

And now it has a face again - Jon's. Jon is solemn, "lord Stark's sullen bastard" is of a "broken branch" of the Starks (female line, Lyanna's son) .. "two eyes carved deep" ... He's always been presented as observant "You don't miss much, do you Jon?"

The tree is gazing up the Kingsroad toward the Castle and the Wall, which is again a throwback to when Jon realises that he had no place else to go and that Wall was where he had to be.

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King's Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. "I have not sworn yet," he muttered. Jon V, AGOT

He ultimately does swear his vows and chooses the Wall and he has, throughout the story been focused on the North, Castle Black and the Wall.

The Chestnut

Growing.. beside an icy stream, where its eyes could watch the old plank bridge that spanned its flow. The chestnut was leafless and skeletal, but its bare brown limbs were not empty. On a low branch overhanging the stream a raven sat hunched, its feathers ruffled up against the cold. When it spied Jon it spread its wings and gave a scream. When he raised his fist and whistled, the big black bird came flapping down, crying, “Corn, corn, corn.” Jon V, ADWD

As of ADWD, he is creating a bridge between the Wildlings and South of the Wall. He is assimilating them in the North by marriage, taking hostages and making them guard the other Castles of the Nights Watch.

Though the tree is leafless and looks skeletal, it's not dead just in stasis, just like Jon is in the Nights Watch. He is leafless because till now he keeps cutting his connections from his blood/Starks/family. While in the Nights Watch, Jon has done what was within his power and more to set things to right but he is getting stagnant at the Wall.

The tree's bare brown limbs are not empty, the sap will flow, it will put out leaves. The sap flows, it did flow when blood called, his little sister, Arya was in danger. He is the blood of Winterfell.

Mormont's raven is there. The Corn King has been buried/dead. The raven saying, Corn King Jon Snow is this part of Jon's arc.

The Corn King is a sacrificed fertility figure, either a god or sacred king. Jon does die at the end of ADWD, but will return to life to play his part in the War to come, possibly with his third eye opened and bring restoration to the land somehow.

The Oak Tree

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

The oak is huge and great ..and Jon may become a huge (great) figure, and Kingsroad is again mentioned, that was when he looked at Kingsroad again this time it is what is coming from the South (Ramsay, Bolton/Politics of the Realm).

Not a friendly face, Jon won't be a friendly man when he comes back to life either. He would be especially angry considering what he has experienced.

Jon while "dead" may learn what he needs to learn about himself. And the wounds that he was given during the assassination would be fresh as well. He is not going to trust anyone easily, considering how betrayed he will feel after not only being dead and then revived but also learning that he has lived a lie and was sent to the Nights Watch with that lie.

While his wounds are still fresh, he will tear his roots from the earth, get away from the Nights Watch, down the Kingsroad again and will come roaring after his enemies.

[kookie-doughs]

Happy Meal

Hawks / Keigo Takami X Reader

-As a young mother YN didn't know what to do when the number 2 hero had taken the last happy meal that her son so desperately want.

Chapter 18: Still A Child

That night Hawks managed to calm the child and explain his new found quirk. He was extremely scared of it. Tsunagu had made him the gloves as soon as he saw what the child had done.

He broke... or desintegrated might be a better word... Ronald Mcdonald.

After Sato calmed and got reassurance, he slept and was taken home. Endeavour came with what you can only assume his entire agency or maybe city with the number of people, all of which signed up for the fight.

Hawks grabbed Toshinori and Enji and pulled them away from the crowd.

"Sato surfaced another quirk." The two looked at each other... "Its the worst one..."

"What do you mean?" Toshinori asked.

"Shigaraki's..."

Hawks nodded.

"You mean the crumbling one?!" Toshinori coughed blood.

"He disintegrated McDonald's. "

"What was the other quirks he's surfaced?"

"Flight or levitation I'm not sure, his mother's quirk which is a booming voice. He can also force someone to use their quirk... he did it with his mom, and now disintegration..."

Toshinori flinched, "Force quirk activation... that's All for One's quirk..."

Hawks froze.

"YN said, AFO was picking between her and Shigaraki to carry the quirk. He's been dosing them both with his quirk. Maybe that's why Sato..."

"The child might have All For One..."

"I don't know what all for one is." Toshinori and Hawks proceeded to explain to Enji what was very important about that.

"Bring him with us." Enji nods.

"Are you crazy?! No! He's like not even 10 years old i dont care what explanation you were gonna make thats just stupid! He can be stronger than all 3 of us at once but he's still a child."

The three continued to talk about a plan. Up till night and then they separated because tomorrow is the day when it will all end.

Tomorrow is the day you're coming back.

He got Sato who slept peacefully and went back to his home for sleep. He held the boy closer to him and kissed his head.

"After all these. I'm going to protect you and make sure nothing happens. To the both you and your mom."

He was settling down when a knock echoed. "Bird-boy come here its important."

Slowly scooting away from the kid, careful not to wake him up. He goes out of the room to see Rumi and Enji.

"What's up?"

"HPSC," Enji states.

"They made an interview. News spread quick."

"Fuck... So they made public about Y/N and Sato?"

Rumi nodded. "They're not going to have a normal life here anymore..."

"Hawks, the good news is so far no one had contact me backing out from the plan."

"I dont care. I'm going there tomorrow no matter what." He pulls out his phone to scroll through the media. "I'm just... worried for Sato and Y/N..."

Enji pats Hawks back, "get some rest. We came here only to let you know. Tomorrow you need all your energy."

Hawks nodded at the two who exits the home. Upon being left alone he crumbles. Biting his lip, deep breaths through his nose.

"Tomorrow it'll be over."

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @faithneko @officiallykuute @pinksilk @applepie-macaroon @lolawassad @grinnwolph

[moltz23]

How a Concealed Route-split Cut the Black Eagle House in Two [Fire Emblem: Three Houses Analysis/Essay]

(This wasn't meant to be a repost but tumblr doesn't allow me to edit titles so...)

A long while ago, I did an analysis of each of Three Houses’ routes and all the minutia involved in them that plays a part in each one’s difficulty (level scaling, unit availability, available equipment, enemy composition, etc.). One thing that struck me about it that I failed to mention back then, is that, of the four paths available, two - Silver Snow and Crimson Flower - feel lacking in terms of content and resources compared to the remaining half, a notion which has been brought up by the Fire Emblem fandom multiple times in the past by now.

The thing is though, data shows there’s room to argue this was done on purpose.

For those who are out of the loop on what I’m yapping about; Fire Emblem: Three Houses features four main routes/storylines: Crimson Flower, Azure Moon, Verdant Wind, and Silver Snow (which even serve as the basis for the game’s japanese subtitle: Wind Flower Snow Moon). In spite of this though, the game presents three paths at the start of the game: Black Eagles, Blue Lions, and Golden Deer. The game handles this by having Azure Moon and Verdant Wind be the second half of the Blue Lions and Golden Deer routes respectively, and by having Black Eagles split into two different branches right before the second half of the plot starts: the Silver Snow branch (where the player sides against Edelgard); and the Crimson Flower branch (where the player sides with Edelgard). Black Eagles, according to developer interviews, was chosen to get this route split during early stages of development, and was not supposed to be directly advertised:

–On top of that, [Black Eagles] also had a hidden story branch.

Yokota: We kept it hidden, but the idea to have a story branch was there since the creation of the Black Eagle route.

–Did you have plans to implement a story branch for the other houses?

Yokota: No. We only decided it for the Black Eagle house and to keep it a secret. Edelgard is a character with a unique position, but we thought it would be more interesting to have two stories here, then we implemented the triggers for it.

Has anyone ever wondered how important this decision was from a design standpoint? If it feels shoehorned in? Or, if it’s impossible to divorce Black Eagles from it? 

Well, for those who just wanna skip to the end of this whole analysis, the answer I’ve reached is the last one: Black Eagles does not feel complete when only one of its branches are considered, unlike Blue Lions and Golden Deer, which from the start were designed as more straightforward and standalone packages.

