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thegainingdesk · 9 months

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The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey

Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.

He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.

One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.

Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.

His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.

Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.

Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.

He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.

He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.

Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.

The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.

In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.

Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.

MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?

BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!

Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.

Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.

Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.

The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.

The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.

Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.

While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.

Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.

Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.

Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.

Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.

Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.

How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.

As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.

Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.

Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?

He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.

Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.

Grommr admin team - lost profile

During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…

Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.

Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.

#weight gain #gainer story #gainer fiction #male weight gain #gaining fiction #weight gain fiction #weight gain story #wg story #im very proud of the grommr usernames #the grommr profile of dorian grey #the title came to me out of no where and i knew i needed to write it #no offence intended to any grommr admins #im sure you dont regularly need to shut down the servers for 8 hours at a time or randomly lose profiles

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kimbapisnotsushi · 3 months

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Hajime’s nineteenth birthday is the first he spends without his best friend.

They’re far from each other and far from home. It’s strange, Hajime thinks, to no longer be confined by mountains and farm fields. Not that California doesn’t have those things—it’s just . . . different. The air is different. The sunshine is different. The way Americans call him by his first name is different. The fact that the driver’s seat is now on the left side of the car instead of the right is different.

Not having Oikawa Tooru by his side is different.

It wasn’t like Tooru hadn’t tried. He’d sent Hajime a birthday text at the stroke of midnight, and then they spent two hours FaceTiming each other until Hajime had shooed Tooru off, because he knew that Tooru had practice in a few hours and needed at least some shut-eye. And then Hajime had laid there, in the dark of his apartment, wishing and wanting and aching for something a million miles away.

Five thousand and five-hundred thirty-nine miles, to be specific. Not that Hajime is counting. Not that he’s keeping track of every minute that passes between their time zones, because that would be all kinds of pathetic, and Hajime likes to think he's coping with Tooru's absence much better than that.

Anyways. His nineteenth birthday. Off to a great start, obviously.

It’s also the first birthday he spends with Ushijima Wakatoshi. If you had told Hajime last year that he’d run into Ushijima at a university in California to speak with Ushijima’s father about internships, he probably wouldn't have believed you. If you had told him he’d be stuck in the backseat of a minivan with Ushijima, cruising through the southern Californian desert to watch the stars on his nineteenth birthday—American pop music cranked high, hot wind grazing his shoulders, the van floor littered with chip crumbs and empty boba cups stuffed in the cupholders, with people he’s barely known for the better part of a week—he definitely wouldn’t have believed you.

But here he is. Munching on shrimp chips, listening to Ushijima’s friends belt out Fall Out Boy.

Ushijima’s UCI friends are . . . something. Riding shotgun is Kevin Nguyen—he’s what Ushijima calls a “frat boy” and a “gym bro”, but Kevin seems nice enough, if not overly familiar. Selene Hiraishi wears dramatic eyelashes and nails, and her family has been friends with Utsui since he moved to California, so Ushijima’s known her for some time. Citlaly Torres has about a dozen piercings in her ears and graciously offered to drive for the three-hour trip to the park from the university. Avery Cherent, Hajime was happy to discover, is a fellow Godzilla nerd with short silver-dyed high-top curls. Jaesung Han is never seen without their black bomber jacket and a pair of ripped jeans, and—Hajime has noticed—keeps their eyes on him more than the others seem to do.

They’ve taken to Hajime like ants to a cookie, and Hajime is grateful for it, really. He's grateful for anything that can distract him from that empty, aching tug in his chest. From knowing that he'd wake up lonely, and that today would have been a lonely day if it weren't for these plans.

The road is bumpy, and honestly—Hajime is hesitant to even call it a road. It’s more like a wide stretch of dirt that’s been cleared for cars. Joshua trees—the park’s namesake plant—dot the landscape far into the horizon, sharing ground with desert brush and craggy boulders. Outside the open windows, the sky looks like it’s been brushed with watercolor; deep oranges and purples and pinks bleed from the setting sun like the branches of a river.

Citlaly turns into a pullout, kills the engine, and twists around to grin at everyone. “Made it in one piece. What did I tell you guys?”

“You almost crashed into that Honda Civic right off the freeway,” Kevin says. “‘One piece’, my ass.”

