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gghostwriter · 4 months ago

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Death of a Love Affair

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times you understood and the final time you couldn’t.

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: this felt oddly personal to me this is my first time writing in the Y/N perspective and in a one shot format so please be kind. I kinda left a possibly for p2, not sure about that yet, but let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Main masterlist || Part 2A (happy end) || Part 2B (sad end)

The first time it happened, you completely understood.

You had an inkling as to what you were getting into when you started dating a 187 genius who graduated at a young age and who was scouted straight from college by the FBI. It wasn’t hard to comprehend these external circumstances mixed with his internal need to prove himself worthy of belonging with the big boys would result in missed personal events. It was a given, you expected it.

You just didn’t count on him missing your graduation. After all, he gave his word that he’ll be there to see you walk the stage and receive your diploma. He promised you and yet, as you scanned the crowd of loved ones hugging the attendees, there was no sign of his tie wearing, button up lithe form weaving through the crowd, no sign of his slicked hair, meticulously tucked behind his ears and no sign his doe eyed hazel eyes shining with pride as you joined the ranks of adulthood and unemployment.

You reach for your phone, now finally free from the nerves and adrenaline of going up the stage, with a single unread message from the one you wished to be here with you.

I’m sorry, angel. There’s a case and Gideon needs me.

You sighed with a mild smile sprouting on your glossed lips as you sent back a reply.

No worries! We can celebrate when you get back. Be safe, I love you.

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!” Your mom exclaimed, reaching for a hug. “You graduated and with so many achievements—I mean look at all these cords hanging around your neck!”

You laughed as you stepped out from her warm embrace and watched joyful tears gather under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom! Hopefully all these cords help me get a job soon, huh, or else I’ll be moving back home with you.”

“Oh honey, stop joking! As if I wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms,” she quipped back.

A hand holding a bouquet of flowers shot up to your face. It was a bundle of your favorite, carnations, in ranges of different colors.

“Congratulations, lil sis,” your older brother, Trevor, breathed out. “Do I get a hug too or is that just for Mom?”

You giggled as you stepped into his arms, happy to be sharing this moment with your ever loving protector of a brother, no matter how busy he might be as a head chef for his own highly rated restaurant.

“Hey big brother, thanks for being here,” you mumbled in his tight grasp. “Did you pass along my invite to Dad?”

You felt him subtly shake his head causing your smile to slightly falter. You knew better than to expect the man who gifted you half of his genes to show up—a workaholic, absentee of a father whose love language was to deposit checks to your bank account from his fattened pockets as a lawyer for the rich. It was the cause of your parents’ separation when you were five years old. The matriarch tired from taking up the mantle as both the paternal and maternal figure for both you and your brother. Your mother exhausted from repeatedly believing broken promises uttered to herself and to her babies.

Having seen first hand how each lie wrapped as an oath chipped a piece of the loving and bright woman who gave birth to you and your brother, you vowed to never let that happen to you. It was a cautionary tale engrained in your mind. A fable—a curse really and in hindsight, you should have seen the markings of history repeating itself.

“Now, where is your nerdy pipe cleaner of a boyfriend?” He asked as he scanned around the vicinity for a sight of Spencer.

You shrugged, genuinely alright with your FBI agent of a boyfriend missing this milestone in your life. “Duty called. But that’s okay, we’ll celebrate when he gets back.”

A pair of eyes, similar to yours, inquisitively studied you as if making sure there was no hidden hurt behind those words uttered. “If you say so,” he stated, turning to your mother who was smiling at the both of you—her greatest treasures. “Mom, let’s get out of here. I had John prep the kitchen for a feast.”

You and your mom chattered excitedly at the passenger back seat as Trevor backed the four-door navy sedan out of the parking and drove off to his restaurant for the promised lunch graduation.

———

It was well into the night as you were settling in bed when the tell-tale signs of the main door being unlocked echoed through the dark green walls of his apartment.

“Spence?” You called out, letting him know that you were there instead of in your own apartment, 30 minutes away.

More shuffling was heard before the object of your love and affection rounded the bedroom door with a set of his own flowers on hand. He breathed out your name in reverence as he went for a kiss, pleased that he had still caught you awake.

“Congratulations, my love,” he smiled as he pulled away from your soft lips. “These are for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

You smiled back, gladly accepting his apologies and flowers. “It’s all good, Spence. I know how demanding your job is. I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I told Gideon and Hotch that’ll I’ll be unavailable this weekend. It’s just you and me,” he said as he went in for another kiss, unable to resist any longer. Not long after, his outside clothes and your sleepwear were strewn all around the bedroom floor as both your bodies merged into one and reached a mutual crescendo with your gasps and his groans as the choir.

***

The second time, you moderately understood.

You noted that the BAU was back in full swing with Gideon being brought back to the saddle after what happened in Boston. As his birthday treat, you both agreed to fly in for the weekend to Vegas to visit his mother at the facility. He never would have gone alone should it not have been for your enthusiasm to come with. You loved talking to Diana about Spencer’s childhood during her good days and you also loved being in her presence still even when she was lost in her teaching past—acting out as a student as you got to hear her lectures about literature.

The bustling at the airport had you tip toeing up to catch a sight of Spencer, your flight departing in about an hour. It was a late Friday afternoon, travelers were piling in for a weekend trip, and he promised to head straight from the Bureau to the airport to meet you by the entrance. Your head swiveled from left to right, biting your lip as the minutes ticked by with no sign of your boyfriend running towards you.

The phone in your jean pocket rang and your heart slightly dropped at the sight of the caller ID.

“Hey pretty boy,” you greeted, naively wishing that this phone call wasn’t a bearer of bad news. “Are you almost at the airport?”

There were muffled voices heard in the background. “Uhm—actually—”

You sighed, understanding what he wanted to say. “There’s a case,” you stated as a matter of fact. “It’s alright, Spence. I’ll tell your mom something popped up. No worries.”

“You—you don’t have to go alone. We can always reschedule,” he suggested, the timber of his voice going up an octave as if he was in a panic at the idea of disappointing you.

“You and I both know Diana’s excited about this trip,” you chuckled as you recalled how her doctor had described his mother’s face lighting up every time she was reminded of the visit. “I’ll go and spend some time with her. Maybe even get her to tell me more embarrassing childhood stories about her perfect boy.”

He lightly laughed at your joke to ease the tension and remorse he was feeling. “I could have told you all of it if you just asked.”

“Well, does it include pictures of you too?” You teased as you were checking in at the counter.

There was a stern voice calling for his name in the background, it was Hotch, you silently guessed.

“Listen, I have to go. The team is about to give the profile,” he rushed out to inform you. “I’ll see you when we both get back. I love you.”

The call ended without so much of a chance for you to say it back.

As the plane got ready to take off, your mood continued to further dampen. He promised to go—to you and to his own mother via the phone. An ivy seed of doubt was planted in your mind. Did he try to excuse himself from the case to his boss as some sort of birthday gift? It really didn’t work that way, you knew, with how of a high demand his job is but still, you wondered if his team was informed about the plans for this weekend or were they purposely kept out of the loop. That notion wouldn’t surprise you at the slightest, thinking back. The profilers weren’t even aware of his mother’s state and condition. Hell, they didn’t even know that you existed, a girlfriend of two years, until well into his first year at the BAU.

Deep down you grasped why he keeps Diana a secret. You were aware of the shame and embarrassment he felt for himself, having had to have her institutionalized by the time he reached the age of eighteen. You got that, didn’t mean you understood it but nonetheless, you respected his decision and was even proud of him for reaching out for professional help no matter how much he viewed that action of his cowardly. But what you weren’t really privy to was really why your relationship was kept in the dark. It could have saved him from Morgan’s incessant ribbing of his inability to pick up women.

During one night where your insecurities got the best of you, you asked in a small voice if he was ashamed of the relationship. He vehemently denied it, repeatedly saying that he just wanted to have a secret solace—a happy home to return to that was untouched by the worst human terrors that he encounters on the daily. That was what you were, he explained, a sunlit luscious reprieve filled with flowers and laughter where he could rest his weary bones from the ravaging, dark waves. His own piece of heaven here on earth. He then kissed your fears away that night, hugged you tight into his chest—the vibrations from his humming lulling you to slumber.

———

“I always knew it would take a special girl to understand my special boy,” Diana mused out loud as you plated a slice of cake for her.

You blushed, sitting down beside her with your own. “He’s perfect. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.”

She affectionately combed through your hair, similar to how her son would. “Thank you. For visiting and being understanding of his erratic schedule.”

“It’s no problem at all, Diana. I love him, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating.” You stated as the ivy seed of doubt sprouted in your mind—did you really? Did you really understand what you were getting into?

***

The third time, you still tried to understand.

There you were surrounded by the purest celebration of love and matrimony, sans your long-haired, sweater vest wearing plus one. Your brother was getting married to the love of his life, vowing himself to be with her for better, for worse and your other half was in another state catching criminals. Fiddling with the diamond engagement ring adorning your finger, you recalled how you ended up alone, dateless, in this joyous occasion.

You RSVP’ed with a date when the invitation arrived four months ago. Your brother even calling in to make sure that he, your well-celebrated FBI fiancée, will be able to attend a month before the wedding. You internally scoffed at his repeated checking but in retrospect, maybe he saw the end well before you did. You promised to him, as Spencer did to you, that he’ll be available to watch the union and to save all the slow dances with him. But the day before the wedding, the phone rang for a case in Dallas and you knew what it meant. Without so much of a fight, you kissed him goodbye by the door of his now shared apartment and let the dreary silence enveloped you as you think of how to inform your brother of the new change without hearing the pity and patronization in his voice.

Nursing a glass of red wine, you watched your brother dance with his newly wedded wife and in your peripheral, you spotted your mother approaching you at the table.

“Now why are you being such a sourpuss during this festive event?” She chimed out as she pulled a chair beside you. “You should be out there, dancing and getting to know our new extended family.”

You shrugged, unsure on what to say. She was right, of course. All the guests were enjoying themselves and basking in the warm, infectious glow of the happy couple but you didn’t have the courage in you to mask the despondent emotions inside of you.

Your mother sighed and took your left hand in hers. “You know, when your dad and I were going through the proceedings of the divorce, I had moments when I wanted to back out from it. I loved your father, still holds a piece of my heart till this day, and I thought the small moments of happiness when he was around would be enough to tied me through the days when he wasn’t. I thought those times and our love for you kids were sufficient to keep our love from wilting. If I poured out affection and devotion to the home we once built, it wouldn’t crumble surely. But you know what I forgot—”

You turned to face her somber eyes, looking into yours as if searching for something that seemed to no longer be there.

“—I forgot to take care of myself. I gave a pieces of me away so willing and so many times that when I reached the end of the marriage, I no longer knew who I was. Where the piece of me started and where it ended. You’re withering, my flower. The vibrant life that I once longed to protect in your eyes is slowly dying. I don’t want you to reach the finish line and not know how you got up there. How you ended up giving all yourself away with not a flower bud left to blossom just for you.”

You felt your hackles rise to defend the relationship. In hindsight, this was you denying the truth that was staring you right in the face. “It’s not like that with Spencer, Mom. It’s just—the job is hectic and it’s been his forever dream. He had finally started to gain his footing when Gideon and Elle left and then the kidnapping happened and that pushed his progress back a bit. But he’s getting there now. We’re stabilizing and we had a discussion—there’s less broken promises. It’s just that this recent case in Dallas was urgent and they needed the team to solve crime. I don’t want to take him away from the country and the people who needs his help and from his dream of solving crimes. I love him, Mom, in all of his entirety and he deserves all the respect and understanding from me as his partner.”

She squeezed the hand in hers—the left hand adorning the ring, the material manifestation of his vow to you that you had happily accepted. “I‘ve grown fond of Spencer. I see him as another son of mine but darling, sometimes the love you feel for each other is not enough. A relationship takes continuous work—a task that both individuals must pull in the effort and prioritize. Just think about it,” she stated as she stood up. “Now, no more of this depressing talk and this serious energy from you. Go around, dance with your brother, and enjoy.”

You mustered up a smile as you proceeded to do just what you were told until your feet were sore from all the dancing. But no matter the joyous occasion, it didn’t stop the realization in the form of ivy from taking roots and slowly covering all corners of your mind.

***

And the final time, you could no longer understand.

The grandfather clock stationed at the corner of the dimly lit apartment struck at two. Your figure was still dressed in your purple fitted dress as you waited for your soon-to-be other half to walk through the door. It was another night of getting your hopes up and broken promises and you were no longer sure how much you could take before the love you held in your heart festers and turns into resentment.

You promised yourself you’d never be in a situation that you had seen your mother once be in. You became the careful daughter of a careless man who gave little to no effort to cherish the love a woman had freely given to him. You thought with all your cautiousness and logical thinking, the mistakes of the mother would never be repeated. That was naive thinking—you realized now. By actively being aware of the past, you’d forgotten to look ahead and fell deep into the pitfalls of doing the same as your mother did.

Spencer once mentioned that there was a high divorce rate in his line of duty. How he worried and vowed that you both will never join that rate. And that was a promise he’ll be able to keep, you scoffed to yourself, as you spun the ring on the table.