Thus, this analysis seeks to dwell further on the unique effects Black Eagles’ route-split caused to its design, how it’s expressed in various of its areas, and why the whole idea ran into some problems down the road that made this whole idea become ignored and forgotten. Just for this post, I also worked on a brief comparison document that highlights vital areas in which Black Eagle content was split (click here to see that breakdown for those interested). But for those seeking a more thorough analysis, I invite you to accompany me ‘till the end.

Before moving on, I feel it’s important to stress that, while I’ll be focusing mainly on gameplay-related factors, a few story elements will be brought up as well. Given the genesis of Black Eagles’ branching paths lie firmly in the story, this was inevitable.

1. Parallel War Arcs.

One of the first things that become apparent when you compare both Black Eagle branches, is  that each more or less does its own thing after Chapter 11. 

For the sake of this comparison, I’ll be focusing on factors like:

Average Enemy Level between Chapters (+ their Suggested Level, which is directly related to the AEL).

Available resources, and the timing in which new ones are unlocked and/or lost.

When the game stops using Intermediate Classes for enemies (in a more conventional Fire Emblem context, this would be like saying “when the game stops throwing Unpromoted Enemies at you).

On one hand there’s Silver Snow, the path that has you be the underdog fighting the invading Empire. In it:

The Average Enemy Level almost always increases by 2 per Chapter, regardless of the chosen difficulty. The only exception of this is the transition between Chapter 16 and 17, as the average level difference of enemies between both maps is 4.

The Armory/Vendor/Battalion Guild stock is updated a third and last time in Ch. 14 (it’s previously updated first in Ch. 3 and Ch. 8 for those curious).

Part 1 ends in Ch. 12 with a Suggested Level of 23.

The game stops throwing Intermediate Class enemies by Ch. 18 for main story maps.

The most number of bosses you’re forced to take down to clear main story missions is 4 in Ch. 16 once (3 if you play carefully), and then 2 for Chapter 18.

The difference in enemy levels between successive story missions is 1.

And finally, the route ends in Ch. 21 with a Suggested Level of 42.

On the other hand, the Crimson Flower campaign has you support the Empire and undo everything the Church holds dear. In it:

The Average Enemy Level almost always increases by 2 per Chapter, regardless of the chosen difficulty. The only shake-ups in terms of differences in average enemy level difference between story missions lie in the 2 Chapters which are done back to back:

Ch. 11 to Ch. 12: 4 in Normal & Hard, and 3 in Maddening.

Ch. 17 to Ch. 18: 2 in Normal & Hard, and 3 in Maddening.

The Armory/Vendor/Battalion Guild stock is updated one last time in Ch. 12.

Part 1 ends in Ch. 12 with a Suggested Level of 25.

The game stops throwing Intermediate Class enemies by Ch. 14 for main story missions.

The most number of bosses you’re forced to take down to clear story missions is 4 in Ch. 15 (3 if you play carefully), and then 5 for both Ch. 16 & Ch. 17.

And finally, the game ends in Ch. 18 with a final Suggested Level of 37.

If we dig a little deeper into other facets of the routes, it also comes to light how little maps - and in turn, plot beats - are shared between both branches, being the story each branch follows the key culprit behind the lack of overlap. The most we get between CF and SS are 3 shared locations (2 Garreg Mach maps and the Bridge of Myrddin), but besides this, the similarities end there.

In this regard, I’ll say the developers did a good job in making BE’s route-split drastically change the player’s experience. 

2. Available Resources.

Every resource involving Black Eagles & the Empire (characters, equipment, weapons, you name it) was distributed between both branches, splitting things in a way no Black Eagles path will ever be able to get everything.

For starters, Black Eagles locks you access to Cyril, Catherine and Seteth pre-Chapter 12. Afterwards, everything depends on whatever side the player picks:

Crimson Flower’s side lets the player keep Edelgard & Hubert, recruit Jeritza after the timeskip, and obtain all of their associated resources and boons. This is due to: 1. Edelgard and Hubert leaving the party after Chapter 11 for story-related reasons, and 2. Their associated content being locked to CF’s half of the story (Hubert’s even the only House Leader’s retainer with this distinction).

From the paid-DLC side of things, while Anna is playable in both Black Eagle routes, her paralogue and its rewards are locked to Crimson Flower’s post-timeskip.

Silver Snow’s side meanwhile, gets to keep Flayn, gives you access to Seteth, Catherine and Cyril, makes Ferdinand and Caspar’s associated resources available, and provides you access to Dorothea’s battalion, as well Rhea’s paralogue and its rewards. In Ferdinand and Caspar’s case, their paralogues rely on context absent in Crimson Flower; Dorothea’s dancer battalion is only obtainable during a story mission not available in CF; and Rhea’s paralogue hinges on her assisting Byleth after choosing to oppose Edelgard.

It’s worth noting that Ferdinand and Caspar’s paralogues, unlike Edelgard and Hubert’s, requires recruiting two out-of-house students to play them (Lysithea and Mercedes respectively).

One curious detail about the Silver Snow’s exclusive cast though, is that most of their resources are not locked behind the Church Route’s branch: 

Seteth and Flayn’s paralogue is doable pre-timeskip with just Flayn (thus making Seteth briefly playable). Incidentally, Ferdinand and Linhardt happen to have matching crests for their Sacred Weapons as well, ensuring Black Eagles will always have units which can make the most use of them.

Catherine’s paralogue can be accessed in Part 1 with only Ashe recruited (meaning Catherine also gets Seteth’s treatment), and her Thunderbrand is available in both Black Eagles branches, even if in Crimson Flower it’s in a limited - yet perfectly timed - fashion.

While there are three Church battalions which can’t be purchased from the Battalion Guild in Crimson Flower (ie. Holy Knights of Seiros, Indech Sword Fighters and Macuil Evil Repelling Co.), it’s still possible to obtain at least one copy of them through doing Alois, Hanneman, and Manuela’s paralogues with all of them recruited.

One final detail worth mentioning surrounding the cast available in Black Eagles is that, by default, both branches happen to allow players to obtain a minimum of 16 units (or 15, if playing as Male Byleth) assuming they’ve not been actively trying to recruit other units:

“Number 16? Can I get the number sixteeeeen?”

It is worth noting though, that this coincidental number is possible thanks to Jeritza being added to the game in the 1.1.0. update. Because of this, there’s solid grounds to claim Crimson Flower was missing content at launch due to Jeritza’s conspicuous absence (which is potentially[?] corroborated by datamining the game, not unlike how Rhea’s Tea Time data remained unfinished in the cutting room floor up until the version 1.2.0. update).

3. Miscellaneous differences/similarities Involving Black Eagles

Beyond the game design angle, Black Eagles and its two split branches noticeably stands out in many ways compared to Blue Lions and Golden Deer:

A. Event - Coronation.

The story event named “Coronation” in Black Eagles is the pivotal scene from Chapter 11 which decides whether the player can access the Crimson Flower branch after Chapter 11’s story mission or not. Not only is it very easy to miss (ie. ignoring the monastery during that chapter is enough), it can also play differently according to how many support points Byleth has with Edelgard.

The peculiar thing about it is that this story event is only present on the Black Eagles route. For contrast’s sake, Blue Lions and Golden Deer instead get an event called “Deep Underground”, which is unmissable and always takes place before “The Holy Tomb“.

The story events’ internal IDs, taken from fedatamine.com

B. Part 2’s Chapter Introduction logo

Starting Part 2, all routes feature the logo of your chosen House’s faction in a blazing background when a new chapter is introduced.

The Silver Snow route (and by proxy, also Azure Moon and Verdant Wind’s) has the faction’s icon colored yellow, while Crimson Flower has it painted red. As a result, Black Eagles is the only path in which your faction’s chosen emblem can be seen in both colors.

C. Light/Darkness Juxtaposition in the War Arc’s Beginning/Ending Cutscenes.

It’s been pointed out that many of the introductory and closing cutscenes from Part 2 make heavy use of light and darkness for simbolism’s sake. In terms of execution, Silver Snow and Crimson Flower’s light/dark motifs are notable in the sense both could be argued to be parallels of one another: 

In Silver Snow, the reunion cutscene between Edelgard’s Byleth (which is more of a Cutscene Boss than anything, but I digress) shows both characters bathed in moonlight as they fight. As for the ending, Garreg Mach is briefly depicted in darkness just before the sun’s light bathes the whole area after Rhea ends her berserk rampage.