“The One Piece is going to be a far greater treasure than your ass, Kev,” says Avery loftily. “They haven’t gone through six hundred and twenty-eight episodes just for that.”

Jaesung claps Kevin’s shoulder as they clamber out. “Don’t worry, Kev, I think you have a great ass.”

Kevin beams. “Aw, Jae! I think you have a great ass, too!”

“Your friends are weird,” Hajime remarks while he and Ushijima hop out the backseat. “Nice, but weird.”

Ushijima smiles. Before today, Hajime hadn’t even known that was something the guy was capable of doing. “They are, aren’t they?

-- an excerpt from wherever you go in this world (i'll come along), an iwaoi bday fic i really really wanted to finish today but perhaps later this week???

#iwaoi #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #sou writes stuff #sou's fics #sou says stuff

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nine-of-words · 5 months

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Something Borrowed (Part Eleven)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG

Wordcount: 7437

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Brief Mention of Fantasy Catholicism

I’m not dead and here is another chapter! However this part ran way too long in the original plan, so I’ve decided to break it in two. It is somehow still more than 7k, so, whoops. Fittingly, we’re going with a baker’s dozen for this story rather than a dozen.

The anticipation is killing you.

You are in the back of a rented van, babysitting two comically large, magically chilled boxes full of partially constructed wedding cake. Your eyes are eagle sharp as you monitor it on the way to the venue.

It's something you've done hundreds, if not thousands of times before at this point, but it still makes you feel slightly queasy, watching the result of your hard work wobble and sway in its supported box with every little bump in the road.

But this time, you're an extra bit queasy for a different reason, as you hold your device out in front of you.

If you're going to call somebody, you need to have called them… at least twenty minutes ago, now.

Between working double time late into the night to remake this cake, and getting it ready for delivery today, you haven’t had time to make the call at a reasonable hour.

Until now.

…Or so you tell yourself.

You definitely waited until the last possible minute, at least partially out of fear.

You look down at the screen, the pixels composing the letters of Carlyle’s name starting to lose their meaning from staring at them for so long.

You suppose the second best time to call is now.

You finally swallow down the dread and start to mentally count down from ten.

Ten, Nine, Eight-

Ugh, what are you even doing? You’re just going to make a fool of yourself!

Seven, Six, Five…

What if he doesn’t pick up? What then? It’s the middle of the day on a work day! He's a lawyer, he's probably on a courtroom right now-

Four… Three… Two…

And what if he does pick up? You should’ve rehearsed what you were going to say better-

One.

You force yourself to hit the button before you can hesitate again. The sound of ringing on the other end is like a series of white hot pokers in your chest. Your eyes are screwed closed in anticipation.

It rings once.

You consider wrenching open the sliding door of the van and tossing your voci out onto the highway speeding by.

It rings twice…

“Hello?”

Even with just the single word, he sounds absolutely incredulous. You can clearly imagine the way his eyebrows arch up when he hears something particularly egregious.

“... Hi,” You finally manage to force the word out on a forceful exhale, but then immediately stall, the ghost of your next sentence leaving you in a near-silent rattle.

“...Hello. Are you… okay?”

“Yes- Well, no. Maybe?” You laugh nervously. “It really depends on what your answer to my next question is…”

“Hah, well- I’m listening, whenever you're ready.”

You take a deep breath of air, fist nervously clenching your apron hem, then swallow it down with your remaining pride.

“I know this is last minute and I know I don’t really have the footing to ask you a favor right now, but… I really need you,” You say, mouth already dry and your voice beginning to shake, the words harder to excavate the more you scrape out. “Do you think that you could… would you be my date to this wedding?”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” Carlyle’s response is more nonchalant and so much lighter in tone than you expected; relieved, even. You hear fabric rustling and what sounds like the subtle grinding of stone on the other end. “Send me the address. And the dress code- I'm assuming there is one.”

“R-Really?” You say in disbelief; you expected rejection, or at least much more pushback. You expected to have to beg for forgiveness. “Just like that?”

“Yes?” He lets out a soft, barely audible laugh. “Were you expecting me to turn you down?”