Another shared piece of information floated to the forefront of your mind. How Haley had recently served Hotch, his unit chief divorce papers. You’ve grown close with her over the years, being the only two constant partners to someone working in the BAU. You’ve seen first hand all the missed milestones in Haley’s and Jack’s life as her husband flew around the country with the cavalry, saving the innocent one case at a time. Never taking the time to realize that the once solid foundation of their marriage was crumbling down with every flight he took. Similar to what was happening in the doctor’s own home.

A set of keys unlatched the mahogany door and a fresh batch of florals were the first that entered through, followed by Spencer looking sheepish as he noted your presence by the sofa. “Angel, I’m so sorry I missed your promotion dinner.”

Silence greeted him as he stumbled to get to where you were. “Carnations for you.”

Tears started to form under your eyes. You didn’t want to break but the reality of your decision was setting in. You wanted to falter, to change your mind, to give him another chance but you knew you couldn’t. You’ve given too much of your understanding away and you doubted you have any more to give to this beautiful man who once promised to make you his top priority.

“I can’t accept them, Spencer.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his body tensing as if sensing the finality behind your words. “Why not? They’re your favorite.”

“They are but—” you took a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “—I think we should stop.”

“W-what? No. No, please,” he stammered out as his own set of tears started flooding his eyes, blurring you from his vision. “I’m sorry I missed the dinner. I’ll make it up to you—I promise just—”

The dam of your emotions broke causing you to freely sob out all the sadness and anger that had collected in your heart. “I’m tired, Spencer. You can’t promise anything to me anymore. You’ve broken so many promises that you’ll only end up breaking them again.”

He took your hands into his, letting the bouquet fall crushed on the hardwood floor, recognizing the ring missing in your finger. “This time, this time it’ll be different. Please, don’t leave me.”

“The country needs you, the BAU needs you. But I need you too, Spencer. I love you, I really do but I can’t be your third priority anymore. I don’t deserve that—don’t I deserve to come first before the country and the job?”

He tightened his hold on your hands as if afraid that you were slipping through his fingers, denying the reality that you already had. “I love you so much. I don’t want to live without you by my side. Tell me how to fix this. Do you want me to leave the BAU? I’ll—I’ll do it, just stay with me, please.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to leave the FBI. Your ambition and integrity is one of the facets that I loved about you and you might end up resenting me down the line if you leave now. It’s not yet your time to leave the BAU, you and I both know that,” you pulled your hands away and slid the ring in front of him. “This belongs to you, I’m giving it back.”

His shoulder caved in on itself, the weight of it all too much for him to carry. “I don’t want this to be our end. I just don’t.”

“I don’t want this too, but I need to,” you whispered as your hand reached out to push shoulder length hair out of the way. “Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe in the future we’d meet again and continue the pages of our love story but for now, I have to do this Spencer. I can’t keep giving a piece of me every time your top priority needs you, I’ll end up hating you if I stay.”

You leaned in for one final kiss. A salty, tear filled kiss of death to a future you had once envisioned with the beautiful boy before you. A white picket fence with children laughing at the backyard—the American dream fading into nothing as you start to pull away.

“Goodbye for now, Spencer.”

He stared at all the curves and dips in your face one last time as if etching every detail into his already perfect memory.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer Reid oneshot

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warnersister · 11 months ago

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Dark! Isaiah Jesus x Reader “forever”

Where you try to leave him but Isaiah refuses to fathom the idea that you don’t want to live in his fantasy forever.

Isaiah rounded the corner onto the street where his house was, pace steady as he looked forward to spending the evening with his little fiancée after a tiring day dealing with some business with the other Peaky boys.

He’d expected you to be in bed already, waiting up for him like a good girl to ask about his day and dote on him the way he’d like you too. But when he opened the front door and let out a loud “I’m home sweetheart” he could hear your pottering upstairs becoming more wicked, and sounded almost frantic to him. He inhaled deeply, anger slowly seeping through his veins and he attempted to establish that gentle dominance he tried to have with you instead of getting truly angry.

In his head it wasn’t true; blindly convincing himself over the past few weeks that the news he’d been receiving wasn’t real. They were just making it up. He’d hired a few men to follow you when you’d started dating - needing to know where his missus was at all times when he couldn’t accompany you. And since the beginning of the month they’d trailed you to a bank, a lawyer and a travel agency which you’d left with a one way ticket to France by ferry. But no, you wouldn’t do that to him. You loved him. You’d promised him forever when you accepted that ring. Of course you wouldn’t do that.

But now, stood in the entrance to your house, he flared his nostrils and shook his head, gritting his jaw as he calmly went around and locked all the doors, windows and exits on the ground floor before putting all keys in his coat pocket, hanging it by the door.

He walked upstairs at his usual pace, rolling the sleeves of his bloodied shirt to deal with your nonsense. He’d walked to the shared bedroom, noticing the light pooling into the hallway, slipping in as he watched you click your suitcase shut. He entered the room fulls and quickly shut the door behind him. You jumped at the sound of the door closing, too absorbed in your own mind to notice him there.

He crossed his arms across his chest, watching you straighten yourself up and could almost see the internal convincing it took you to speak to him. “I can’t do this anymore Isaiah.” You started. “Put the suitcase away yn.” “I can’t keep living your lie. I had a successful business, I was happy. And now I’m just as much use as a chocolate fire guard.” Isaiah stayed silent. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. But it’s time for me to go.” You say, picking the suitcase up and pulling the engagement ring off of your finger. And Isaiah started laughing. “You’re funny love.” He shook his head, refusing to believe that you would ever consider leaving him. “I’m serious Isaiah.”

His eyes darkened suddenly, a hazy mist filling the dark voids in place of his pupils as he inhaled deeply. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing, taking money out of my account. Hiring a lawyer that works for the blinders. Buying ferry tickets to a country which language you can’t speak.” “I’ve been taking lessons.” “Which I pay for.” He moves away from the door and back towards you, you don’t back away. “You’ve bought a suitcase with my money. Wearing clothes that I’ve paid for, running away in shoes I had made, with a confidence I created. I made you Yn. You will not do this to me.” You stayed silent.

“You’re just confused. You’ve never had a man love you and you don’t know how to feel. You’ve never had such a sense of security and you’re not used to it. Cause you think you’re a strong woman when internally you’re trying not to let go of that little girl’s hope.” You looked down at your feet contemplating his words, wondering what you would actually do once you reached France.

He lifted your chin to meet his eyes with his thumb and index finger, analysing your face. “So what you’re going to do my love, is you’re going to unpack that suitcase, put your clothes away. Give me the money and the ticket and you’re going to put that diamond back on your finger and you’re going to be Mrs Jesus like I know you want to be. Then you’re going to get ready for bed, lay in that bed beside me while you apologise for being so silly and then I’ll consider forgiving you and we’ll go back to how thinks were. Yeah?”

You looked at him for a minute before silently moving away to open your suitcase back up and he knew he had you wrapped around his finger.

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transgenderer · 9 months ago

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A jitsuin (実印) is an officially registered seal. A registered seal is needed to conduct business and other important or legally binding events. A jitsuin is used when purchasing a vehicle, marrying, or purchasing land, for example.

The size, shape, material, decoration, and lettering style of jitsuin are closely regulated by law. For example, in Hiroshima, a jitsuin is expected to be roughly 1⁄2 to 1 inch (1.3 to 2.5 cm), usually square or (rarely) rectangular but never round, irregular, or oval. It must contain the individual's full family and given name, without abbreviation. The lettering must be red with a white background (shubun), with roughly equal width lines used throughout the name. The font must be one of several based on ancient historical lettering styles found in metal, woodcarving, and so on. Ancient forms of ideographs are commonplace. A red perimeter must entirely surround the name, and there should be no other decoration on the underside (working surface) of the seal. The top and sides (handle) of the seal may be decorated in any fashion from completely undecorated to historical animal motifs, dates, names, and inscriptions.

Throughout Japan, rules governing jitsuin design are very stringent and each design is unique, so the vast majority of people entrust the creation of their jitsuin to a professional, paying upward of US$20 and more often closer to US$100, and using it for decades. People desirous of opening a new chapter in their lives—say, following a divorce, death of a spouse, a long streak of bad luck, or a change in career—will often have a new jitsuin made.

The material is usually a high quality hard stone or, far less frequently, deerhorn, soapstone, or jade. It is sometimes carved by machine. When carved by hand, an intō ("seal-engraving blade"), a mirror, and a small specialized wooden vice are used. An intō is a flat-bladed pencil-sized chisel, usually round or octagonal in cross-section and sometimes wrapped in string to give a better grip. The intō is held vertically in one hand, with the point projecting from the carver's fist on the side opposite the thumb. New, modern intō range in price from less than US$1 to US$100.

The jitsuin are kept in secure places such as bank vaults. or hidden in a home. They are usually stored in thumb-sized rectangular boxes made of cardboard covered with embroidered green fabric outside and red silk or red velvet inside, held closed by a white plastic or deerhorn splinter tied to the lid and passed through a fabric loop attached to the lower half of the box. Because of the superficial resemblance to coffins, they are often called "coffins" in Japanese by enthusiasts and hanko boutiques. The paste is usually stored separately.

A ginkō-in (銀行印) is used specifically for banking; ginkō means "bank". A person's savings account passbook contains an original impression of the ginkō-in alongside a bank employee's seal. Rules for the size and design vary somewhat from bank to bank; generally, they contain a Japanese person's full name. A Westerner may be permitted to use a full family name with or without an abbreviated given name, such as "Smith", "Bill Smith", "W Smith" or "Wm Smith" in place of "William Smith". The lettering can be red or white, in any font, and with artistic decoration.

Since mass-produced ginkō-in offer no security, most people either have them custom-made by professionals or make their own by hand. They were traditionally made of wood or stone; more recently of ivory, plastic or metal, and carried in a variety of thumb-shape and -size cases resembling cloth purses or plastic pencil cases. They are usually hidden carefully in the owner's home.

A mitome-in (認印) is a moderately formal seal typically used for signing for postal deliveries, signing utility bill payments, signing internal company memos, confirming receipt of internal company mail, and other low-security everyday functions.

Mitome-in are commonly stored in low-security, high-utility places such as office desk drawers and in the anteroom (genkan) of a residence.

A mitome-in's form is governed by fewer customs than jitsuin and ginkō-in. However, mitome-in adhere to a handful of strongly observed customs. The size is the attribute most strongly governed by social custom. It is usually not more than 20 millimetres (0.79 in) in size. A man's is usually slightly larger than a woman's, and a junior employee's is always smaller than his bosses' and his senior co-workers', in keeping with office social hierarchy. The mitome-in always has the person's family name and usually does not have the person's given name (shita no namae). Mitome-ins are often round or oval, but square ones are not uncommon, and rectangular ones are not unheard-of; irregular shapes are not used. They can produce red lettering on a blank field (shubun) or the opposite (hakubun). Borderlines around their edges are optional.

Plastic mitome-in in popular Japanese names can be obtained from stationery stores for less than US$1, though ones made from inexpensive stone are also very popular. Inexpensive prefabricated seals are called sanmonban (三文判). Rubber stamps are unacceptable for business purposes.

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xkseii · 1 year ago

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The magnificent bird and the golden cage

— Including: nsfw (-17)

— Warnings: gn reader, toxic behavior & manipulation from both reader and Otoya, unhealthy relationship, cheating.

— Summary: Who is the magnificent bird in the gold cage, and who keeps him locked there.

Part 3 -> Don Lorenzo, Tabito Karasu & Eita Otoya

✖︎ You are the gentle falconer, and he is the lovely Magpie.

— Don Lorenzo is a man who lived a difficult life. As he was born into a miserable household, abandoned by his parents, living on the streets for a long period of time… It’s no wonder that Lorenzo kept a difficult relationship and point of view on money, even if he can live comfortably now. His obsession with money represent a huge part of his personality, and he can’t help but never be satisfied with what he has, the internalized fear of losing all his money and ending up on the street again is eating him from the inside.

— Meeting you did not change him, his fear still eating him alive and distracting his mind. Even if your close relationship did not affect his traumatized self, it still changed a few of his habits. The fact that you were earning less than him and lived a pretty average life was stressing him out, he started to fear that you would end up without money at some point if you stop working, or get injured. Every week, he can’t help but transfer a specific amount of money, which is higher if you got sick or went on holiday during the previous week.

— You didn’t want to take advantage of his fear and only put his money on the side, without using it, keeping it only for an emergency. When you hang out with Lorenzo, and often Snuffy, neither of them let you pay. At first, it was always Snuffy paying for the three of you, then, Lorenzo took the habit of paying sometimes. The second you take out your credit card, your hand is slapped away without any care, so in exchange, you regularly buy them gifts, such as golden items for Lorenzo, football related items, or cute decorations for his apartment.

— The moment you started dating, he was very much always with you. You work from home as much as you can, he brings you to his practice when you aren’t busy, he follows you around in the morning. After all, Lorenzo doesn’t just have an obsession on money, but also on love and affection, since he lacked this part of a relationship his entire life. Hand holding is necessary for him, resting his chin on your shoulder is a must, the sensation of having you close to him physically and mentally.