In Crimson Flower, the reunion event between Byleth and Edelgard shows both embracing one another while light and dark are blended, casting shadows at the scene. The ending movie meanwhile, has Byleth and Edelgard finish off Rhea while the showdown happens entirely during night, illuminated only by the fire of the battlefield.

D. The first post-timeskip meeting with Edelgard.

On a related note, the first post-timeskip meeting with Edelgard starts very similar in both Black Eagle routes: Edelgard arrives at the Goddess Tower reminiscing of the past, and is caught off guard at Byleth’s sudden return. Then… stuff happens depending on whether you’re in Silver Snow or Crimson Flower.

Azure Moon and Verdant Wind by comparison have no build-up whatsoever. After Byleth wakes up, they go to the Goddess Tower and… The route’s respective movie plays out immediately.

E. Differences between shared Part 2 Paralogues.

Even though Bernadetta & Petra, and Linhard & Leonie’s paralogues are the only BE-adjacent side missions available in both story branches, both have some noticeable differences depending on whether they're being played on Crimson Flower or not:

Bernadetta & Petra’s paralogue outside Crimson Flower features Hubert as the main boss as well various enemy Assassins and Dark Bishops in its enemy line-up. In contrast, Crimson Flower’s take of it has Catherine as the main boss and contains enemy Holy Knights and Warlocks instead.

Linhard & Leonie paralogue works like any normal paralogue outside Crimson Flower. Within CF itself however, the player is given 2 handicaps:

1. Edelgard and Hubert can’t be deployed on the map.

2. If Seteth and Flayn die during Chapter 15’s story mission, the player is given only one month to do it.

F. The Final Boss.

Black Eagles’ Final Boss is always Rhea, regardless of the direction each story branch goes and who was and was not fought to get there.

Each version of Rhea’s fight also deviates with the set of skills used too, with Silver Snow’s version pulling a fake-out on the player before focusing on making the enemy explode with long range AoE attacks and Miracle hax, while Crimson Flower’s more strategic by silencing spellcasters after combat, targeting the enemy’s lower defensive stat, and consistently buffing nearby Armored Golems as the battle drags on.

G. Ending Themes

Silver Snow & co., plays the song “Edge of Dawn” during the game’s credits, while Crimson Flower uses a piano arrangement of its melody called  “Color of Sunrise” instead. Similar to the second point, this means only Black Eagles can play two different songs for this instance.

…There’s probably a ton more differences I’m missing, but I really don’t wanna drag things further.

So now’s the perfect time to talk about-

4. How everything went wrong.

In hindsight, I don’t think it should be a controversial take that giving Black Eagles a route-split was a shortsighted decision.

I mean, if you see it in a vacuum, Black Eagles’ succeeds in making each branch different. And yet, that is where the problem stems from.

The Black Eagles Route does not exist in isolation.

As a whole, Black Eagles has - arguably - content on par with Blue Lions and Golden Deer (heck, perhaps even more). If one sees all four routes separately though, Silver Snow and Crimson Flower suddenly end up in a fight they cannot win on their own. All thanks to the erroneous misconception that all four routes were meant to be equals.

In spite of the evidence at hand saying otherwise:

Q: Can you tell us which route was made first in order to expand and explore the world?

Kusakihara: The first and second parts of the Empire route.. which is called by the userbase as the “Church Route”, Silver Snow. The progression of Class Leader Edelgard to become the antagonist… that is what we initially decided upon. It was from there, that every route’s story and the progression of other Lords as characters were expanded by the Koei Tecmo Scenario Team. As the Class Leader would leave, the Black Eagles were initially decided to be the most difficult route as imagined (gameplay difficulty).

Yokota: Ahh, this is about losing access to the most powerful unit that you would be raising, right? This is pretty bad, yeah.

Kusakihara: In my personal opinion, I think that some cruelty from the parts of developers is necessary. This is because if we weren’t cruel/callous in any way, then, just like pre-established harmony where everything only interacts with itself, it would be easy for readers/players to predict everything that will happen. A scenario that would completely be predicted by the reader/player is not something that feels attractive. And that’s why we went all out that way, but the wish to walk with Edelgard was incredibly strong even in the development team. Walking with Edelgard in “Crimson Flower”, or rather known as the, “Supreme Ruler Route” is something we honestly meant to be much more difficult to enter. [...]

There’s something ironic in how Silver Snow, for being the very first route and having a clear advantage over Crimson Flower in quantity, was the Black Eagle branch which got the short end of the stick. The full extent of it can be grasped in my appropriately named document “No House Stands Equal - 3H's Difficulty from a Design Perspective“, but to give everyone a quick rundown:

Azure Moon and (mainly) Verdant Wind cannibalized Silver Snow’s story missions and plot beats while building over it’s foundation, mainly through: exclusive characters which mostly never ditch your side (and even then, the one that does can return later), and a new shared chapter (Blood of the Eagle and Lion, which canonically happens in Silver Snow but goes unseen due to the Church’s underdog status in the plot); This by itself stripped much of Silver Snow’s novelty beyond the theme of betrayal and loss having an impact in the gameplay.

Blue Lions and Golden Deer also need to recruit Caspar and Ferdinand respectively to access paralogues associated with their cast. In practice, this means playing through Silver Snow isn’t required to see Caspar and Ferdie’s share of Black Eagles’ content. Similarly, Rhea’s paralogue, as well Dorothea’s battalion, is also accessible outside Silver Snow.

Finally, Edelgard’s route stealing all the stuff Silver Snow can’t get for story reasons leaves the latter, in terms of exclusive content, only with: Edelgard and Hubert being temporarily in the party during most of Part 1; Its last Chapter, Following a Dream (+ everything surrounding it, like the White Beasts and Funeral of Flowers); and Rhea’s S-Support.

Meanwhile, Crimson Flower doesn’t escape unscathed from the allegations that it is incomplete either, given its stunt of avoiding Silver Snow’s story beats means it ends up 3 to 4 Chapters short of the other paths, misses a few paralogues (including half of the Black Eagles’ resources) and can’t recruit the pro-Church cast due to story reasons. Besides those shortcomings, it’s whole shtick did give it some significant positives:

First, Crimson Flower takes advantage of its different plot in order to keep Edelgard & Hubert for the 2nd half of the game, recruit Jeritza, and also gain access to their resources.

Speaking of which, it also ends up being the only Black Eagles branch which gets to keep access to Anna’s paralogue and its bonuses, seemingly because… the devs wanted Jeritza to be along for the ride in it???

And second, Azure Moon and Verdant Wind sharing much of Part 2’s content with Silver Snow makes stand out more how Edelgard’s route has its own set of exclusive Chapters between Ch. 12 to Ch. 18 and all they entrail, like: Ch. 12’s golems (normally unseen outside the Cindered Shadows DLC story); multiple exclusive battle conversations; ally NPCs from other routes being mandatory bosses; a few story events changing based on whether the player completed the map’s objective in certain ways or not; various unique monster weapons used in Chapter 17 & 18; and so on and so forth.

When all’s said and done, while the whole route-split of Black Eagles is a fun idea on paper, in practice, it ended up leaving one of it’s branches more or less neglected altogether for reasons beyond its control, while the other one got to stand out for all the right and wrong reasons, and for being given double duty of being a parallel to also another route of the game:

5. Post-Mortem & Closing Thoughts

I’ve been very much fascinated by this game’s Black Eagles route ever since I first got the game back in 2019. As I played the routes under an order of my own design (Crimson Flower > Verdant Wind > Azure Moon > Silver Snow), I heard many comments from other players that Silver Snow “was the Black Eagles branch which was always meant to be in the game”, causing me a ton of intrigue. So when I finally got to try that path myself, after finishing it, my feelings about it were something akin to… confusion and bafflement.