He has a point. What were you expecting, exactly? Bitter resentment? But no, of course he’s behaving in a kind and supportive manner- He’s never given you a reason to think he’d act any differently. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

“I… suppose I was. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Just so we're on the same page here,” The rustling of movement on Carlyle’s end of the line continues. “I’m going as your date, but is this a date? I'll still join you in a platonic capacity, of course, so there's no pressure, but I would like things to be transparent from the start.”

“A date!” You blurt out, but quickly clarify; “A, uh, not platonic one. A romantic one, I mean. I-If that's what you want.”

“You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“Sorry- I think I might know. Just a tick-” You’re overjoyed and devastated at the same time, struggling to blink back the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. You don’t have to apologize.”

You try to convince yourself to get off the line, but it’s just so good to hear his voice again, you’re desperate to wring as much of it as you can out of this short interaction- to save it up in case things go south again. But you’ll need to unload this cake soon, and understandably, Carlyle can't stay on the call for much longer either, given the sudden need to pack and commute. So, after giving him the information he needs, you’re forced to cut it short.

You finally say goodbye and end the call, left sitting in the back of the van with the cake, the anxiety weighing on you laced with a bit of pleasant anticipation, now.

One look at the place when you get out of the back of the van, and you’re already intimidated. They certainly didn’t spare any cost, from the look of it. You push the feeling down and remind yourself you have a reason to be here- you’re here for work primarily, no matter what the self-critical voice in the back of your mind is trying to tell you.

The building is an old Elven palace nestled in sprawling gardens, situated on the northern edge of the city and repurposed into an event venue. The exterior is all tall, windy spires and iridescent panes of stained glass, with sprawling plant life tracing cracks where they’ve found purchase. Even from here, you can see that a massive tree growing from the same craggy base of the hill the palace is perched on has started to grow into a hole in the building’s stone facade who knows how long ago- now kept artfully pruned now as a feature, rather than a signal of disrepair, you have to assume.

You walk into the reception venue’s service door from the parking area, somehow even more intimidated by the inside. Fittingly, it’s the palace’s ballroom. Branches of the tree have slowly crept their way in here over the years, twisting through the stone and dotting the cracks with the occasional vine or flower. Long hanging pennants of silky cloth hang down between marble columns and the same rosy stained glass panels from the outside, the backdrop to meticulously set dining tables with live floral centerpieces, evoking what it likely looked like in the past. The high ceiling has some sort of eerie gloss to it, with multiple finely dressed banquet workers in the room seemingly running tests as the lights flicker and twinkle a different color occasionally- you can only imagine what this room will look like with the lighting fully set later.

In your line of work, you’ve seen a lot of wedding ceremonies, or at least the set up preceding them. Elven weddings tend to be showy and overdone, ostentatious in their presentation, and this one is no exception. Everything about the venue you’ve seen so far screams “I paid a lot of gold for this”, which given Trevor’s parents likely foot the bill for it, you’re unsurprised.

As usual when you arrive, your first order of business is to locate the wedding planner, to confirm where to put the end product of your hours of effort. This time, it's a stern looking elven woman in a flowy black and gold jumpsuit and sporting a tight bun atop her head- someone you instantly recognize and find yourself hit with a wave of dread, realizing you have to have this conversation, of all things, right now.

“Ooh, hello!” She says your name, but all you hear is being called up to the gallows. “What a nice surprise it is to see you here!”

This is the wedding planner you were talking to when you had begun to plan your own wedding, when you and Trevor were still engaged. You feel a little bad that you don’t remember her name- you could probably find her card somewhere in your files from the times you’d worked on the same wedding before you hired her, but so much of that time period is such a blur to you now. It feels like a whole different lifetime.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, fingernails already digging into the strap of your bag of supplies. You force yourself to unclench your fingers. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has! We haven’t worked on the same event for more than… well, more than a year now, wouldn’t it be?” Her nails tap the datapad in her hands as she types away.

You can hear the question she’s being too polite to ask: It was when we were planning this wedding when it was going to be yours, wasn’t it?

“I changed location, so that might be why.” You offer an explanation.

“When Ms. Devinthal said she had a backup in mind when the groom’s first choice bakery fell through, I had no idea it was going to be you! I didn’t recognize the business name at all!”