— You rapidly move in together, and instantly, he creates a joined bank account for you two. Lorenzo often tends to give you money if you do something for him, buys you anything that he thinks will suit you. A few of his teammates were convinced that you were only with him for money, until they notice what was your kind of dynamic you had together: the constant wholesome reassurance, the support you always give each other, the almost childish way of teasing the other to bring a smile to their face. You had the most healthy relationship possible, even with your shared or distinct experiences and trauma.

— In the end, you keep Lorenzo in the most comfortable cage, filled with silk pillows and most expensive food. He is more dependent of you than you are dependent of him, but it didn’t create an unbalanced or one-sided relationship. You have different love language, and both give the most love to the other as possible, while trying to learn how to grow past the difficult experiences together.

✖︎ You locked each other in the same golden cage.

— Karasu has that habit of looking down on people he deems as ‘mediocre’, but it isn’t to the liking of everyone. And it certainly wasn’t to your liking. And the fact that he uses his sharp tongue to insult friend or foe without any distinction only annoyed you more. There was this sensation of sheer annoyance sweeping through you whenever he opens his mouth to say something else than something about the game itself.

— Your relationship with Karasu started off the wrong foot, with a mutual annoyance that eat away your similar play style. You could be working so well together, but your behavior and temper made it impossible to even stand in the same room without glaring at each other.

— Though, you are both perfectionist, and both dislike when something well planned goes wrong. Whenever it’s important or not, and make a difference or not, you both react the same way: complain and say what went wrong. And it was the only moment you both understood each other perfectly, while the others thought that you were dramatic and always complaining. This is how you managed to more or less get along, externalize the frustration of a situation by talking to each other, and exactly getting where it was bothering the other. It was a pretty therapeutic way of relaxing, and you both wordlessly agreed to listen to each other when one of you needed it.

— You start to spend more time with each other, spending a good hour everyday just talking to each other and talking out any trouble or something that annoys you. It went to the point when you couldn’t even imagine talking to someone else about all of this, even for a short instant, it was engraved in your brain that you could just come up to Karasu and start talking. It was the same for him, and the rest of your teammates were surprised when they almost never heard neither of you complain many times per day anymore.

— This habit turned into dependence for each other's presence, and it became a daily need that could lead to extreme frustration if it wasn't given. When the new Selection began, you were both separated and both your mood were the worst anyone had ever seen. Karasu was complaining about every little thing, his sharp tongue turned deadly, his insults becoming harsher, more frequent and towards absolutely everyone. On your side, it wasn't any better if it was from a collective agreement to let the players walk around when they weren't training, so you could see each other.

— You never really began any romantic relationship, but this dependence to the other led to being together almost all the time. A game of control and reassurance between the two of you, since you didn't want the other to go see someone else, and it was the same for the other. It was a constant push into following your ideas, meaning that even if one of you were having a bad and dangerous idea, the other would constantly support them without trying to direct them onto a better path.

— This dynamic based on reassurance, mutual frustration, anger, and need for perfection was utterly unhealthy but also led to a reassurance and support that was greatly needed. In the end, you were so similar that you held onto each other even in the worst decision and time.

✖︎ You are the falconer, he is the Smith scribe.

— Eita Otoya, a professional cheater. You have no idea how it happened, but you ended up going out with him only to get cheated on and broken with because he was too 'bored'. It wasn't even a proper break up, as he just sent you a text saying that it was over between you.

— The frustration only grew when you saw him get more and more partner, never learning the lesson, despite the fact that he was getting slapped almost every time. This blatant disrespect, the number of hearts you saw him break made you want to get revenge, or at least, get him to understand what he was doing to those poor souls. You had a few mutual friends with him, and you more or less know what he was becoming and hear more details about his recent behavior.

— Without any surprise, none of his previous partners would ever be willing to get in contact with him again, and you ended up being the first one to do so. On the note of wanting to just catch up with him and hear about how he was doing, a kind-of date at a coffee shop was decided, and you saw him face-to-face for the first time in months. His lack of shame was even worse than you thought, as he proudly said that he didn't have any partner, even if you knew he currently had a girlfriend.

— Meeting him at this coffee shop felt more like a date than anything else, he was being as flirty as when you met him, and he behaved like he was trying to win you over again. It irked you so much but kept calm, in the few months between your break-up, he didn't change in the slightest and tried to use the same cheap tricks to get you to go out with him again or spend a night together.

— You accepted the implied offer, and spent the night with him. But unlike what he was expecting, you weren't all over him the night morning, you just put on your clothes after grabbing something to drink and left. Otoya that was so used to get and keep the attention of his partner until he cheated felt lost, like he had lost a game against you and his ego really badly took the hit. And you gained an Otoya running after you while trying to not make it obvious, doing everything to get your attention and get into a relationship again.

— His ego when he saw you with someone else, seeming to have fun and be into a nice relationship, was the biggest blow. It was like telling him he was good enough for a night, but he wasn't deserving to be officially with you, only a guy on the side when you felt bored. He gave even more efforts into getting you to pay attention to him, pushing any flirt away to focus on getting you, which started a game of cat and mouse, but the mouse was actually a dog waiting to strike.

— You gave attention to Otoya for a day, before ghosting him, gave him attention again, before being seen with someone else. It lasted for weeks, until you finally accepted to go out with him. Your previous behavior was forcing him to always only be with you, from the fear of seeing you leave with someone else. And in the end, Otoya has been trapped into his own game of flirting and cheating.

— Even if you weren't planning on cheating on him, since you didn't want to be the same kind of bastard as him… You let the anxiousness of it growing at the back of his mind, soothing his heart when you felt that it was getting to him too much. You didn't know for how long it will last, but for now, he had been a loyal boyfriend to you.

— Thank you for reading! I wish you a great day.

— here is my masterlist & ko-fi —

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audreyclimbs · 1 month ago

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foreseen in shadows- prologue

chapter summary: Matt Murdock meets a strange woman... and punches her in the face.

word count: 2.5k

to access the entire story: foreseen in shadows masterlist + masterlist

The rain pelting against Matt's face had grown nearly unbearable. The raindrops themselves weren't so bad, though the way they soaked into his black mask had grown to be something of a nuisance. Rather, it was the whipping, harsh October air against his skin that made the weather so intolerable. He seriously needed to get something nicer than this poor excuse for a suit.

This evening had been fairly monotonous. A few burglaries, a mugging. There were a few drunk college idiots who tried to corner a woman on her way from work- a restaurant from what Matt could smell on her- who ended up on the receiving end of Matt's growing aggravation with the weather. As he remembered the encounter, he briefly wondered if he had needed to beat them that hard. Remains to be seen. The deafening sound of the woman's trembling had been the only thing that pulled him out of his adrenaline-induced stupor.

Oh right, I'm supposed to be helping them, not terrifying them even more. Matt had thought to himself, hands clenching and unclenching in fists.

"How far away is your home?" He huffed out, shoulders slowly dropping as the pounding of his heart subsided.

She had stuttered a few times before choking out, "Just a couple of blocks. Thank you for... that."

Matt nodded silently before stepping back ever so slightly. Without another word, the woman practically raced in the direction of what he assumed was her apartment. He listened to the pounding of her heart as she made her way home. Listened to her checking on her one— no, two— kids as they slept peacefully in their beds. Then she slipped into bed herself. He heard her greet a man, her husband based on the ring that he had heard her twirling anxiously on her finger when she stood in front of him just a little while ago. Once assured that she had returned safely, Matt continued on his way.

To orient himself to his current position, Matt ascended to the rooftop of an apartment building. He let himself open up to the bustling, raucous noises of Hell's Kitchen's nightlife. For a little while, it was oddly peaceful. A voice in the back of his mind laughed at the irony of Matt feeling uneasy about a brief moment of peace. He wondered what time it was. As if on cue, the chiming of a grandfather clock sounded in one of the apartments below him.

2:45 A.M.

Exhaustion whispered into his bones, but he tried to brush it off. Part of him contemplated sneaking back into his apartment for some coffee, but he knew deep down that once he stepped through the threshold of his rooftop door, he wouldn't bring himself to come back out. Hell's Kitchen needed its masked protector more than Matt Murdock needed sleep, after all. Only a couple more hours, then he would go to sleep for a bit before joining Foggy in their daytime hunt for clients. God, he hoped they would catch a break soon. He wasn't sure how much more his bank account could take.

In the distance, he tuned into the rapid beating of a woman's heart. She seemed young, maybe a bit younger than Matt. She was sprinting through the alleys below him, winding left and right through the web of dark lanes. Finally, she rounded the corner of an alley that was one building to his left and barreled out into the sidewalk of the busy street. Her shoes slipped on the rain-slick sidewalk as she tried to counteract her momentum.

"Hoooly fuck, oh my God," Her voice came out breathless. She just... ran into someone?

"Watch where you're going, you little bitch," a gruff male voice snapped back at her, shoving her hands off when she tried to help him up.

Her cheeks, already flushed from her running, burned even hotter at his words. "I- I am sorry, sir, believe me," her voice had a distinct lilt to it. Matt realized with an internal eye-roll that she was not a Hell's Kitchen native. Probably some tourist who got lost on her way back to... wherever she came from. But why was she running so fast? Her heart was beating faster than would justify a simple run. He could practically smell the anxiety rolling off of her.

The older man stalked off without another word, muttering some unsavory words under his breath as he went.

Matt found himself walking closer to where the young woman was now standing. He could hear her breathing start to level out, her feet shuffling. Why was she so damn nervous?

"Where the hell..." she trailed off and back-stepped into the shadows of the alley she had practically fallen out of mere moments ago. A few beats of silence, and then he heard a humorless chuckle slip past her lips. "Didn't see that one coming," she muttered. Her head whipped around, presumably trying to take in her surroundings, and he heard raindrops whip themselves off of the bridge of her nose and the point of her chin.

Matt's brow furrowed in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? She definitely wasn't blind, though her grotesquely delayed reaction time to the street ahead of her would suggest it. Call it momentary boredom or curiosity, but the young woman's new movements spark his interest once more. Where was she going?

And why do I even care? Matt thought to himself. He considered abandoning her entirely and turning in early for the night. Just a couple more hours, he reminded himself.

The woman began jogging through the alleys, keeping to corridors that were a small way away from the central streets. She eventually scaled up the side of an apartment building using a rusty fire escape that creaked and groaned beneath her weight. He heard her cringe at the unsafe method of ascent, but she carried on before finally reaching the rooftop. The curiosity that had been simmering since the moment he picked up on her heartbeat finally boiled over, and Matt crossed the rooftops between them to reach her.

Her head whipped around to face the sound of his boots crunching across gravel. Her heartbeat, which had slowed minutely since she left the older man, skyrocketed once more. The sweat that had begun to cool on her brow perspired anew.

She's nervous. Matt noted internally. A moment later, No shit, you're a masked man dressed in all black, stalking silently up behind her at almost 3 o'clock in the morning.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked across the rooftop. You sound like a stalker, Murdock. They were on opposite corners of the building, but he could tell it didn't feel far enough to her.

"What are you doing, sneaking up on me at 3 o'clock in the morning?" Touché, Matt thought. Her voice was loud and snappy. To anyone else, she would have sounded entirely fearless. But Matt could make out the slight tremors of her hands.

"Come closer, you're all shadows and it's freaking me the fuck out that I can't see you." Her heart skipped a beat as she said it. A lie for which Matt could not conjure a logical explanation. Any other sane person would want this random stranger as far away as possible.

Nonetheless, Matt obliged and began slowly closing the distance between them. As he approached, Matt tuned in his senses to her appearance. Athletic build, strong legs, tense shoulders. Her clothes, which Matt could tell fit snugly over her limbs, clung even tighter with sweat and rain. The woman trailed slightly closer, pausing between steps once Matt reached about halfway. Then, her heart skyrocketed once again. She stood, frozen for some unknown reason. Her boots crunched back and forth on the gravel as she seemed to snap out of a stupor. Then, she broke into a sprint to her right.

It happened so quickly that Matt scolded himself for getting distracted with what she "looked like." She catapulted herself to the next rooftop and landed in a roll, then kept pushing forward. The woman's legs were pumping so fast that Matt wondered for a moment if she had some form of enhanced abilities. The pace of her feet mixed with her skittering pulse into a cacophony of thundering adrenaline. A part of Matt was tempted to shout at her to stop running if only to ease the burning of his lungs.

Matt Murdock was by no means out of shape. So how was this lady, who was arguably around his age, so fucking fast?

Do I need to do more cardio? Is kickboxing and chasing criminals every night not enough?

Finally, Matt's opportunity to gain the upper hand appeared in the darkness. A loose stone on the next rooftop. Small enough for her to not see it shrouded in the darkness of Hell's Kitchen's moonless night. Matt prayed that she didn't see it.

The resounding smack of her body colliding with the gravel as her foot caught on the rock's jagged edge was his answer. Matt finally reached the rooftop, but by the time he'd gotten there, she was up again. In a flash, Matt launched himself at the young woman with a well-aimed fist. He hit his mark on her jaw and almost felt bad for the speed with which she hit the ground mere moments after picking herself up from it. The shriek that slipped past her lips echoed through the city's noise, and Matt prayed once more that none of the residents of this building stirred at the noise.