“What happened here? Why is Black Eagles as a whole like this?” - were my driving questions at the time.

Thus I began to dig in further into the game. I joined The Cutting Room Floor and examined the game’s datamine, then discovered fedatamine.com and used it to explore even more stuff, and then I focused on the developer interviews that were coming out at the time about the game. All for the aim of finding the answer to these questions I asked for myself, whatever those ended up being.

And honestly? Reaching conclusions such as “Edelgard was heavily advertised pre-release just to trick players into doing the Silver Snow route”, “Crimson Flower doesn’t feel like it was ever meant to get more than 18 Chapters”, and now, that “both BE branches feel incomplete because the faction’s content was split in half” were not the stuff I ever expected I would find at the end of my road.

Writing this whole document also drove me to the realization that, much of how Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes’s content - Three Houses’ Warriors spinoff -  seems to have been distributed, appears to be based on common criticism and feedback obtained from Three Houses and how Black Eagles was handled in it:

That game has only 3 routes, having no proper counterpart for 3H’s “Church route” in favor of keeping an Empire (Scarlet Blaze), Kingdom (Azure Gleam), and Alliance (Golden Wildfire) routes with relatively equal content and story chapters.

Ferdinand and Caspar in that game became exclusive to Scarlet Blaze (thus making their old and newer resources exclusive too), while Dorothea’s battalion was also locked behind SB in spite of herself being recruitable in Azure Gleam and Golden Wildfire.

Finally, Scarlet Blaze itself took cues from both Crimson Flower and Silver Snow through:

Exiling the pro-church cast into Azure Gleam and Golden Wildfire (with Shamir being recruitable the only common ground), similar to Crimson Flower.

Having a key decision in the story change how a late-game story mission plays out, turning it into a battle between the Empire, Alliance and Kingdom armies during the post-timeskip (a plot beat which in 3H was not available in Black Eagles).

Incidentally, this change makes SB the only route in which it’s possible for Claude to die, much like in CF.

Incorporate fighting TWSITD into the main story, which in Black Eagles itself was largely present only in Silver Snow (even if it amounts to just one Chapter there).

And finally, it has a remixed version of Silver Snow’s final map theme - Funeral of Flowers - play during Scarlet Blaze’s final battle.

As for my closing thoughts, I think Three Houses currently sits at a fascinating middle point in the Fire Emblem timeline. 

Before it, the previous non-remake entry was Fire Emblem Fates: a 3-route 3DS game that got so big in content, that each of its paths were chosen to be sold separately, and both its story’s concept and implementation was outsourced to various people. As for the game which came after, Fire Emblem Engage, it notoriously scaled down its ambition to an 1-route experience, and per development interviews, went on its way to avoid 3H’s conventions to the point the story was made in service of the gameplay, and not the other way around. Then, it’s kinda fitting that Fire Emblem: Three Houses ended up becoming the awkward middleground of the two: while even more ambitious in terms of scope, it also notoriously tried to both exploit Silver Snow’s material while also being heavily constrained by it, thus forcing it to base the 4 narratives stemming from it to revolve heavily under the unifying theme of perspective.

Perspective is such a fickle thing. Based on the information at hand, it can greatly change how we understand certain ideas and situations. And while I would love to say a ton about how 3H milks it for all that is worth, at this point, that is a tale for another day…

So what do you guys think? What's your take on Black Eagles (and only Black Eagles) getting a routesplit? Should the idea be revisited in the future? Or 3H and 3 Hopes showed it's doomed to fail?

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Eight, Part 6

* * * *

The last plate was set in the window. We could turn down. Justin flipped off the fryers and I turned all the grills off. The place wasn't too bad a mess, and we'd have it cleaned up in less than an hour. It wasn't a busy night, but I wouldn't really call it slow either. Quiet and easy. A typical Tuesday night.

"I swear to god, I hate you every time you get to pick the music," I said as I wiped off the counter. Tequila was playing on the grease splattered and burnt little blue tooth speaker pumped out into the line. And I hate that song with a fiery passion.

"You love it." He laughed.

Justin finished up his stuff and then punched out, heading to the bar to miss Amber's every way to gain his attention. I stepped into the office to do my daily paperwork, plus a new check of inventory. It's boring work, and tedious but it has to be done.

Once I finished, I made my way to join Justin at the bar. A small group were sitting on the far side of the bar. Three guys who looked like they were in the wrong joint. When I say they didn't fit in, they didn't. They were dressed like some weird combination of a stoned surfer and a bro frat dude. They looked like the very epitome of what calling someone a douche bag looks like. But they seemed to be quiet and Amber was serving them. Maybe they just like the look of asshole.

"High life?" Amber asked as I took a stole next to Justin. I sat my bag on the floor, and nodded at Amber. The last couple shifts ended with whiskey sours, but I just wasn't feeling that tonight

"Thanks, Nugget,," I said as she put the bottle in front of me. Justin was drinking some tap beer, "how'd you make out tonight?"

"Wasn't awful. One guy tipped me twenty on two drinks."

"Nice. Didn't really seem like all that busy of a night, at least from back there," I motioned towards the swinging door leading into the kitchen.

"Steady," Justin said, finally adding himself into the conversation.

"Yeah, that's it. Steady." I said, echoing Justin's words.

"No complaints." Amber said, feeding both our egos.

"Are there ever?" Justin said, beating me to the punch. I chuckled and took a sip of my beer. Justin and Amber kept talking, and there voices faded away as I slipped into the loving comfort of my head.

"Yes. It does happen sometimes. You two aren't perfect." Amber looked at him with a smile that said so much more than happiness. And for just the smallest of seconds, I saw Justin's mouth twitch into the same thing.

"Blasphemy." I said flatly. And then I ruined the joke by laughing. Sometimes I could pull it off, but not this time. This only caused both Amber and Justin to crack up.

"Nobody's perfect, Chris." Amber said as she wiped her eyes

"True, but I'm as close as one can get," I said, still wearing my false ego on my face. And still laughing at the absurdity of the scene.

"You egotistical fuck," Justin laughed. I shrugged, knowing when a joke has run its course. It's strange what one can find funny, because I don't even know what really was so funny. Justin and Amber went back to a conversation I didn't listen to.

Soon enough, we were the only ones left in the building, and Amber locked us in. This actually wasn't all that rare of an occurrence. Even after close, we'd hang out until Amber had finished her closing list down. Justin and I would have one last beer while she went about her tasks.

Amber put a High Life in front me and wouldn't let me pay for it. She did this everything we stayed later. She finished up the tills and poured herself a drink.

"You can't deny that Tiger Army aren't versatile. The sound like rockabilly, country, and punk. Hell, look at my wrist," I lifted my hand of show him the tattoo. I had the words "Forever Fades Away tattooed on the inside of my wrist. He'd seen it before.

"It's the singers voice. I can't stand it. That weird soft falsetto. It just annoys me. Nails on a chalkboard."

"Your ears suck. You should get that checked. Your musical tastes might get better."

"Oh, get fucked." He replied. A typical conversation.

"Who's getting fucked?" Amber asked, finally coming into the conversation. Everything was done for the night.

"No one, sadly." Justin sighed the words out in soft whistle.

"Justin's awful taste in music is fucked." I pointed a thumb at Justin.

"Says the guy with Veggietales songs saved in his playlist." Amber said with sarcasm. Of course, she'd side with Justin. And he noticed

"Because your his cheeseburger! His tasty Cheeseburger! He'll wait for you-who, he'll wait for you-who yeah!" I sang loudly and off key into the empty dining room and bar.