Backup? First choice…? What’s that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, well, I changed my shop’s name too, so I imagine there just hasn’t been a lot of overlap in customers lately, hahah.”

“True…” She lowers her data pad and purses her lips, barely bothering to conceal her pity. It seems she’s able to piece together the reason as to why pretty easily. “If I can be purely honest with you? I thought you’d have quit the business. Spirits know I wouldn’t be able to keep working in this business after… well, all of that heartbreak transpired. I hope things have improved for you in that regard, dear.”

You can feel your eyes glaze over a bit as you vividly recall the day you had called this woman in barely-withheld tears to cancel her service; how you barely were able to explain through your weak voice, hoarse from crying, that there wasn’t going to be a wedding to plan anymore.

“Oh, they have.” You say, trying to keep your teeth from gritting, with a drawn on customer-service smile.

“Ohoh! Well, I should let you get to work! That cake isn’t going to stack itself, is it? However, if things keep going well, you’ll have to keep me in mind when you hear wedding bells ringing again, hmm? They say the second time's the charm!”

“Of course I will!” You lie through your teeth. “Thanks.”

Mercifully, you have your job to turn your attention to.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you let out a long, withering breath, and resteel yourself. You’re not going to have a breakdown. It’s too early in all of this.

One by one, you bring the chilled boxes into the reception venue, fingers locked tightly, but not tight enough to damage the cake inside. You’ve never dropped a cake at the venue- yet- but given your luck lately, you’re not taking any chances.

Once all the necessary pieces are inside, you begin the work of extracting the cake tiers from their boxes and moving them to the obnoxiously broad cake stand. The cake will be set on a small table all on its own, pride of place of the banquet area of the ballroom.

Every tier you place as if you’re disarming a bomb; your life and the life of everyone in the building depends on it being undamaged. Dowel rods and cardboard circles are strategically placed as needed for structural integrity, each tier of cake perfectly centered in the middle of the one below.

Finally, you gingerly slide the last, petite tier on top of the whole thing.

…It’s secure. That’s most of the battle won. You let out the breath you were holding. Putting on the final aesthetic touches won’t be nearly as mortally terrifying as the potential of the cake crashing onto the floor into a heap of sweet mush due to an accidental slip of the hand.

You begin the process of touching up the sides and the seams of the tiers, dolloping buttercream from your container to hide any cracks like you're spackling a wall. Time both flies by and is somehow agonizing in how long it drags on. All the way through laying down the final buttercream decorations, up until you've meticulously placed the last sugary rose you spent so much time sculpting, there's only one thing on your mind, and it’s not the cake.

All that’s left is to seek out the wedding planner once again for final approval. To your relief, she's thrilled with your work and gives you the go ahead to clean up as she uses the datapad in her hand to send the rest of your payment to your account. It's always easier when there's no new demands or fabricated issues brought up at the very end. The tightly wound muscles in your upper back ease, just a little bit.

And with that- it's done, finished, out of your hands. The cake is delivered safely, and you feel lighter already knowing it's not your problem anymore.

… As long as it makes it through the night without exploding, that is.

You swallow dryly at the thought. Kirby enthusiastically assured you that there was basically no chance of it happening again so soon- that it happening to the first version of this cake was a blessing in disguise, since that explosion took place in your shop and not the venue, and there wouldn't be enough time for negative energy to accumulate again by now. You can't help but still feel the twinge of apprehension, despite you trusting their judgement.

The last of your supplies get neatly packed away just in time, as you're starting to see more elves dressed in their best formal wear filtering through by the passing minute.

Casting one last lingering look at the cake, you leave the grandiose ballroom for your hotel room to get ready. By nature of attending a wedding you've also delivered the cake to, the time you have to prepare is somewhat more scant than you’d like, so you’ve got to get moving.

After a walk down a particularly gilded hallway, you enter the frankly ostentatious lobby of the hotel portion of the palace. The high vaulted, ribboned ceilings are almost dizzying, and all of the small details on the architecture being gilded or inlaid with some other precious material is making it hard to look at anything for too long.