The young woman scrambled to her feet and arranged her body into a fighting stance at a commendable pace. Especially considering the throbbing pain Matt could hear in her jaw. That would definitely be a bruise in a few hours if the thrumming of her blood pooling in the area was any indication. Should he apologize? His fight-or-flight instincts stopped roaring in his ears for a moment and allowed the lawyer to realize he had just struck this woman technically unprompted. Shit. So much for a peaceful approach.

"What the fuck was that for?" She barked at him, fists hovering in front of her chest.

"Why did you run?" was Matt's only answer.

"I-" her fists wavered for just a moment. He heard her heart uptick ever so slightly, and he cocked his head to the side for a split second as she stalled.

Impatience and a sliver of fear seized Matt once more, and he lunged for her. They hit the floor, Matt's arms coming to press her own by her head. At this proximity, he could smell the sweat that had dried on her before the rain started. How long has she been out tonight? How long has she been running? What has she been doing? Was she with Fisk? Question after question raced through Matt's head, but he didn't know why his instincts told him to not let her go.

"Would you stop fucking attacking me? Maybe that's why I ran, you asshole." The distinctive twist of her words made Matt realize that she was Southern. Based on the heat rising in her neck and cheeks paired with the feeling of her eyes on him, Matt could guess that she was currently leveling him with a lethal glare. She thrashed under him, but he held fast onto his position over her.

For the record, Matt thought to himself, I didn't attack you until after you ran.

"Answer the question," Matt snapped back, perhaps a touch harsher than was necessary, but he had no idea who this woman was or why his gut was telling him that she was important.

She sputtered for a moment before replying, "What question?"

"Why did you run?" Matt repeated, voice cold.

He felt her go still for a moment and sensed the intensity of her gaze on him. Then, her heart picked up once more. He really should have seen it coming, but before he could begin to react, the woman beneath him had launched her left leg up and over him, using the momentum of his weight to roll on top of him, arms slipping out from beneath his grasp to shove away at his chest so hard that the air escaped his lungs. Matt's back hit the gravel and he drew in a harsh gasp before reaching up to deflect a blow from her. The woman practically catapulted herself off of his body and backed up several paces. Matt sprang up in kind and tuned in to every signal her body could give him for what her next move would be. Her heartbeat was fast but steady. The rain still pouring onto both of them dripped down her arms and face, and he could tell she was shivering. Whether it was more from adrenaline or the temperature, he couldn't be sure. As he continued to listen, Matt felt his head tilt to the side slightly, arms remaining tense at his sides.

There it was again. Matt felt her eyes practically burning a hole in his head with a laser focus that surpassed a normal observation of one's opponent. If he weren't trying to figure out if this woman wanted to murder him, he'd be worried that there was something stuck in his teeth. She stared and stared, and Matt could sense every part of her body focusing on whatever she saw in him. A small hitch of her breath reached his ears.

Then, she advanced in a flurry of blows that Matt could hardly sense before they made contact. She seemed to be using whatever reserve of energy she had left. He began to deflect and attempt to drive back, but she met every strike a split second before it could hit its mark. She was undeniably on defense now, but she was doing it flawlessly. Frustration grew in Matt's chest when he continued to miss with what should have been sound blows and jabs. As he back-stepped repeatedly, he realized that she was closing in on him quickly despite never lashing out with a punch of her own. Then, in a strike so quick he didn't even sense its approach, she slammed her open palm over Matt's ear so hard that it knocked him to the side.

Suddenly, the world was screaming and shrieking. Matt drew in a gasp, hand shooting up to his ear as his knees hit the ground.

"I'm sorry," she whispered so softly that Matt almost didn't hear it over the roaring and ringing in his ear. Then, her knee made contact with his other ear, and Matt fell forward onto his forearms, jaw working back and forth futilely to relieve the sharp ringing that was overwhelming every one of his senses.

For a terrifying moment, Matt Murdock was in a dark world with no sound but shrill ringing, and he could feel nothing but the gravel digging into his arms and knees and the rain pelting against his back like shards of glass. Is this what eternal damnation is like? It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn't sure, but eventually, the ringing in his ears subsided, and he oriented himself to where he lay on this damned rooftop. He hesitated to move just yet, but Matt listened around and realized that the woman was gone.

In the distance, a grandfather clock chimed four times.

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 7 months ago

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Revisiting information from Tom Bower's book Revenge and current events in the House of Windsor.

Misan Harriman: All Roads lead back, to Soho House & the person Rachel described as her "gay husband," Markus Anderson.

Anglo-Nigerian photographer, Misan Harriman, was instrumental in Meghan’s 2014 post-Trevor re-brand from Deal or No Deal Briefcase Girl to faux philanthropist/humanitarian.

Allegedly he's also gay, along with the other "boys" in MEgain's Soho House Circle. All in "contract" marriages with female "beards" like Rachel Meghan Markle. All liars.

According to Tom Bower's research (Revenge p. 63), Meghan was determined to use One Young World as her launching pad to celebrity philanthropy.

She was unknown to the OYW founders and event staff so she contacted Misan Harriman to ask for an introduction to his friend, tennis star, Boris Becker.

Becker was already scheduled to speak at the Dublin conference and Misan pitched the idea of Meghan's participation.

Becker referred Meghan to HIS AGENT, Gina Nelthorpe-Cowne.

If I remember correctly, in Gina's pre-wedding articles and interviews, she mentioned that Meghan contacted her office in 2014 to express an interest in helping with the OYW conference(s). I had no idea that Meghan and Misan were friendly while Meghan cohabitated with Celebrity Chef Cory.

MEgain did not choose Misan for her engagement photographs. Misan has only been in the photography business for five (5) years.

Soho House members, the York Sisters, invited Misan to capture the moment Edo proposed to Beatrice. (sigh & smh) SAME Eugenie who told the press, "we really like her..." when someone (OMIT & Jessica) gave Camilla Tominey permission to publicize their affair. Camilla repeatedly writes that William MUST forgive Sparry. Tominey cares nothing for the Wales family or the country. Her interests are rooted in greed and irresponsible reporting to sell papers.

Notice The Meghans began paying Misan during MEGXIT. He captured the stills and video footage for Megflix. He is also paid by Invictus. There's a lot of cash flowing into Misan's bank account via The Meghan and their archeficicial business ventures. IRS, where you at???? 🤔

I'm not sure why I included the following in my original 2022 post: "Allegedly, during Harry's 2 nights in Tornto (babysat by Jason Knauf), just before he flew to the US-FL IG, Meghan (while cohabitating w/Cory & just back from spending Mother's Day weekend w/Cory's parents) Meghan told Harry about her interest in helping him with the Invictus Games."

One thing that stands out to me is how much both Meghans lied during the engagement interview:

Sparry & MEgain admitted (on international television) that they were secretly dating for 5-6 months BEFORE Tominey received the story.

Do the math. If they met in July of 2016 and had 5-6 months together in secret, Camilla's article would have been published in December or January, not October/November.

Camilla's article was published at the time of their Toronto (soho house) Halloween party with Eugenie and Jack Brooksbank: October 2016 = only 3 dating months.

If they began dating during Sparry's Spring promotional visit to Toronto for Ingriftus, then YES--- they were "together" (like spooning bananas) for five (5) months before MEgain leaked the details to Tominey

Sparry is just as much of a compulsive liar as his wife. He lies about the unnecessary details:

"we had to announce your megnantcy for the tour because you were showing..."

"It's true, you did blend in-----‐until our farewell week..."

I have future content coming about Victoria Hervey and Dan Wootton's despicable behavior during kategate. At the moment I wish she would stop extending open invitations for Sparry "to come home," when he's repeatedly been clear that America is his home & America is where he feels safe.

In my opinion, Sparry and MEgain deserve to be married to one another FOREVER!! Initially I viewed Sparry as her victim but just because Sparry is mentally & emotionally unstable and intellectually "sub-educational" (as Lady C would say), does not excuse his character issues: lying, cheating, stealing, grifting to achieve fame and fortune in America. People all over the world with low IQs know the difference between right and wrong. There is no excuse for Sparry's crimes.

Royal Families cannot expect their people to look past bad behavior. Charles got what he wanted, "Camilla." Despite the good press she receives, the majority of the world sees Charles as spoiled and feckless. I do think he will be surprised to learn just how many Brits wish he & Camilla would just go on a permanent holiday.

In a world of meritocracy, we have watched Meghan Markle, Sparry, and Andrew get away with murder. Zero on the job consequences for bad behavior------>Out of touch with everyday people.

Andrew & Sparry have caused permanent damage to brand BRF. When Charles chooses tone deafness over humility and shame, they are begging the people for a Republic.

Normal people pay a price for their unwise decisions. Selfish Charles chose Jesus' resurrection day to rub Andrew into the faces of the British people and global royal watchers.

People won't take these moments of pure contempt for the will and opinions of the people and just let it all go due to cancer. Charles is still seen as a feckless king who will ultimately destroy this monarchy because it appears he cannot or will not manage his household.

Go to church Andrew & Fergie, but not in front of the cameras and not at the expense of the taxpayers. These are not difficult situations for Buckingham Palace. Does anyone have a working brain? It's as if Charles is deliberately destroying everything his mother & father worked so hard to preserve.

I agree @sassyfrassboss and don't get me started on Sarah's health related virtue signals. Why is it so difficult for Fergie to stop talking? And why won't Andrew go away and live out a solitary life? No one wants to shake hands with Epstein's pal. No charity wants to be represented by Epstein's pal. Consequences.

Andrew is reviled and despised because he refuses to accept responsibility for his unwise choices. He has no remorse for choosing "sleazy e & co" over his family and his country. It's not complicated.

I have drafts of future content about the York's. Surmise it to say, Andrew and Sarah are just not bright people. What's worse is they are selfish and refuse to step out of the limelight to give their daughters & grandkids a fresh start.

Unfortunately, like The Meghans, Eugenie was willing to exploit the identities of other people's children while concealing the face of her own child with stickers.

Ultimately Eugenie used the Jubilee to change course. She finally held up the child to show his face. Cute child. What's not cute is the elitist mindset that "blue blood makes us extra special."

After visiting Davos, Eugenie was quick to parrot her elitist, WEF talking points. There was no critical thinking about the issue(s) (like, "hmm, my husband wears glasses"), just a regurgitation of elitist talking points.

No one wants to see Andrew on Easter Sunday or for that matter at any other holiday. Seeing him jolly on parade is a slap in the face to all who had a deep affection for Queen Elizabeth's virtues and basic human decency. It's past time for him to retire from public life.

Rolling up to Easter service as though the York's are respectable members of society who serve Jesus Christ is absolutely shameful.

Not because of a liar named Virginia and her fake photo, but because of Andrew's REAL Central Park, NYC photos and the video footage of Andrew coming and going from Epstein's NYC home. Not to mention their big Epstein dinner with guests like Katie Couric, George Stephanopoulos and Woody Allen---- to name just a few.

Andrew used tax payer's money to travel in support of Jeffrey Epstein upon his release from prison.

A man who was convicted of sexually assaulting under age girls served about 12 months in prison and upon release he threw a NYC party for his royal pal Andrew! The Palace was "too honorable" to reply, "No thank you. Have a nice life." Andrew seems too self centered to concern himself with the commandments to "avoid even the appearance of evil" and to "honor" his mother & father's legacies.

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blondeboyfriend · 2 years ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another oldie. Shout out to Mica for beta reading this for me. [ SYNOPSIS ] You return home from college to housesit while your mother is away. Everything seems rather mundane until you have a chance meeting with a strange yet alluring man. [ WORD COUNT ] 4.1k [ CONTENT ] Dark content, modern AU, Eren's fucking awful in this, manipulation, stalking, masturbation, dubcon bordering on noncon, degradation, vaginal fingering.

“Thank you so much for watching the house, little one,” your mother said, pinching your cheek.

An action that would usually leave you aggravated was welcome intimacy. College made you miss everyone. Mundane things became beacons of light in a darkened sea of melancholy. It was hard not to internalize the pain, the loneliness that plagued you and turned your stomach into a bottomless pit.

Even as you stood in front of your mother and her kind eyes, you couldn’t help but think of how eventually you would leave this isolated exurb and return to hell itself. You’d wrestle with complicated coursework, cry in the communal bathroom when your roommate refused to stop blasting Post Malone, and sit through lectures with lecherous professors that asked you “to go on walks and discuss poetry.”

“Of course, you think I’m gonna turn down a chance to throw a massive party? I’m trying to relive my teenage fantasy.”

She rolled her eyes and gave you a hug.

“I transferred some money into your bank account for food. Please don’t spend it all on junk.”

Bags of Cheetos danced through your mind.

“You got it,” you lied.

She grabbed her suitcase and floated out the door, leaving you to your own devices. You watched her drive off through the front window, a puff of exhaust lingering as she sped off to the airport. You strode into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge. The only contents being two jars of artisan mustard, a Greek yogurt, an absurd amount of spaghetti, and a bag of Rainier cherries.

“Pantry’s gotta be better.”

You flung the door to it and were confronted with a hard sourdough baguette and a box of generic Frosted Flakes. You sighed and closed the door dejectedly. Biking to the convenience store sounded woefully unappealing in 90 degree weather especially when the entire ride was sun-soaked.