[literaphobe]

ok girl but what's your favorite chapter?

hehehehe im not even joking for the longest time even before i started posting tvl i was talking about how my faves is just the stretch from the last scene in ch9 all the way to ch11…. but also i love every tvl chapter in its own way for many different reasons… all my babies :( all scenes i crafted over like. ages. I could argue for virtually any chapter to be my fave but i do have scenes im EXTRA fond of here and there. if I could hold a poll for fave scenes in tvl I would. guys what r ur fave scenes in tvl

oh fun fact tho. aside from the first scene of ch8 (which took me 1-1.5 weeks to finish) all of ch8 was written in a stretch of several hours in which I sat down at my desk decided to type on my iPad to write for once and said ‘WE ARENT LEAVING TILL ITS DONE!!!’ obviously I have edited it for clarity and improvement since then but it’s crazy that I wrote most of ch8 in a day. it’s so funny to me. and it’s an absolute banger

anyway if there’s anything I can say for what ch10 and 11 are like I would say ch10 is very much so… non-linear storytelling. which is different from how tvl has been so far w events essentially just happening in sequence. and ch11 is very like. rapid fire! it has a lot more scenes than a usual chapter would but also they’re much shorter in nature. very much BAM! next. BAM! okay next. whereas so far in tvl you’ve had like Longer scenes where each chapter only has two or three scenes. and ch12 is also awesome but im currently reworking a scene to make it even more awesome. tvl takes forever but it’s worth it to me bc it’s a story I’ve really wanted to tell and im so glad u guys like reading it tee hee ^_^

[dustpileofherown]

One entry is locked to Ao3 user only: With permission from the author, I’m posting the first chapter here:

The Hope of it All

Chapter 1 - A Dying Wish

On this day, inside a bleak little bedroom that was anything but special, had an air of change. That is if you took time to notice it. This little room had the required four walls, two windows, a door, and someone to occupy it. Everything that was inside these four walls were anything but a reflection of the occupant. There were no flowers, no cross stitch, and the worst crime of all, there was no red in sight.

Red was such a beautiful color , thought Ruby Lucas, gazing outside her dreary little window into the unexpected frost blanketing the flowers budding. She felt like the frozen little rose buds. The one thing she could truly call her own. And it was ruined. Even the roses were never red. They always bloomed white.

She hated that rose bush and all it represented. The only gift she had ever gotten from, and it was from a man in pursuit of her mother. A very old man who everyone thought was harmless and she only saw a snake. Mother thought it a beautiful gesture and made Ruby plant it the same day while she and the old man prattled about nonsense on the front porch. Her mother never married him, but she never turned him or anyone else away. Her mother was a glutton for attention. Ruby had no green thumb and was certain she had sabotaged the plant from the very start. Now it mocked her each time she passed by on the way to town. As it mocked her today.

Her mother’s beauty was well known and since widowed, had an endless line of suitors. Mother was all beauty, charm, and elegance – if you didn’t know her. If you did know her, it would be revealed that Anita (née Wolff) Lucas was the most spiteful, hateful woman in the whole village, maybe even in the whole world.

Mother had been adamant it wouldn’t frost. So had Uncle Isaac and Aunt Cruella. There was no need to cover the plants in tarps and shelter them from a cold snap that was not going to happen.

Along with its ice and harsh bitter air that morning, Ruby one more awoke with a headache. It wasn’t always a regular occurrence, but in the past year they were coming closer and closer together and lasted for days. This was her third in a week. It was difficult to do anything and she wished to be in bed with the curtains drawn, and the covers pulled up over her head. As they became more prevalent in Ruby’s life, she determined that she must be dying.

People can die of headaches , she reminded herself. She had read plenty of stories from the newspapers (she loved to read the obituaries) and in great detail, that so-and-so would drop dead not by their heart, but by their head. A shock is what it was. And if she didn’t get her information from print, she got it from gossip. No one ever paid her any mind. Ruby would duck her head and pretend to busy herself at the store or act as if she was engrossed in the Bible at church when she really had her ears peeled for any talk of life and death.

“You’re obsessed with death, wolfie,” mother’s and everyone else’s pet name for her. She hated it. It was as if she really was their pet.

Maybe she was obsessed with death. And maybe it was because it could be her escape away from this prison.

She wasn’t certain till just yesterday. Some time ago she snuck out with the pretense she was doing charity work. It was her first real sin, lying, and it was thrilling. She got away with it too. In reality she had gone to the physician. An exam, tests were done, a diagnosis was confirmed as of yesterday afternoon. A name longer than she could pronounce, but it was very real and her innermost fears confirmed: she was going to die.

All morning she had been thinking about it. About her life or that she had yet to really live. She had only even done one sin and let those around cow her till she was truly submissive. And she was thirty now. Three decades of life and very little to show for it. She had never really worked, had a friend, she had never even been kissed. She came close to it once, but that was her life – always coming close to something wonderful before it vanished.

Now she was going to die.

Well, maybe not this very minute. The doctor was frank with her, all of her symptoms were quite bleak. He had only seen this in patients far beyond her age but, “…it was still very possible and I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” He wanted to do further tests, however, Ruby didn’t want to spend what time she had left being a lab rat.

No. That wasn’t going to be her last memories of life.

The doctor wanted to see her in a month to see how she was progressing, to see if there were any changes, but Ruby had no intention of returning. In fact just this morning she had made a decision. A sleepless night, recounting all the years, all the many times Ruby had been belittled, the butt of jokes, the weak one, sheltered… No more.

Out of habit, to avoid Mother’s reproach, Ruby dressed in a drab green wool dress and thick stockings. Her loafers were tighter because of it, but they were one of two pairs of shoes she owned. Finally, her long hair was braided in a single plait down her back. She had never worn her hair free. Her whole life she was forced to keep her hair off her neck, contained as hair should be – per Mother.

She went downstairs where Mother, Uncle Isaac and Aunt Cruella were gathered in the dining room, and she took her spot opposite Aunt Cruella who she was sure was always watching her in judgment. She didn’t look directly across the table, but she felt the scrutinous gaze on her.

Uncle Isaac and Aunt Cruella had moved in to help Anita after the death of her husband, refusing her mother-in-law admittance. Claiming seeing Mrs. Lucas was too painful, reminding her of her late husband. The truth of it all was that Anita never liked Granny Lucas. So for the past twenty some odd years, all Ruby had known was this quaint, ugly little house, Mother and her dreadful Aunt and Uncle. There was church of course if she managed to stay awake long enough.

If Ruby could be trusted with anything culinary, she would be expected to fix breakfast, lunch, tea time, and supper. Because she couldn’t, she was relegated to cleaning. She loathed dishes the most. Her fingers became wrinkly and dry as Aunt Cruella’s attitude.

As always, the breakfast conversation consisted of: the day’s weather; Uncle Issac’s daily comments on how the world was a pit of despair; Aunt Cruella who thrived on gossip, but it wasn’t gossip when she repeated it; and of course the morning ritual of poor Ruby who was still unmarried, had been a spinster for a decade. Up till now she was simply the spinster daughter of Anita who lived and worked at home. Now, at the age of thirty, it was unlikely she would ever marry and even with so many years after the war had ended, more men died than came back. If she had any prospects they had now vanished.

Though the weather was unseasonably cold, the house cloaked in a chill nobody could shake, no fire was to be lit. Ruby couldn’t help but notice her hands were as cold as the silver spoon in her hand.

On moments like this, she found her imagination would run wild. Today, she revisited the dream and desire to have a scarlet cloak, with a wide hood, a gold clasp at the neck to secure it, and it would have a train that reached her heels. That would certainly keep her warm on a morning such as this. However, Mother felt red was a sinful color and wasn’t allowed in the house.

That will be the first thing I buy myself, she thought. I will buy myself that sinful red cloak and look fabulous.

“I’m going to see Granny today,” Ruby announced, taking not one, but two tablespoons of jam to spread on her toast. Ruby was no stranger to rationing (but the family continued to ration long after war time) because it felt like her mother was stingy with everything from making a fire too early in the autumn or limiting them all to just one tablespoon of jam for each of them. Frugality is what Anita Lucas called it, but Ruby thought it stupid and selfish, and she just might say it with her rise of courage.

Aunt Cruella gasped, then her pointed face contorted into a frown, “I don’t think that is a good idea today. Far too cold. We shall see if the weather has improved on Sunday.”

“Very good idea, my dear,” Uncle Isaac concurred with a dour look as he saw an extra scoop out of the jam jar and eyes darted across to her. He pulled the jar towards his side and proceeded to dab on a meager sample.

“I wasn’t asking,” Ruby took a nibble of her breakfast.