“Eh, fuck it.”

You scrambled through your overnight bag and pulled out your sunscreen, slathering it all over you. You pocketed your wallet, grabbed your bike, and began your journey.

The second you opened the door, sunlight irradiated you. Quickly you put on your sunglasses and cautiously biked along the hyper heated concrete. Sweat oozed from your pores, sunscreen melting off your face and weaseling its way into your eyes. Wiping them crossed your mind but your hands were busy. You blinked repeatedly hoping to mitigate the problem but it was a thankless task.

When you finally got to the convenience store you dropped your bike in front of the entrance, growing more exhausted and thirsty by the second. A large “cash only” sign flashed in your face.

“Since when?” You asked no one in particular.

You stumbled inside the store over to the ATM and took out $40 from your bank account. The machine decided to take its sweet time, whirring for a good five minutes before spitting out your cash. After waiting for what felt like hours you trudged to the back and struggled to find anything that remotely looked like what you wanted.

“No, no, no,” you said as you peered into every fridge. “Fuck my ass. Come on.”

A stifled laugh brought you out of your trance.

“Watch out, some creep might try to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh shit, my bad!” You deferred.

The man turned his attention towards you. He was inhumanly gorgeous. His skin sun kissed, long espresso colored hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun, eyes greener than any field you’d seen. He wore a red tropical print button-up with short sleeves and fitted denim shorts. His smile was wide and jovial, one you could trust.

“’S all good,” he said, his eyes lingering on your lips.

“I, uh… Hey, have you seen anything that isn’t a Red Bull or a bottle of St Ides? I’d ask the guy at the counter but he seems rather engrossed in his reading.”

You slyly pointed at the cashier whose nose was buried in a vintage Playboy.

“I have, follow me,” he said, his voice like velvet. A siren’s song.

He wrapped an arm around you and led you to a fridge full of your favorite shit.

“Oh wow, thank you!”

His hands trailed down to your waist. “No problem. Hate to see a pretty thing like you look so lost.”

He looked you over one last time and headed over to the cashier. He pointed at a small bottle of silver Bacardi and slunk out the door after making his purchase. He slowly drove off in a burgundy 1970 Ford Galaxie.

The man was kind yet odd. A face you wouldn’t mind seeing again but one you’d likely run from if you encountered it in a dark alley.

You grabbed a couple bags of chips and one of the bananas that sat on the front counter. The ride home felt significantly easier this time around, your feet less heavy. Just a brief moment of social interaction was enough to make your day.

The pleasantness of your ride quickly dissipated as you noticed a car trailing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, but as you turned your head to get a better look the car made a sharp u-turn, speeding off in the other direction. Unease crept up on you, making your hands tremble ever so slightly.

All you saw was a flash of burgundy.

The housing development your mother bought into was initially supposed to be a dream-like landscape of exurban bliss. Pastel tract homes with detached garages and green lawns thriving despite nature’s uninhabitable wrath. The money hungry builders saw the arid valley and thought “upscale homes with a golf course and an outdoor mall.”

Of course it never took off. Living in the rain shadow of a massive mountain range was a tough sell and anyone with a brain knew the cotton candy colored homes wouldn’t last in the heat. However those desperate to own land bought them up at auction, your mother being one of them. She ended up with the best one, in her opinion.

“Some of them were worth more than others,” she said, as if she got away with a crime.

The house sat at the edge of the development, a clear view of the towering, jagged mountains to the east. The only thing that separated you from the wilds of the valley was the shoddy fencing your mother haphazardly fixed from time to time. Your closest neighbor, Hannes, lived comically far away on the other side of the development.

You stared down a pile of empty chip bags, regretting your decision to buy straight up junk and a banana. Delivery options were limited to pizza and Thai food; not many restaurants liked driving to the edge of the earth for a single order.

You grabbed your laptop ultimately deciding to order pizza.

“Ugh, of course my credit card info isn’t saved,” you whined.

You patted your pocket where you had previously stored your wallet but nothing was there.

“The fuck?”

You tore off your shorts and shook them. Nothing. No wallet.

“Shit. Guess I’ll call the store.”

You called the convenience store guy and he was utterly useless. Your stomach grumbled, reverberating throughout your body. Hunger took hold of you. You decided to toast the stale bread and eat it with olive oil. You figured you should save the rest of your cash for actual groceries.

“’Hey little one, what’d you eat when I was gone?’ Oh nothing, mama, just fucking croutons.”

The kitchen was bathed in a pinkish glow. The sun settled behind the mountains leaving the sky shades of pink, orange, and blue. It was a loveliness you missed, something you couldn’t find in overly pruned parks and crowded campus cafes. You preheated the oven and struggled to break the bread into bite-sized pieces.

“Fuck,” you muttered as a particularly hard bit of crust works its way under your fingernail.

You held your hand up to examine it and breathed a sigh of relief, no blood. Your relief was short lived as you noticed something rustling in the checkerblooms. You leaned over the counter to get a better look but you saw nothing. Just purple flowers ebbing in the evening breeze.

“Coulda been an elk,” you said to calm your nerves.

That morning you found used condoms outside the kitchen window filled to the brim with milky cum. You didn’t mention it to Hannes when you biked down to his house for money and socializing.

The days were easy to get through. You biked around the development when the heat was at its kindest. You bitched to Hannes about how isolated you were but also how you were far too lazy to remedy the situation. You watched game shows and soap operas. Immersing yourself in daytime television was a welcomed, mind numbing distraction.

The nights were what got the best of you.

You called your mother when the fear became too much, when you’d hear footsteps outside your window. But her advice was always the same.

“Drink a Pabst and turn on Golden Girls! Or ask the delivery guy to hang out with you.”

“Don’t you have a security system?”

“Is this what college has done to you? I remember just last year you couldn’t even remember to lock the front door.”

A million thoughts ran rampant through your brain. She was right after all; you were rather careless growing up in the mundanity of the valley. You sought excitement by skipping through the alkali flats, kicking up rancid dust. You ran around with stray dogs and even got bit by one. A lonely, little girl like you was a professional at putting yourself in questionable circumstances.

“Whatever. I still can’t find my wallet though,” you whined.

“Did you try calling the store again?”

“Why would I call them again?”

“I don’t know,” she said, voice filled with exasperation. “The money I sent should get to you soon.”

“Still don’t think it was smart to literally mail me money.”

She laughed. “Alright, little one. Call me tomorrow.”

And with that your mother hung up. You gazed outside the window as a tule elk meandered by, sniffing the ground occasionally stopping to nibble on a shrub. It lifted its head and jerked it around quickly, an urgent look in its eye. Before you blinked it bounded off into the distance, almost like it was never there in the first place. Curiosity got the better of you and you decided to investigate. You grabbed a kitchen knife and held it like you’d seen all those final girls do in slasher movies.

“I can’t die like this,” you whispered to yourself. “I haven’t even had a threesome yet.”

You crept towards the front door and looked through the peephole. Not a thing, just dead grass and concrete. You sighed and dropped the knife, feeling silly for even grabbing it in the first place. With this new found peace you stepped into the kitchen to brew some tea only to be startled by a faceless figure.

“Holy shit!” You shrieked, ducking under the kitchen table knowing full well you were still visible. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” you muttered.

“Hi, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

His voice was oddly friendly, but not so much that you were willing to respond.

“I, uh, found your wallet. Sorry it took me a bit, you just live so far out here.”

You poked your head out from under the table and looked up.

It was the handsome man from the convenience store. He looked decidedly less gorgeous, but a babe all the same. His hair now hung past his shoulders, partially obscuring his face. He wore the same tropical print shirt and shorts you saw him in previously but they were now paired with a faded denim jacket lined with cream Sherpa.

“You want it back or can I keep it?” He asked, his voice as velvety as ever.

“I—I definitely need it.”

You crawled out from under the table and gestured for him to meet you at the front door. As you opened it you saw him leaning on his car, arms crossed.

“Hey, so my wallet?” You shouted at him.

“I, uh, left it at home.”

“Oh.”

He grinned. “Didn’t realize it until I checked my pocket. It’s back at my place if you wanna take a ride.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I have Thai food coming and like, so, I gotta be here when it shows up.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll drop by tomorrow then, that alright?”

No was the first word to enter your mind but you wanted your damn wallet.

“That sounds fine. Thanks, uh…”

“Eren,” he purred.

You forced a smile. “Thank you, Eren. I’ll see you tomorrow. Just gimme a call when you’re close, okay?”

He nodded and waved as you turned to go back inside. Once safe and locked in the house you watched him linger, his eyes still fixed on the spot you previously stood in. He waited around for a good five minutes before he got in his car and sped off.

That night, as you struggled to drift asleep, you reluctantly thought of Eren. You slipped your hand in your underwear and rubbed your clit, pretending that it was him doing so. You bit down on your bottom lip as you traced your fingers down your folds, coating them with your fluids. You slid your hand under your t-shirt and pinched your nipple.

“E—eren,” you whimpered, thrusting up against your hand.

You pictured his strong arms around you, plunging his throbbing cock deeper and deeper inside you. The look of unbridled lust in his emerald eyes as he held you close, pumping you full of his cum.

Your breathing quickened and your toes curled as your orgasm rushed through your body. You continued to mewl his name, your body going limp as your lust subsided. Shame immediately hit you and you rolled over onto your side in a fetal position.

“Why am I like this?” You asked as you tried to will yourself unconscious.

That morning you were greeted with a lack of cell service.

“Seriously?”

You made a few attempts to call your mother, groaning every time it was dropped. Eventually you resigned yourself to being even more cut off from the world. It’s not like you’d be alone for long. Eren did say he’d be dropping by with your wallet, though he never specified when that would be.

The day dragged on and your patience waned. You sat in the kitchen, eating cherries and scowling out the window. Eren finally arrived just as the sun started to lower itself.

He tapped on the door, with his car keys.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he crooned.

You cautiously opened the door and let him in. He smelled like rum and cheap deodorant. His shirt was dingier every time you saw it, it’s once bright hue losing saturation. His denim shorts were dappled with white stains and dirt. Everything about him screamed freak but you welcomed him inside anyway.

“Hey, so…”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, pulling your wallet out of his pocket.

He held it out of reach the second you went to grab it from him.

“Work for it.”

There was something inherently ominous about his grin. It wasn’t a particularly creepy one, in fact it was rather lovely. But his eyes hid something, there was a blankness to them. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, utterly unreadable.

“Come on.”

You attempted to grab it again but he again jerked it out of reach.

“You come on,” he teased.

His eyes looked through you. It was as if he didn’t register you as a person, a human, an equal. You struggled to hide your fear which softened his demeanor.

“I’m sorry. I see a pretty girl and all I wanna do is fuck with her.”

He finally handed you your wallet, his fingers brushing yours.

“Those are some nice hands.”

You gulped and tried your best to look unbothered.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Any chance you could gimme one?”

“Excuse me?”

He flashed you another grin.

“My car’s having some trouble, thing’s old as fuck. Could you lend me a hand?”

“I don’t know much about cars honestly.”

“Having another pair of eyes on it will help. Maybe you’ll catch something I missed.”

You followed him out the door even though your conscious screamed for you to turn around, to go back inside and lock your door. He led you over to his car, the hood was already lifted. You stared into it not sure what to look at.

“See anything strange?” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You laughed nervously.

“N—no, not really.”

He leaned closer to your ear and whispered, his breath reeked of rum.

“Oh come on, baby. Take a better look.”

He pushed you against the car, his semi-hard cock rubbing against your ass. You froze as he rocked his hips against you. Eren groaned as he continued to thrust.

Run, you thought to yourself. Get the fuck away from him. But instead you stood there, clenching your fists, fighting the urge to grind up against him.

“Oh you like that, huh?” He whispered, his tongue flicking your ear.

You arched your back and bit your lip as he rutted against you, his cock now fully erect. A small moan exited your lips as Eren shoved his hands down your shorts. He rubbed your clit through your underwear.

“Ye—yes,” you mumbled.

He leaned in and sniffed your hair, his breath hitching as he savored the smell of your shampoo. His fingers pulled your underwear to the side and he coated them with your fluids.

“You’re this wet already?”

You kept quiet, you were afraid of what depraved things would leave your lips if you opened them. It had been so long and you were so lonely. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak.

“It’s okay, baby. Open your mouth for me.”

He took his fingers out of your cunt and forced them into your mouth.

“Suck them clean.”

You ran your tongue on the underside of his rough fingers.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Tell me how good this feels.”

He shoved them back down into your shorts and started to finger you. Stifling your moans was out of the question.

“Ohhh, Eren,” you whined. “Feels s—so good.”

“How would you like it if I fucked you in the back seat, baby?”

You nodded feebly. He let you go and led you to the back. You glanced inside and saw zip ties, duct tape, and a mallet on the floor partially hidden under the driver’s seat.

“I have to go!” You shouted abruptly as you ran back to the house, tripping on the porch.

Eren glared at you, his eyes losing any semblance of sanity.

“I’m gonna get you. You think runnin’ from me is gonna do you any favors?”