A butter knife clanked against the china in Mother’s distress, “You are not going and that’s that!” as if her declaration was the final word.

“Mother,” Ruby said calmly, while her mother fanned herself with the cloth napkin. “I am thirty. I do not need permission.”

“You cannot go… you…” Uncle Isaac sputtered. For a man who was supposed to be witty with words, the cat had got his tongue.

“That was rather a convincing argument, but not enough to persuade me,” Ruby quipped.

“What has gotten into you this morning?!” Mother snapped. “You apologize to your aunt and uncle and to me as well. Go on.”

Ruby waited, eyeing the table, “I don’t think it’s working, Mother. Someone must have cut the strings to this puppet. Why don’t you try with Uncle Isaac, he seems stupefied. You’ll just have to remove the stick up his ass first.” Now that she had begun to say whatever came to mind, she found it difficult to stop. All the sharp wit she had held back her whole life was now put to good use.

Mother got up from the table, dashing away into the other room, crying.

Aunt Cruella hiccupped a laugh but hid it behind a cough. “Shame on you!” she scolded Ruby with the wag of a finger.

Uncle Isaac pouted and she thought he looked like the little gnomes in the garden.

That was how most of the morning went. Mother in hysterics at her sick in the head daughter, oh if Mother only knew. That the slippery slope of rebellion was inevitable. She hadn’t even made her bed or put her clothes away, just out of spite.

Her whole life Ruby was afraid of death and now that she had come face to face with it, suddenly all her fears were washed away. Death was no longer her obsession, it was her key to freedom. No more would she hold her tongue to spare another’s feelings when no one had ever shown her such a courtesy. She would live. Truly live.

Mother, Uncle Isaac, and Aunt Cruella did not provoke her in any other way. Dumbfounded by Ruby’s outburst, which wasn’t a real outburst. If they only knew how much she held back. This had been the only time she hadn’t held her tongue.

Her newfound freedom followed her all the way to the local market. She didn’t ask for permission to go, which was customary in the Lucas household. She didn’t ask for money, but instead took a small portion from the stash jar hidden in the pantry. Mother thought the jar was hidden, however, as nobody tended to notice Ruby, she had no trouble using her invisibility to her advantage. She did not take much. Not a lot really. Just enough for what she needed it for and whatever change she would go home with, would replenish the jar.

Upon entering her favorite little book shop, she encountered Cousin Plutarch Heavensbee. Now Plutarch was a cousin so many times removed or – well, Ruby didn’t know how they were related but she just knew he was family and wished they were not. Cousin Plutarch was older than she, nearly white haired which gave him an older appearance, and was known to be a citizen from the Capitol, not often seen in the village of Misthaven.

Ruby had hoped that her invisibility extended outside the home. That she had seen him and he had not seen her. That was not the case. When she turned to discreetly walk away, ready to abandon her task of purchasing the novel in hand, she heard him address her, “Ah, Cousin Ruby.”

She halted and pivoted on her heel to face him. “Good day, cousin,” she addressed him, hoping it was an open and shut conversation and she could move on. She even busied herself with flours, not knowing much about any of it, just to appear occupied.

“Where is your mother? Your aunt?” he questioned.

Of course, he would notice that. He was always noticing everything about her in which she had done wrong. Each time they met it, she was reminded of the time as a little girl she took her paints and drew a little castle scene on her bedroom wall above her bed. It had since been painted over, her paints confiscated, and she had never lived it down. And now he noticed her out and about alone. Something that was only acceptable if it involved an emergency and from her calm demeanor clearly indicated there was no need for worry.

“At home,” she was honest, she was not ashamed of her choice.

“I see,” he hummed. “I have a riddle for you…”

Of course he did.

“A pair of tomatoes were crossing the road when a car squashed one of them. What was the squashed tomato reborn as?” he asked, with a sliver of humor in his weak smile.

“Ketchup,” she answered, having heard this riddle uptime times by now.

She walked away, but not before enjoying the irritated look on his face, but soon enough not to be the victim of another one of Cousin Plutarch’s silly riddles. Ruby wasn’t supposed to answer his riddles. She was to ask, “What?” and allow him to explain it to her as always. After all men do love to explain things to women. She smiled smugly, purchased her book she had come to the store for and left.

“Ruby?”

When Ruby searched for the familiar voice, she was met with a dear cousin she had not seen in far too long. Mary Margaret Blanchard practically skipped over to her and hugged her tightly.

“What are you doing here in Misthaven?” asked Ruby when Mary Margaret had drew back.

“I’m visiting with Granny before the wedding,” Mary explained, a smile from ear to ear. Her cousin had been engaged to David Nolan, a generational farmer and had been disapproved of by Mother and Ruby’s Aunt and Uncle. Cousin Mary was from the Capitol like Cousin Plutarch was and her life of luxury was very unlike the way Ruby lived. Meaning her engagement to David caused quite the scandal. Since he was disapproved of, it made Ruby like him all the more. “It’s right around the corner.”

Mary Margaret was disheartened as she shared the news. An awkwardness separated them. They had known each other since children, yet their parents never went out of their way to let them be friends. But Ruby had always liked Mary Margaret. The one cousin who never said anything ill about her. Who had beauty, but never flaunted. Good natured, but never submissive. Not even Regina, Mary Margaret’s stepmother was able to blacken her heart.

“I’m happy for you,” her words couldn’t be supported by her tepid voice. The Lucas’s had not received an invitation, nor had they heard of the announcement. Then again, as Ruby gave it more consideration, perhaps her Mother hadn’t informed her. Uncle Isaac was always the one to pick up the post and Ruby was never consulted unless it was unavoidable. Her delicate disposition couldn’t handle it. She chose in inquire further, “When is it?”

Mary Margaret’s brow creased, and lips formed a small ‘O’ as the wheels began to turn, “You weren’t aware. Now that makes sense…” Mary’s features softened, and her easy smile returned. “You’re invited, I hope you know that. I’ll even see to it that someone can pick you up. Oh, please, say you’ll come. You’ve always been my favorite cousin! You’ve been the closest thing to a sister as I’ve ever imagined.”

Mary’s words did a lot to embolden Ruby. Someone did care about her. Someone might even miss her if she should drop dead this day. All the time wasted, Ruby wanted to make up for and indeed celebrate with Mary Margaret on her day.

“I would love to come!”

Mother had kept her isolated like a maiden in a high tower waiting to be set free. She just didn’t realize that she was the one who held the key to her own freedom.

————————

“No, I can’t believe it!”

They strolled the path towards Granny’s little cottage in the woods. Ruby knew the way, but was glad for the company and there was a weight lifted off her shoulders by telling at least one person. She hadn’t wanted to believe it to be true. The tests all determined one thing. One terrible thing.

“You’re so young and healthy,” Mary Margaret argued.

“I don’t suppose that matters. It’s all in my head anyway,” Ruby jested, but Mary didn’t find it humorous.

Mary’s sweet face grimaced. Her cousin looked fearful that Ruby might drop dead that very moment. “But aren’t you sad?”

“I should be,” Ruby answered with a little shrug. “I’ve always thought about death. At least other’s deaths. Thought of how most have lived long lives. But it doesn’t matter whether your life is long or short, it’s what you do with it that matters. And I have realized I have done nothing with mine and I’m going to change that.”

“Change it? Is there a cure?”

Ruby could feel the hope through her cousin like a spark of static electricity on a very cold day. “No cure, but I don’t need one to live.”

If there was one, Ruby wasn’t sure she would go through with it. Wouldn’t it mean she would be trapped still in her current situation? Where she wasn’t even allowed to walk into the village alone or correspond with her cousin, or even visit her Granny. It would be better to live a short life than go back to the only life she knew.

Not wanting to distress her cousin, they did not speak of the matter further. Although, Ruby was sure Mary wished to inquire further, but Mary’s good manners refused did not permit it. Instead, Ruby asked of the wedding plans, and found out her cousin would be leaving her life in the Capitol for a small farm here in Misthaven. She couldn’t help think how nice it was that with what time she had left she could use it to reconnect with dear Mary Margaret.

Ruby admired everything as they left the village, deeper into the District. The trees had a life of their own, freely swaying in the breeze, the colors bright and cold, they fell to the ground resembling deliberate paint strokes. The kind of scene poets compose romantic prose about. When a car passed by, not even knowing who they were, she waved happily anyway.

“You know him?” Mary Margaret’s eyes followed the car and its driver over her shoulder.

“No,” Ruby replied, relishing in this invigorating awareness the rest of the way.

By the time she arrived at the cottage Ruby’s porcelain skin was flushed beautifully and her hair partially come undone, wisps framed her face, and her smile was genuine. She did not feel like she was dying, but like she was alive for the first time. Oh, how wonderful it was to feel alive.

Granny met them on the porch and held Ruby much longer, muttering how long it had been since she had seen Ruby. How much she had grown, how lovely a woman she became, how much she was missed. Forgotten were all the years they had missed. They spent the whole afternoon drinking tea, exchanging stories and gossip, and Granny sat with her knitting.

After a while, Granny stepped out of the room, actively listening to her granddaughter’s chatter. Ruby thought this is what it might have been if they had shared afternoons of gossip and good company when they were teenagers.

Ruby sank into the well-worn side chair. A blanket draped over the back to conceal the threadbare that had not yet been patched up. She had fond memories of it, her earliest memories as a girl, of sitting on her father’s lap while he sat in it. The one good memory she has held onto all these years.

“You know what just came to my mind?” Ruby sought out Mary Margaret who sat on the sofa with her shoes kicked off and feet tucked underneath her. She hummed her response as she sipped the last bit of tea in her cup. “I think I’d like to get married.”

“Married?!” her cousin nearly spat out her tea.

“Mhm,” Ruby nodded. “I think I’d like it. I’ve always wanted a family of my own.”

“You want to marry?” Mary Margaret repeated and eyed her cousin with as much curiosity as a cat would a new atmosphere. Eyes narrowed, single brow arched, the other creased down. Mystified that now, at the age of thirty, and dying, should Ruby seek companionship in the form of marriage.

No one had even seen Ruby as anything but the odd, dark thinking, obsessed with death, only daughter of poor Anita Lucas. People pitied her mother, but they pitied her more. Since no one had ever wanted her, why would anyone want her now?

“I do,” Ruby answered quite certainly. “I’m not particular. They must not be cruel, otherwise, I don’t care one jot who they are. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to marry.”

“But who?” Mary’s question was a logical one and a fair point.

For someone who had never even had a proper crush on someone that didn’t live within the pages of books or in classic art. If no one wanted her, she would have to find someone like herself, someone unwanted.

“I’m not sure. Does David have many friends?” Ruby inquired.

“They’re all married, I’m afraid.”

This would not dissuade Ruby. “Surely there is someone that is of the same mind as I am.”

“A mortician,” Granny stated upon hearing the tail end of the conversation. She took her preferred spot in the rocker, gently moving forward and back, “Well?”

“Ruby wishes to marry, Granny,” Mary Margaret blurted out.

Ruby shot her a pointed look.

“What? If anyone can find someone for you to marry, it’s Granny.” She turned to address Granny, “But I know of no one suitable or unmarried. And you know just about every single person that’s ever been in this village.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it that I’m older than dirt,” Granny bit back. The old woman rolled her eyes and then settled upon Ruby. “Why now?”

“I’m thirty. I want a family of my own. Why shouldn’t I have that if that’s what I want?” Ruby answered discreetly and with the most generic response she could without lying to her dear Granny.

Granny nodded; her mouth twisted as she always did when trying to solve a puzzle. “How particular are you?”

It stunned Ruby for a moment that Granny had not laughed at the very idea of it.

“No one cruel,” Ruby answered.

Granny had a little smile creep up on her aged lips, “I think I know of someone…”

Mary Margaret gasped and reached out for Ruby’s hand to give it a squeeze, silently saying, I told you so!

“He’s a little odd, but he’s not cruel. And he needs someone to help him with his nieces. Or daughters if you believe the rumors. Despite what he says, he needs help.”

Mary Margaret let go of Ruby and gawked at Granny like she just suggested Ruby go and marry Satan. “Really?!”

“Really,” Granny held her ground.

Ruby’s cousin groaned. Granny’s smirk remained. And Ruby was curious.

“Who is he then?” Ruby ignored her cousin and gave her full attention to Granny.

“Oh, his name is Abernathy and he has himself an old money pit if you ask me. He bought it when he took in the girls. He’s a teacher… I think. Or a journalist… well, doesn’t matter does it? You’re not marrying him for money because I don’t think he has any. The man has recently returned after…” Granny pondered, after all she had lived in this village, the same district and county, her whole life and knew all the comings and goings and everyone part of it. “Oh, I’d say about twenty years. Yes, I think I recall seeing him around when he was a young fella. Well, I suppose he’s still young. At least by my standards. Hell, sixty seems young to me.

“Anyway, he’s odd, but so are you. Lives away from the village and keeps to himself. Never known him to be cruel. Maybe sharp tongued, but I’m guilty of that myself.”

That was the truth , thought Ruby. And she did wish for a family of her own. Two little girls sounded precious and ideal. He had a job and a home far away from the one she grew up in, far away from the family she never loved and had never loved her. What did she mind if he had no money, rumors and mysterious past, she only cared about the future.

The more she mulled it over, she had decided her would do. She just needed to meet him, suggest or propose this opportunity, and hope he was just as strange enough (as Granny pointed out) to accept her.

Granny must’ve seen it in her eyes, because the next words out of her mouth were, “Shall I invite him and the girls over then?”

“Yes,” Ruby agreed. The sooner the better.

[eddsworld-the-masquerade]

Info post!

Thank you everyone for your feedback on the demos! I am very happy you all came to like it. Don't feel discouraged from sending any new feedback though, since it's gonna be awhile until I get back to work (I'm in exam hell 'till mid May), might as well use the time to advantage.

Most of you seem more interested in game/visual novel format, therefore in this post I'll talk about features I mean to implement, or think of implementing. I'll also talk about possible updating schemes (chapter basis vs. all-at-once), let me know what you think about those. For those who won't get intimidated by text, I'll leave some WIPs for artwork at the very end :3

Discussing game features!

Random events Now this is something you've already experienced in the demo, albeit in its rough form. Since I'm planning a kinetic/linear story (aka there won't be a choice system) because writing a branching story is going to kill me, this serves as a sort of replacement. Due to random chance being involved, random events will happen only during "moments of respite", so to speak, when there is no danger and no consequences for the main plot. Random events are mostly "character flavor", additional moments that, if you miss, won't hinder the major story, but they do add fun little details to characterization. This should mitigate possible unfairness while still bringing some replay value to the table. I plan on implementing a scene list, where you can view names of all encountered/unlocked scenes, sort of like achievement list.

Turn based battles This one is more ambitious but not entirely impossible. There are tons of tutorials on battle system in Renpy and even codes already written and running. Battles could be another way to make up for lack of choice system and thus lack of gameplay. Plus, the script outline already features numerous fighting scenes, and given it's VtM, I feel battles could be implemented organically. I'm mostly thinking of watered down Darkest Dungeon, or, if you're hip, Honkai Star Rail. The amount of "water" is yet to be decided, but it should be relatively simple both for me to implement and for you to play through. Don't know if I'll add anything that could be called "leveling up characters" but I am thinking of making battles skippable in options. This is still mostly an idea, and I'll need to make some tests first to see if I'll be able to implement this in actual game.

Updating schemes!

First things first, I'll need to write the entire script. The reason why I don't want to make it chapter basis is, based on my past experience, there's a high chance I'll figure out some changes needed in previous chapters as I work on next ones, so I go back and edit them accordingly. And this works best if I'm writing the full thing back to back, without publishing. Release when it's ready. This should take me a year, give or take, again based on past experience (it's almost the same amount of writing I had to do back then). I understand it's quite long but I don't feel comfortable changing this workflow of mine :(

Now, for actual game development, there are two options:

All-at-once Basically the same as with the script. I develop the entire game and then publish it in one piece. Personally I feel this would work best for me, but it would increase the already big enough wait time to around two years, best case scenario. Probably two and a half, or even three. I understand it's hard to wait that long, which is why there is a second option.