You sat there like a wounded doe, clutching your bleeding knee. You wanted to get up and run but fear had you in a chokehold.

“J—just leave, please,” you said, trying to sound brave. “My neighbor’s supposed to check on me any minute now. You don’t wanna deal with him.”

Lies. Hannes wasn’t coming and Eren didn’t move a muscle.

“You think I’m scared of some drunk that lives up the road? Hannes ain’t gonna do shit,” he hissed.

How the fuck did he know Hannes? Eren’s words were like poison. Whatever pleasantness you imagined was gone. He was a monster, a menace.

“Just go!” You screamed, voice cracking. “Get the fuck out of here!”

He stood completely still, not even his facial expression changed. You got to your feet and scrambled inside, locking the door behind you.

You watched Eren through the window as you attempted to call Hannes but the call refused to go through. Calling the cops crossed your mind but they were always useless so you refrained.

Eren lingered around for about a half an hour before he finally drove off, his car running perfectly.

You didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t even shut an eye. You sat on the floor, your phone dead in your hand. There was still no service. You felt more shut off than ever, haunted by your loneliness and what it made you do. It made you sick. Nausea plagued you all night, the lingering feeling of his hands on your body made the room spin. It was all too much to bear.

When you saw Eren drive up at dawn you barely had a reaction. You were too tired to be afraid. He got out of his car, still in the same outfit, his stringy hair hanging in his face. The sun shined behind him and his features seemed distorted in the early morning light. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe there was something truly wrong with this man.

He sat on the hood of his car, staring at the front door. You were sure he could see through it, see your pathetic form on the floor. You hoped he’d leave, but he didn’t.

He sat there for an hour before you finally decided to peek your head out the door.

“Hey, baby, did you miss me?”

“No,” you said, opening the door completely.

“You invitin’ me in?”

“Absolutely not. Stay back.”

There wasn’t much space between you and Eren. The front lawn was of average size and it’s not like the sidewalk was very wide. He could snatch you up easy.

“Alright, alright,” he acquiesced.

“What do you want?”

He batted his eyelashes at you, clearly trying to disarm you.

“Come take a ride with me.”

“You’re insane. No. Now go.”

You pointed at the road. You tried to mirror how your mother told off overzealous evangelists that pounded on her door every so often.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Well I’m not leaving this house,” you said firmly.

“What do you think I’m gonna do to you, huh?”

“I saw what was in your car.”

“I keep a lotta things in there.”

“I called the cops the second you drove up,” you lied.

He smirked.

“They would’ve been here by now. Guess they’re not coming,” he mused, calling your bluff.

“I called Hannes too and my mom. The—they’re gonna be here soon.”

“Your mom’s out of the country last time I checked.”

“How—”

“And if I remember correctly the little jammer I set up shoulda been blocking your cell signal. So unless you got a landline you haven’t called shit.”

You wanted to puke.

“I—I—why?”

“Look at you,” he cheered. “Such a cutie, and so alone!”

He got up off the hood of his car and opened the door to the backseat.

“Hop in.” He said with a sick smile on his face.

“No, I’m not going.”

“You want me to grab you by the hair and force you in? I will if I have to.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’ll rip that shit from your scalp. Wouldn’t bother me any,” he sneered. “I’d still fuck you.”

“I have a gun.”

Another lie. You didn’t have any weapons, not even a kitchen knife. You were defenseless.

“You think I’m afraid of some little slut with a gun? Get in the car.”

Tears fell from your eyes, but you didn’t make a sound. You just stared at the ground.

“Come on, it’s only a ride.”

“Okay,” you said in a small voice.

“Hmm?” Eren’s eyes widened.

“I’ll go. I just wanna grab some things. That okay?”

He nodded and you scurried inside. You grabbed your bag and tossed your wallet in it. Eren stood outside, checking his phone. You frantically yanked your phone charger from the wall and tossed it in along with your phone.

The sun still hung low in the sky. Eren honked his horn an obnoxious amount of times, each iteration filling you with more and more anxiety. You flung the back door open and hopped over the fence, your sock catching on it. Your ankle twisted ever so slightly.

“Sh—shit,” you groaned.

Eren continued to honk his horn. You stood up and sprinted away from the yard, your ankle throbbing the whole time. You knew civilization was in the other direction, but so was Eren. Avoiding him was more important. Escape was what you wanted, safety be damned. Every inch of the development was tainted with his presence, even your mother’s home. You knew running into the shadows of the mountains was a bad idea, but you didn’t care. You’d run forever if you had to.

Don't ask me for a part 2, y/n died of exposure. xoxo gossip finn

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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A presidential signing bonanza

Vladimir Putin signed into law on Thursday more than 50 laws on Thursday, including several new prohibitions and expansions of the state’s repressive powers. Thanks to the president's approval, these eight pieces of legislation are now set to become the law of the land.

Jailing soldiers (without court orders) for using smartphones: Unit commanders now have the authority to lock up their soldiers for up to 10 days (or 15 days for repeat offenses) if they catch them using banned personal gadgets, such as smartphones. This act previously required transporting the suspects to a garrison court for a formal ruling.

An expanded definition of ‘undesirability’: The authorities can now designate any organization in Russia as “undesirable” if foreign state entities played any role in the organization’s foundation or have even participated in its operations. State Duma Speaker Vyacheslav Volodin said the law is necessary to close a “loophole” that prohibited the government from designating local, Russian organizations, not just foreign groups.

No more selling energy drinks to kids: Effective March 2025, Russian vendors are prohibited from selling non-alcoholic tonic drinks, including energy drinks, to minors. The new restriction is intended as a public health measure.

Legalized cryptocurrency mining: Russia will introduce a special registry to issue permits for individuals and legal entities to “mine” cryptocurrency — the electricity-demanding process of using computer power to solve the complex mathematical problems needed to validate and secure transactions on a blockchain, earning digital currency as a reward. In mid-July, Putin expressed concerns about falling behind in cryptocurrency regulations. The new legislation also reserves some regional authorities’ right to ban crypto-mining where energy shortages are a concern.

The Dude can no longer abide: Effective September 1, 2025, “propagating drug use in art and literature” without warnings will be punishable by steep fines. The new restrictions exempt all works released before August 1, 1990, and content “where drugs are an integral part of the artistic concept justified by the genre.” The new censorship also does not apply to “materials related to investigative activities, scientific, educational, medical, or pharmaceutical publications.”

More deportation powers for the police: Internal Affairs Ministry officials will now have the authority to expel foreigners from the country without court oversight for certain misdemeanors. The list of administrative offenses includes illegal drug use, the public consumption of alcohol, and disseminating so-called “gay propaganda” (though officers must “directly witness signs of violations” in this last case). Deported foreigners will also be added to a registry that bans them from registering businesses in Russia, getting married, buying and registering property, opening bank accounts, and obtaining or renewing a driver’s license.

‘Trash-streams’ banned: In Russia, “trash streams” usually feature bloggers abusing drugs and alcohol or performing humiliating or violent acts in return for donations from viewers. The new law prohibits the distribution of “trash stream” content, and crimes committed during these broadcasts can be prosecuted as aggravated offenses under 10 different felony statutes. Convicted “trash streamers” will face steep fines and the possible confiscation of their electronic equipment.

Naturalized citizenship revoked for refusing military registration: The Internal Affairs Ministry will now be required to provide records about all men approved for receiving Russian citizenship. Lawmakers who sponsored the bill said the new condition for maintaining naturalized citizenship is needed to address “widespread public outrage” against immigrants who get a passport and then evade military duty.

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ads247365 · 6 months ago

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girldragongizzard · 1 month ago

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Chapter 6: Acid reign

There is a brief moment when it occurs to me that I’m about to be swallowed whole.

Just before that moment, I take in the full splendor and majesty of Säure’s full draconic form.

We’ve all seen it, really. There are thousands of artists rendering and painting dragons like this every day. But seeing it in person shows just how short even the best illustrations have come in capturing the radiant sublime beauty of a dragon like Säure.

His head is a slightly blunted wedge, with an ever gaping cleft in it full of teeth, his mouth. And above that, two slits for nostrils that are big enough for a full grown man to stand tall in one of them. Lithoderms the size of small cars cover jaw, muzzle, brow, and skull in a pattern of armor that could take a shell from a battleship unscathed. Six slightly curved horns sweep back from his head like a heavenly crown. His scales gleam like internally illuminated pearls, and as his jaws open further to show that velvety periwinkle flesh of his gums and tongue, teeth the size of me reaching for my soul, I see an ultraviolet glow begin to intensify between his scales and the crevices of his gullet.

His torso is that strange prototypical dinosaurian shape combined with the almost human broad chest and bracheating shoulders that mean he has arms instead of forelimbs. And his hands and feet have five articulate digits each with claws that could tear bedrock.

And every time his perfect wings stretch to grab the wind, he blots out my entire view of the city I call my home.

He’s coming right at me, and in less than a moment I’ll be gone.

I wasn’t truly planning anything when I took this course of action, but there was no plan I could have made that would have been able to take into account this.

Of their own accord, my wings snap open, and I find myself arching my back, pulling up and shooting right over Säure just as he’s reaching to snap me out of the air like a sky raisin.

For an extremely brief moment, I gallop up the slope of his nose.

Where has he been hiding? How?

Then, when I’m clear of his head, I dive. And I follow the ridges of his spine toward the ground.

It’s so fast, with him rising and me falling, I barely manage to spiral in time to avoid being slapped into oblivion by his tail.

And then I’m pulling up in time to avoid slamming into pavement and rise again on pure velocity as I shoot up the street toward my own building and right past Ptarmigan who is standing on the corner of the roof.

She raises her pen high into the air in a salute as I bank past her.

Flapping furiously I gain what altitude I can and come around to get the best view of what I face that’s possible.

I don’t really even make note of the other dragons or what they’re doing, Säure dominates my vision and attention so thoroughly.

Like a column of steam billowing from the old torn down stacks of the now demolished paper plant, he’s slowly twisting as he rises into the sky, so that he can turn and face me where I’ve gone.

Then, once he is righted and situated, in three enormous beats of his wings, he’s rocketing at me so fast that all I can do is dive to live.

I go from a vision filled with divine draconic death to a bail bond building on one side and a parking lot on the other, rushing pavement, cars, cars, cars, and then the red bricks of the Fairport Museum, which I weave around dangerously close to the ground and between the trees, out over Mariner Park and circling and rising again to track Säure.

But all I see are tail, haunches, wings, and hanging claws as he continues gliding out over the city, casting entire blocks in shadow as he soars toward Mount Kwelshán.

I think maybe I’ve exaggerated his size in my head. He can’t have been that big.

But it seems he’s frustrated by my agility, or at least has better business to take care of elsewhere.

I suppose if he cares about what he owns, and he’s that big, he’s definitely not going to thrash about in the airspace above it. All too easily, he’d have nothing left to claim as his.

But how do we fight that?

—

Something Ptarmigan has always found amusing about humans, whether neurotypical or not, is that they all do seem to like to find and share inane tidbits of information as a way of helping. Each one will go about it differently, and present their findings in their own way, but it’s still basically the same thing. Like gathering sticks for a fire or building materials for a shelter.

When she had switched from casting divinations at Säure to working on a weaving to bind him, she’d taken a moment to check her phone’s messages, and there, incongruously amongst the rest of the chatter was a list of classifications of crimes that Säure’s company, Equisetum Wildlife, had committed against Meghan and Joel about a month ago, provided by Nathan, who hadn’t had much to do at the time.

It was an impressive list. Nathan had written, “2nd degree assault, 2nd degree kidnapping, & 4th degree assault; which are Class B felony, Class A felony, & a gross misdemeanor. And that’s 10 years and/or 20 grand + life and/or 50 grand + 1 year and/or 5 grand.”

That would only matter if they could find a way to make it stick in court, after he’d dissolved the company and disavowed responsibility for its actions. Most likely, it’s a former manager of the company that would face those charges, and they’d try to pass it downhill, blaming an underling.

But now they all knew. And it felt kind of nice to know, as useless as the information will ever be in facing a billionaire dragon the size of one of the largest buildings in town.

Similarly, now that nearly everyone is crammed into the coffee shop after hours, and Meghan has divulged her little observation that Säure had been sprinkling his language with neo-Nazi dogwhistles, another useless bit of trivia emerges.

“Did you know,” Kimberly says, “that Säure, in German, means ‘acid’? Kind of ironic for a man who styles himself an environmentalist.”

“He is a dragon, not a man, Berly,” Kim says, glancing up and back at her.

“Still.”

“Let’s focus,” Rhoda says. “How do we do this? How can we do this?”

“Hold on,” Ptarmigan says. “I think I sense Meghan has a point she’s formulating.”

Ptarmigan was there when Meghan learned her pivotal lesson. She already knows how this is going to play out. If Meghan can put the bits together right now.

But after having said that, Ptarmigan goes back to sketching the tableau, the gathering of friends and neighbors. The meeting.

It’s part of her weaving, but also it’ll make a decent work of art to remember the moment by.

Bri and Miriam, the owners, a married couple with kids, are there, their children being watched by a friend at home. They’re sitting on a table near the bathrooms, holding hands and mostly just listening. They haven’t been directly involved in any of this, but it matters to them and they’re solemn and gracious hosts.