Chapter basis I develop a chapter (insert all the text, art, animation, music, etc.), publish it, then proceed to work on the next one and release it when it gets done and so on. Sort of like game patches. Bendy and the Ink Machine style if you remember that thing. You redownload the project and continue from your last save. This gives me a bit less control but also makes you wait significantly less for main story content.

Please let me know which option you would prefer.

As a thank you for reading this huge wall of text, here are some WIPs as promised :D

Part of the short comic on your regular Tord and Edd shenanigans

Something tarot themed! Missing Cat (The Star) for now. I'll probably change the composition for most of these.

Rough concepts for Tord's wAcKy family. Also him pre-embrace

Some Matilda animation. Girlboss

[verishere]

Small side series I just realized I'm gonna have to make. Chapter three of the Liam thing is on hold till this shorter series is done. No it won't get a name.

As per usual, relevant info, and Axel is agender. They don't say "agender" in world, they just say genderless or not gendered, but irl that's what we'd call them.

No joke I kept track of how many times I accidentally wrote "she" in reference to Axel. It was fucking 24.

edit: Also, more context I just remembered to add, the begginning of this is about an hour before chapter two of the Liam thing

Nrolin left the palace as soon as council was over. The discussion was on the expansion of the small sea fleet they had, which sounded like a straightforward problem, but turned out to be a headache for everyone involved except for the only people who should have actually been putting effort into it, the ones constructing the ships. The council had the headache of resources, time management, labor management, and more, but those ship builders just built what the council said and then waited till they needed to do more. Since the council sessions were taking so long, the literal only people who should have been putting effort into this were currently partying, while she argued in council instead of spending time with her grandchildren.

Entirely her fault, she knew. She accepted the crown. Still sucked.

Vlorindul was heading out back, likely for a break from everything in the mountains, but she headed straight for Ashnir's home. He was a painter, and most of the palace's artwork were painted by him, so that's where Axel was apprenticing. Luonim should have been taking charge of Leigha today at the palace, and she wanted to see how Axel was progressing. She knew Axel had already progressed beyond her own amateur abilities, of course, but she hadn't seen any of their art in over two months.

She walked over the bridges and paths that Blonicku had built, and stopped at her favorite part of the path to simply admire her city. They had elected for elevated roads that had no slopes instead of building the road into the ground at any area where there was a hill, and then split the path into either stair or ramp, and kept the theme running even aside from the hills in the paths to create wooden walkways bolted into the ground instead of digging a path in the ground like had been done in the blessed years, in the few areas that needed it back then. The buildings were all connected to the path, making it center to the construction of the entire city. Every building was now planned around the path, and planned for the path, rather than building a path to the buildings as they had done at first. The buildings themselves were beautiful, some roofed in gold and made of marble, some made of wood with moss and leaves growing on top, some made of sand even with a roof of leaves and nothing more. Some of them had balconies, massive windows, painted walls with solid colors or murals describing their owners history. It was breathtaking to see it all at once, which from this spot on the path at the edge of the city you almost could.

That she had been queen of this city while the entire thing was built still astounded her. All that she could see here was, in some small way, her responsibility and credit. She had decided many of the ways the path would turn, and approved of much of the impressive architecture before it was built herself. She didn't claim credit for it all, but even having a hand in it was its own reward.

After a few moments basking in her city's glory, she resumed along the path to Ashnir's house. He lived on the southern outskirts of the city, in a round house made of marble with a roof of gold. The marble was painted entirely in murals, all by his own hand. He was not the only painter Blonicku had, but he was the best one, and also a very old friend of theirs.

She approached the door, roughly her height in width and twice her height in... well, height. It was the only thing without a mural in the entire exterior of the house, and made of wood, interestingly. Painted wood, but only two colors: red and orange, Ashnir's colors.

She knocked once on the door, waiting for the inevitable.

"COME IN!" Ashnir shouted from inside. She didn't move.

She waited a moment, instead.

And another moment.

"Alright, fine, come in." This time it sounded like it was from just behind the door, and to prove her right, he opened it for her.

She had learned very early on that listening to Ashnir was very often a very bad idea. She expects that had she come in the first time her hair would have have gotten a lovely new coat of paint.

"Oh, Nrolin! Welcome! What brings you here?" He said with slightly wide eyes, and without coming outside to greet her like he usually would have.

She started walking in anyways, and saw the bucket of paint behind the wall to her left, which he carefully tried to distract her from.

"You perfectly well know why I am here, you rouge." She kicked his calf with that last word, and when he doubled over, his long hair dipped directly into the paint bucket.

Axel walked into the foyer, paint on their hands and some on their face, to see their tutor doubled over with hair full of paint clutching his leg and their grandmother smugly walking to them.

They stared for a second, blinked a few times, and walked back to the art studio without a word.

Nrolin laughed and followed, Ashnir in toe, cursing in jest. He wasn't really that hurt, it was only enough to knock him over, but pretending like she had mortally wounded him would maybe make her feel bad.

Aaaanyways, they were coming up to the studio's door, which was the only interior door the entire house had. Ashnir wanted the studio to be seal-able because of the smell of paint, which he obviously didn't mind but any guests might. All the hallways and rooms burned incense during the day for that exact reason, since the door alone wasn't usually enough. Ashnir opened it for her, but when she walked in she couldn't see Axel.

Usually, not being able to see Axel when you expected to meant shenanigans. They were without doubt the most chaotic child Nrolin had ever seen, and they weren't even in their thirties yet. She looked quickly around the room, but stopped short before she found them.

She gasped.

Axel had begun work on a mural.

The studio was a circular room, and the mural began on the leftmost portion of the wall, which was the right side of the door. It was a mural of Axel's life so far. It was entirely in their work, visible even to her inexpert eye, as there were mistakes. False starts, bad choices and sloppy strokes, but for their age it was incredible. It was certainly better than her own meager skill, and seeing the way they painted herself brought a tear to her eye. She was holding a dress, the first one Axel had ever worn when she'd given it to her, and she was smiling down at the even younger Axel.

Axel was standing proudly off to the side of it, Ashnir's hand on their shoulder.

"Surpriiiisee~" They said in a singsongy voice, grinning maniacally.

They were 22. This was where she'd expected they'd be when they were 30, at the earliest. She couldn't help herself, she went over and picked Axel up, hugging them in the air. Ashnir backed away laughing, while she squealed with her grandchild in her arms.

"Pfft grandma put me down, it's not that big of a-"

"YES it is! It's incredible!" She did put them down, though, but she did not stop grinning. She went over to analyze it better. There was a few inches dedicated to Leigha being born, some to when they realized they were a they, some to learning to swim, and so much more.

"It's not complete yet. I've still got to get to deciding my Skill and stuff" They said this in a casual tone, but it was clear they were ecstatic to have her so enamored like this. They'd been working on it for some time, she could see how there were fewer mistakes as it went on.

Ashnir noticed her analyzing it, and finally explained. "I'm having them do the entire wall, eventually. Every month they have to add another inch to it in total, so some of it's just blank space of colors in between bigger events. It's both practice and, one day, a complete mural."

Nrolin could see the idea behind it, how when it's complete it will be both the story of their life up until the point where they completed it and also the progression of their painting skills made visible. It was a wonderful idea, and what was completed so far- only two feet length, but it goes along the entire wall from top to bottom, so it was a rather large amount- was beautiful.

There was only one problem.

She turned around and looked Axel in the eyes, who was now wearing a very smug grin. How this child had been descended from her and Vlorindul, she would never understand.

Feigning calm, she asked "Why did I not know about this?"

Axel said, guilelessly, "I wanted to see how long it'd take before you'd notice."

Nrolin direly wished for the first time since Axel had been born that they were a full grown adult, because then she could meaningfully retaliate on them in some way without feeling terrible. Instead, she sighed and shook her head before the door suddenly opened.

Next