The whole staff is there: Kim, Kimberly, Nathan, Cerce, and Jill.

Tom, Amy, Cody, and Gary are there too, along with Chapman and herself, Ptarmigan.

Then there’s Caleb, the tenth human, because Astraia is outside with Joel and Anurak. Astraia is coordinating with Caleb to keep the other two dragons informed while they stand watch.

Wentin towers in the corner of the dining room, while everyone else is arrayed in a loose circle of chairs and tables.

Meghan is seated in her vaguely human guise, using her thumbs to type on her tablet, directly opposite of Ptarmigan.

Ptarmigan has her back to the far wall, in the chair she’s now claimed as her own. And this gives her such a good view to frame the whole group as a composition. She’s drawing Cerce and Jill, who are sitting on either side of her, as silhouettes framing the scene, leaving herself out of the drawing.

Ptarmigan is hoping that her weaving will be critical in the long run, but has no idea if it will have any effect in the coming few days. The direct outcome of whatever they all do here is going to have to be on the shoulders of someone else.

Meghan types two letters and hits talk, “OK.”

—

“I thought,” I say, “I had advantage. Me David, him Golliath. That kind of thing. Wrong. Too big.”

I feel broken and I’m at a loss. I was riding a high of adrenaline, self revelations, and feeling genuinely immortal. I can look back on my thoughts over the course of the encounter, and I can see how I rationalized it, too. But I did not expect to be fighting something that could legitimately take on Mothra and probably win.

But I’m determined not to give in to defeat. I’m going to use my knowledge of dragons and the myths of dragons to figure this out. And I know that Chapman can help me, because sie has that knowledge, too.

I just know that so does Säure, unfortunately. He’s got thirty years of study on me, in fact. Though that doesn’t mean a whole lot when the vast majority of dragon related literature was written in the early 2000s. Myths existed long before then, but the digging up and the analysis of the myths didn’t really see a boom until that fad.

And Säure says he doesn’t do much thinking about the why of it all, or what it means. Just what he should do about a given thing. He stores the knowledge so he knows what to expect.

I find that weird.

And I know that Wentin wants me to do a lot less thinking and a lot more doing, and that’s kind of what I was trying against Säure today. And even though I can feel Wentin literally breathing down my back, I think that was a mistake.

A huge part of what I do is think.

I examine. I postulate. And I puzzle.

And another thing I also know is that almost always, whenever a dragon is defeated, it’s because the hero cleverly does something that others didn’t think of. They examine the situation and solve the problem.

So, tonight, during our debriefing and planning session, I start with the basics.

“Every dragon has a fatal weakness,” I say, putting every word into the sentence to be clear about it. “What is Säure’s? What is mine?”

“I think I can tell you yours,” Ptarmigan says. “If you really want to hear it.”

Ouch.

I really don’t want to hear it. I’m not emotionally ready for criticism, no matter how tactically important it is. But I stepped in it, and solicited the response because it is necessary to know.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes and type, “Oc. dhiit.”

I should have just said, “Okay” with my syrinx.

But Ptarmigan chuckles and figures out my intention, saying, “You’re smaller than his foot.”

“I don’t think that’s what Meghan means, Ptarmigan,” Chapman tells her.

Ptarmigan shrugs and says, “It’s still the fatal weakness in this case. If she gets stepped on, she’s done for this round. Same goes for all of us. I think that means whatever else she’s talking about might be irrelevant.”

“Hm.”

“What is Säure’s?” I repeat.

Of course, nobody has an answer.

We just don’t know.

Except for the one thing I’d observed. It’s not a fatal flaw, but it’s kept him from attacking as a dragon.

We’re his hoard. Or, at least, the humans are.

Or we’re living in and amongst his hoard, his buildings.

Something like that.

All his money in the world means squat if there aren’t any people and their systems of governance and economy to use it in. The money is meaningless if it doesn’t come from the exploited masses. And he owns numerous buildings throughout the city, and they are his, and I know as a dragon he wouldn’t want to see them destroyed or even mildly damaged.

I’m having enough trouble myself getting rid of my own garbage. And I mean blood stained, rain soak scraps of paper! Receipts! Out of date coupons!

In any case, it’s how we all survived the terror of the afternoon and made it to this meeting. I spread the word around and, even though we all still feel the imminent impact of Säure crashing down on us like a meteor hanging over our heads, we’re here.

But this isn’t something that can kill him.

I don’t think.

I don’t see how it could.

“I keep thinking,” Nathan says. “And this doesn’t answer your question, Meg, I’m sorry. But I keep thinking about how we all easily recognized you when we first saw you in your true form. And I don’t know how that works, but now the whole city saw Säure as a dragon. And those people who’ve met or seen him personally have got to know it’s him, right? Word’s going to get around. His cat’s out of the bag.”

“OK, but also,” Kim pipes up. “If I’m understanding Meg’s reports right, his whole thing seems to be that the other dragons are on what he considers his territory. And he wants them off of it. And dragons like Meg, who sleep on roofs, are extra vulnerable. He could pick them right off of their lairs in the middle of the night.”

“Like the Giant Claw,” Kimberly says, pointing at her. “1957, Columbia Pictures.”

“Oh, that was a delightfully terrible one, wasn’t it?” Nathan responds.

“You bet.”

“I’m just saying…” Kim tries to take the reigns of the conversation again. But Cerce finishes her thought.

“We need to figure out how to protect Meghan, in case he does that,” her coworker says.

“Yes,” Kim points at her. “That.”

“I might be particularly suited to helping with that,” Chapman says. “But it comes back to the whole fatal weakness thing. If we knew that – and I agree with Meghan that it’s usually a thing – then whatever I do could be more effective.”

“Do all dragons have a fatal weakness?” Rhoda asks, possibly prompted by Chapman’s use of the word “usually”, which stuck out to me, too.

Chapman sighs, but I admit out loud first, “No.”

She looks at me, and says, “So you misspoke.”

“Yes,” I say. Then I pull up my tablet to elaborate. “This take a bit,” I warn, then continue more eloquently. “Säure is a modern dragon, based on the myths and stories of European dragons. Those are the dragons that stereotypically have a fatal weakness. It’s legendary. It is a key component of nearly every dragon slaying story. Even when dragons are the heroes, we must know our flaw and protect it carefully. For example, Smaug had a chink in his armor that an arrow could pierce. Säure is a direct descendant of Smaug. And, from my appearances and abilities, so am I. Dragons from other cultures and stories are different.”

“But you’re different,” Nathan says. “You don’t hoard wealth.”

“True, but,” I respond. “I think I am from the heroic branch. A dragon of the people. Look at me. I’m small and pretty, but not perfect.”

“You know, when I look at you in your draconic form, you look more like a dragon from an illuminated manuscript than from Hollywood. You’re very shiny, but you have some delightfully weird proportions. Not like Säure, who’s picture perfect for new age tchotchkes. Are you sure you’ve got your lineage right?”

“Artistic license. It is about how I feel as much as anything. Also, my relationships. My place in the world,” I explain. “Who my people are.”

“You’re stunningly gorgeous, Meg. You rule all of downtown and everyone loves you for it,” Nathan says. “And you appear as a queen to us. Even the other dragons acknowledge it.”

“Drag queen,” I say. “Anyway, either your interpretation or mine supports my point. I represent you, and the people of downtown Fairport, not the accumulation of wealth and power.”

I have spent some time looking at my human shape’s reflection in the full length mirror. I’m not making fun of myself when I call myself a drag queen. I’m not wearing the typical makeup, or any at all. But with this gown and tiara, and the way I carry myself, it’s obvious. It makes sense. And, I think, it’s something to be proud of.

I mean, I am a trans woman, in so much as I’m anything that could be called a woman.

When I take my humanoid form, not someone else’s, I stand at five feet ten inches tall. I have wide shoulders and a barrel chest. And I have a pretty strong chin. None of these things mark me as a trans woman. Lots of cis women have these traits, too. No one trait or collections of traits are telltale for a trans woman. Not even an Adam's apple. But, I do not appear as a small woman. I’m not dainty.

My gown is perfectly tailored to fit my overweight frame, and it looks fantastic on me. If it had been made by a human rather than my subconscious mind or my metaphysical physiology or whatever, it would obviously have been tailored by the kind of professional only Hollywood celebrities can afford these days.

But it’s not the kind of thing that women my size and shape typically wear to blend in these days, by any stretch.

It looks absolutely regal, and magical, and it also just looks so stereotypically queer. And the braided hair and tiara just add to the effect.

I look like a queer trans woman celebrating her birthday every day in the way that she wishes she could, and I’ve never felt this comfortable presenting as a human before.

It’s still a strain, though. Both a physical and a mental one. And I can’t keep it up longer than a couple hours at a time.

But anyway, I think it represents me just as well as my true form does, and isn’t much of a disguise.

“You’ve got me there,” Nathan says. “I’ll take a drag queen over a real queen, any day.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Kimberly fist bumps him.

Rhoda grunts and sets her jaw forward, considering me through hooded eyes. Then she says, “I’ve been thinking about you Meghan, a lot. Maybe for longer than anyone should have. But I have an observation you might not want to hear.”

It’s only been a little over a month since I came to realize how much regard Rhoda has had for me, and how much she’s been helping me and making me a part of her life. It took me a bit to wake myself up and start to try to hold her in the same regard. Or at least to have proper respect for it. It took Chapman pointing it out to me for me to really notice, and I feel bad about that.

But, in the last couple of weeks, Rhoda and I have been spending a lot more time together, and really getting to know each other. And it has felt so good.

I wish my life could just be that, but I know it is destined not to be. At least for the situation we have at hand, with a dragon like Säure trying to exert his will and power over the entire county.

I dearly want to figure out how to turn my life around so that I can return all the kindnesses that Rhoda has shown me. To give her the safety, strength, and support to craft her life the way she’d like it to be. And it would be really nice if she still felt charitable toward me, enough that she’d accept that return, at least.

When I really examine my feelings, I can’t help but think of her as the center of my people. The humans that I call family. Those that give me a sense of purpose and place.

I have had hopes, and it has felt like those hopes might be answered. At least, it felt that way until I told her what I thought I really was. Not so much a living being as a living myth, a story, a potentially immortal symbol.

And after she’d expressed her distrust for and rejection of the immortal Artists, Ptarmigan and Chapman, I’ve been dreading her reaction to my confession. And she’s been particularly quiet to me since.So when I hear her phrase her words like that, my heart drops hard. This is actually going to hurt.

#dragons #writeblr #transgender #transformation #serial fiction #original fiction

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bearbluebooks · 11 months ago

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Chapter 7 Christmas in Velaris

When 29 year old Gwyn moves back to Velaris, her new neighbor turns out to be less new than she first expected. With a new bookstore and old debts, Gwyn finds herself in a world of trouble. Do Christmas miracles exist or do they only happen in books and movies? What role does the Grinch tech genius play in this?

Read Chapter 1 here, or Chapter 7 here

17:45

To become rich was never an aspiration that fueled her soul, as long as she had a roof over her head and happiness in her heart.

For Gwyn, materialism was never about possession. It was about the appreciation of the big things and the small moments. Whenever Gwyn bought something it had meaning, function, or need. That’s why everything she owned fit in her car. One of the boxes contained the many ornaments that she carefully placed in her Christmas tree two nights ago- the knitted star her mother made her when she was nine, and the mini Catrin and Gwyn puppets they crafted together in kindergarten.

Lucky for her, because her bank account alone would not make her happy. When she dared to look at her balance this morning, the number she expected to see was wrong.

So wrong.

It was a tough realization, once again, that idealism only got you so far until it met reality.

Bills had wrecked the small savings she amassed over the years. So much so that she didn’t have any reserves to fall back on. And that scared her, to live in constant worry of the unexpected.

After seeing her balance, she knew to expect trouble sooner or later- a broken down car, a heating bill, or another collapsed roof. The possibilities alone gave her anxiety.

On top of that, she was a new business owner with no business to profit from. She had to be inventive. And quick.

So very quick.

Otherwise, it would have all been for nothing.

Even if she won the Christmas competition, she still needed to gather 10.000 dollars more.

Luckily, Azriel seemed more inclined to join forces after yesterday. He even seemed to have fun at the Christmas farm.

Miracles were still possible, she thought with a smile. She hoped it extended to her financial stability- which definitely needed a miracle.

She decided to give herself the weekend to come up with a plan.

Tonight, she would go out and forget her worries. She deserved that. To be with her old friends, and to make new memories. To forget all troubles, and maybe get into some new ones.

Who was she kidding? Even with alcohol, she needed control over her body and the situation.

A message popped on her phone, it took her out of her ruminating thoughts immediately. It was the guy from two nights ago, Troy.

Troy: Hi Gwyn, Troy here, the Christmas Guy, how’s the tree treating you? Not giving you any trouble?😉

Gwyn: Hi Troy. Not anymore ☺️ If he does I know who to contact to kick his ass.

Troy: You know it. Happy to help.

Troy: Speaking of help, would you like to help me finish dinner this Saturday night?

Gwyn: …

She didn’t know what to reply. Her heart beat faster, and many reasons flashed inside her mind as to why she should say no. She forced her mind to find reasons to say yes- he was handsome, he had the physic of someone who grew up on protein shakes and mountain exercise. And he seemed kind.

The idea of a date terrified her to her core.

Ever since her mum and Catrin died eleven years ago, she had a hard time opening up. To trust the world and the people in it. Ever since she experienced the worst, it became impossible to trust the good existed too. Life was unpredictable, and people were unreliable. The only thing you had control over was yourself.

The safety of her home became a cage of her own making. She had reasons to crave that cage, but there was also an internal wall that she built between her and the outside world. A wall that became thicker with every year that she stayed inside that cage.

Nothing happened to her there- nothing bad, but also not a lot of good.

She had Mouse, and jobs here and there, but she craved friendship, experiences, love, and life.

When she stepped into her car one week ago, it was out of a desperate attempt to shatter that wall. Gwyn knew that after so many years of building that wall up, only a jackhammer could get it down. And nobody would do it for her, she would have to be that jackhammer.

Growth happens outside your comfort zone, she reminded herself as she stepped into her car with shaking legs. A deceitful string connected to safety grew taut the further she drove. It urged her to get back to her cage, back to the safety of the known.

Instead, she focused on her heart, where the wish for happiness resided, and on the whisper of strength that beckoned her to trust her ability to handle the unknown.

Before she knew it, that string became weaker and weaker, until only resolve remained and she had the keys to her new future in her hands.

Maybe this was another possibility. A chance to break down her other walls. So she listened to that same inner whisper and replied.

Gwyn: sure. I’m good at eating.

As soon as she replied, she threw her phone and source of fear as far away as she could, in hopes of the feeling following the object in motion.

It didn’t, it stayed right there in her gut.

She didn’t have time to ruminate on the feeling for too long. Nesta would be here in fifteen minutes.

And she still needed to pick out an outfit. Mouse sat on the bed and she could swear she saw judgment in her eyes when she wore the purple sequin dress. Quickly Gwyn changed into an old dress from Lilly. The long satin green dress had an intricate light brown pattern that spread across the bust and the skirt. The small straps were adjustable and allowed her to fit the dress perfectly to her body. Nobody looked at shoes on nights out, and she only brought two pairs so her all-stars had to do. With quick hands, she braided her hip-length hair. When she looked in the mirror, she was quite proud of herself. She usually avoided make-up, but tonight she wore brown eyeliner and dark red lipstick. The dress complimented her overall look perfectly, and she felt good. She felt beautiful.

A glance at her phone showed the time: 6 pm. Normally Nesta was always on time.

A knock on her door proved her right.

With one quick grab of her coat and one final kiss on Mouse's head, she made her way downstairs.

Before she opened the door, she left the lock on the door to ask “Nesta?”

Safety was still important. It was all about balance, she reminded herself.

“The one and only,” the voice answered. With a smile on her face, Gwyn opened the door fully.

Before she knew it, she enveloped her friend in a hug. Neither of them let go immediately. It felt as if they both craved the comfort of each other's arms and nostalgia mixed with opportunity took over.

When they both let go after some time, Nesta whistled as she said “Gwynnie, you look hot.”

“So do you!” Gwyn replied enthusiastically. Nesta looked beautiful in her short beige dress. The long brown boots had such high heels that they made her just as tall as Gwyn. The faux leather jacket finished the look into something stylish yet sophisticated.

“Let’s meet Emerie, she is already at Rita’s.”

“She’s bringing Mor, you remember her right?”

Mor was the gorgeous blonde who was in the same year as Cassian, Nesta’s boyfriend, Rhysand, and Azriel. Together, they were known as the ‘inner circle’, or the most popular people in school.

“I do, I can’t wait to see them again.”

“Let’s go then,” she said as Nesta already dragged her by her elbow towards the bar.

—--

21:21

The evening was still young, unlike the memories they shared at the back of the dimly lit bar. “Remember when Miss Gold made you write your name 1000 times because you forgot which line you had to read?” Emerie reminisced.

Nesta joined “Or when we all had to be in detention because we wouldn’t say who pulled the fire alarm to get out of gym class?” The memory made her laugh.

The feeling of her past becoming intertwined with her present made her body warm with happiness. The feeling surprised her, it had been a long time since she felt that way.

“Are you back for good?” Emerie asked as soon as they found their familiar footing. The question woke her up from the warm haze of nostalgia. Planting her firmly in the present trenches of reality.

It was bound to come sooner or later. The need for an explanation- why she abandoned them all those years ago. Without a warning, without a goodbye, and without any further contact. But not tonight, she wasn’t ready. And she wasn’t having that conversation in Rita’s. Tonight one word was all she could give, “Yes.”

“Good,” Nesta replied solemnly.

With a smile, she looked at her surroundings and let her senses become overtaken by life. By the bustling sounds of the music. The slight sting of gin mixed with the sweetness of the tonic. The changing lights illuminated dancing faces in short intervals. The smell of sweat mixed with perfume and alcohol.

Then she took in the sight in front of her. Mor sitting next to Emerie, who held a possessive hand on her knee. It looked like they had been a couple for years, but apparently, it had only been three months, when Emerie finally gathered the courage to ask the blonde femme fatale out on a date. The rest was history.

Nesta sat on Gwyn’s right, close enough to whisper things about the people on the dancefloor in her ear, “Look there’s Lola, she’s married with two kids, whenever she needs a break, she comes here.”

Mor had secured them a VIP table in a secluded area with a separate table and bottle service, it provided a perfect view of the dancefloor. Gwyn had never experienced such luxury going out. When she was old enough to drink, one friend had taken her to a shady bar in town, she got so drunk she forgot half of the night. It terrified her to her core that she had no memories of such a big chunk of time. She spent weeks trying to remember, to no avail. She promised herself she would never put herself in that position ever again.

Tonight was no different. No matter how much free alcohol came her way, or the luxury setting, she would not have more than three drinks.

As the communications officer at Black Inc. Mor had ‘connections’ that reached far beyond the ‘depressing building’, as she called it.

“Thank you for your battle against the Grinch, it’s a tough but noble fight,” she said into her ear. Although the area was removed from the dancing crowd, the music was still loud in her ears.

“I pinched myself when I saw the Christmas tree in the lobby. It’s still undecorated but baby steps,” she said with a shrug.

With a smile, Gwyn said, “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh girl, you have no idea,” Mor replied with a scoff. “Last year he wrote a program that flagged everything that had to do with Christmas. Even the word ‘balls’ was off limits.”

“What happened if you used it?” Gwyn dared to ask.

“Don’t ask,” Emerie interrupted.

Gwyn would definitely ask Azriel the next time she saw him.

Which was much sooner than she thought, when she spotted two imposing figures entering Rita’s.

With shocked eyes she looked at Nesta “I didn’t know Azriel was coming tonight?”

With a shrug, Nesta said, “He rarely joins, but when we said you were coming he suddenly had a clear schedule.”

Fine. This would be fine. They were on good terms, at least she thought so. They picked out a Christmas tree after all. Why did this feel different? More intimate?

Her hands started to sweat and her heart beat out of her chest.

He spotted her in an instant as if he could feel her presence before he saw her. His intense stare never left hers, until Cassian and Azriel reached their table.

He looked devastatingly handsome in his black pants and black dress shirt. Part of his sleeves were rolled up to reveal black tattoos. When he came closer, she noticed his unbuttoned shirt, which revealed even more tattoos and a trail of obsidian hair. The sight was almost obscene, and suddenly warmth spread through Gwyn’s body for different reasons.

“Hello ladies,” Cassian said in a bouldering tone that could be heard over the loud music. “Hello sweetheart,” Cassian said as he kissed Nesta.

Azriel remained silent as he took up the space to Mor’s left, opposite of Gwyn. Instead of a greeting, he ordered two whiskeys from the server.

Cassian sat on Nesta’s other side, rubbing loving circles on her lower back as he asked in such a way that made her feel like no time had passed at all, “Gwyn, how long has it been? It’s nice to see you again.”

When Gwyn and Azriel dated, Cassian became one of Gwyn’s friends too. Nesta was her best friend, and Cassian was Azriel’s, there were natural confines to their relationship that needed them to be friendly. His kind heart, caring nature, and shared love for music made it extremely easy to the point where she considered him one of her closest friends too. With that old connection in mind, she answered honestly, “Too long.”

“Enough talking, let’s dance,” Mor said as she dragged Emerie to the dancefloor. Before Emerie allowed herself to be swept away, she downed her glass of red wine at impressive speed.

“Let’s show them what real dancing looks like,” Nesta said as she guided Cassian to the center of the dancefloor.

Suddenly, Azriel, Gwyn, and four empty chairs were the only ones left.

Tension replaced the earlier easiness, and their silence only added to it.

“How are your muscles?” he asked suddenly breaking the silence.

Her entire body was aching, she could hardly walk and even lifting her gin tonic hurt- none of which she would ever admit. Instead, she said without looking into his devastating hazel eyes, “Fine, thank you. How are yours?”

Without saying anything, he left his seat across from her to take up Nesta’s former seat- right next to her. The closeness revealed his intoxicating cedar smell. The fragrance entered her nose and overtook all of her senses.

“What do you think about Rita’s?” he asked into her ear. The baritone voice sent shivers down her back.

“I like it,” she answered honestly as she wished he would ask her something else just so she could hear his voice again.

Instead, she blurted out, “Is it true you banned the word ‘balls’ in your office?” at a speed that made her wish there was a better filter between her mind and her mouth.

Azriel almost spat out his whiskey, and she couldn’t blame him, “What?” he asked with a red face that came from nearly suffocating.

“I heard you build some kind of Grinch program?” she asked, unwilling to change the subject. It was better to commit than to drop it, she decided.

He closed his eyes for two seconds to gather strength as he continued “Black Inc. is a place of business, Christmas has no place in it.”

“You are a Grinch,” she teased with a slap on his muscular arms, “What’s the harm in a little Christmas joy?” She dared to ask. “If it makes your employees happy, isn’t that good for business?”

His eyes looked hurt, not mad, which was strange especially when he didn’t respond further.

Instead, he asked, “Would you like to dance?”

Playful banter was one thing, physical closeness was another. It was one of the walls she had carefully built. And it felt like he was standing there hammering away at her defenses. But something inside her screamed to let him.

So she did.

“Okay,” she said as he guided them towards the dancefloor. His enormous hand encompassed hers in a protective grasp that ensured nobody was able to separate them until they reached their destination.

His imposing presence caused people to naturally make way for them until they reached a spot in the back of the dancefloor.

It had been a while since Gwyn danced outside of the safety of her bedroom. She suddenly felt very self-conscious of every movement her body made- the way her hips swayed, and her inability to come up with anything to do with her hands.

Azriel seemed to be in tune with her worries, as he moved closer and placed his hands on her hips. In swaying motions, he guided her to the rhythm of the music.

At first, her body tensed under the sudden touch before she felt the scars of his hands on the naked skin of her body and she was somehow transported back to when they were both young. To when he would pick her up in his old jeep, to take her to Rhysand’s house where secret parties were held every other week. How he would lead them to a secluded spot, where they would get lost in each other’s touch.

Her entire body relaxed into the safety of old trust and older memories.

Love in This Club boomed in the background and it felt oddly fitting.

“Is this okay?” He said into her ear, as he held her in his arms.

“Yes.” She assured him with a smile as she moved her hands to embrace his neck.

Song after song followed, and the whole world faded away. Together they swayed to the rhythm of the music and the beating of their hearts.

At a certain point, Azriel moved behind Gwyn, his hands never leaving her waist.

“You’re like a dream, Gwyn,” he said as he leaned down.

The compliment from his lips made her even more aware of his effect on her- on the heat that spread throughout her body. All she could focus on was all the points where their bodies connected which were suddenly on fire. Instead of answering with a compliment, she allowed her body to melt into his, like two puzzle pieces lost to time and space. She let her head fall into his muscular chest which allowed them to move as one. With closed eyes, she savored the moment. His strong body behind her felt like a protective cocoon of pleasant touch and a promise of safety. Without thinking, she let out a breath of pure contentment.

Until her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Then it buzzed again.

When she looked at the screen it was Troy. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Dread spread through her body as she read the words.

Troy: It’s a date.

Troy: I’ll pick you up at eight.

Azriel seemed to have looked at her phone on instinct. Shit.

“It’s not what you-“

She couldn’t see the hurt in his eyes, but she could hear it in his voice as he said “This was a mistake.”

Before she could explain he already moved out of the bubble they created and the the whole world crashed around her. Lights flashed in her eyes. People crowded around her. The music boomed in her ears. And suddenly, she was alone again.

She couldn’t help but think it was for the best. Azriel deserved someone better. Someone who wasn’t broken.

She wasn’t a dream. It was a dream. To think she could ever be with Azriel again. The past was the past, and she was a fool to think otherwise. She forced herself not to cry as she said goodbye to Nesta, Cassian, Emerie, and Mor.

As soon as she left Rita’s, a silent waterfall of tears ran down her cold face. The stinging sensation accompanied her all the way home. Back to where she belonged. Where it was safe.

#gwyn berdara #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar fanfiction #gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #acotar #acotar alternate universe #ao3 fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames

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