A bellhop takes your bags, leaving you less to fiddle with in your anxiety. So instead, you compulsively check your voci every few moments while you wait for the front desk agent to do her thing. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice how sweaty your hands are with nerves when you take the set of keycards from her. You want to get up there and get ready as soon as possible. You don’t want to hog the bathroom if Carlyle still needs to finish getting ready, too…

Since the guest rooms themselves are in the various high towers of the palace, the elevator ride takes what feels like forever. You’re left to look at your many reflections, scrutinizing the imperfections of your face amplified in the glass and regretting most of your life decisions up to this point.

When you finally get there, the hotel room itself is even a bit intimidating in how expensive and ornate it looks. You’re aware you likely got one of the most standard of rooms, as a low priority guest. You don’t even want to think about what the bigger suites must look like… And certainly not the bridal suite, which the front desk agent was happy to chirp about being at the very top of the highest spire.

Despite being what’s considered a standard room, it’s still more lavish than anything you’d ever buy yourself for the night by far, all gilded and crystal surfaces and the finest fabrics.

Of the most note is an incredibly tall window pane that reaches from the floor all the way up to the ceiling- at least double and a half of your height. The view overlooks the swathe of greenery and pastel color of blooming flowers below, and then eventual transition to the blocks of Windrise City proper in the far distance, past the gardens.

You may be in a time crunch, but the view from the window is so entrancing you find yourself opening the light curtains a little wider and staring out in awe for just a few moments. If you had time, you’d probably be out on the balcony right now.

Your delivered bags sit on the golden luggage stand in one corner, looking very out of place in their mundanity.

Hastily, you pick out the one suit you own from the top of your luggage, where it’s neatly folded on the hanger. You shake it out a bit before hanging it on the bar in the hallway closet.

Carlyle hasn’t shown up yet, which is both a relief and terrifying. What if he got stuck in gridlock traffic and he can’t get here in time? You’ll be here on your own anyway, after all of that. Somehow it’d make the whole situation even more embarrassing, seeing familiar faces while you stew in shame, left to endure pitying looks that cover up deep disdain for your presence…

But.. no. He’d definitely call back if he was running late.

You peel yourself out of your slightly sugar-crusted apron and hop into a hurried shower, starting the rush through your grooming routine.

Once you’ve bathed, you immediately move on to shaving; going through the motion of working a lather of soap onto your face. Thanks to your mother being an elf, you don’t have to shave that often, but she is a snow elf, so the stubble will still get out of hand if you let it.

The preening gives you a sense of comfort- a calmness that you’ve been sorely lacking lately.

You can at least handle this. You are fully capable of looking presentable. It’s part of your job.

While the momentary refuge from your dread is a comfortable diversion, reality quickly sets back in when you hear a knock at the door.

You look up and freeze, the razor still in your hand hanging inert by your jaw.

A bolt of terror courses through you, despite bubbling with joy. You want to see him, if the urge to run to the door and immediately throw it open means anything. But it’s going to be so awkward… What do you even say now?

Maybe it’s just room service, even though you didn’t order it. A maid with extra pillows, even though you didn’t ask for them? A maintenance worker coming to fix something, even though you didn’t report an issue?

You realize you’ve been standing here frozen for far too long, and scramble to get some semblance of covered, throwing open the closet and yanking one of the robes off the attached anti-theft hangers, then hurriedly putting your arms through the sleeves and tying a sloppy knot around your waist.

Finally at the door, nearly working up a sweat in your haste, your hands fumble with the chain lock and the door handle, but manage to open the door.

Carlyle is on the other side, of course, and not the random hospitality worker you were conjuring in your head. He has an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, and a smaller one held at his side in his opposite hand.

He looks as handsome as ever, clearly freshly groomed and put together himself; freshly pressed suit, dreadlocks neatly tied in a loose gather, and the warm, spiced scent of his cologne’s heart note.

You imagine Carlyle must own more than a few suits, given his job and the fact you’ve rarely seen him in anything less formal, but if this isn’t his best suit, it’s probably close to it. The fabric of the lapels is a silky, resplendent black, shimmering just enough when the light hits it that it’s nearly impossible to resist the desire to run your fingers along them. The rosy blush paisley pattern on his chosen tie is strikingly familiar…

His free hand is hovering halfway between his tie and the door, like he’s contemplating knocking again after fussing with his focus in anticipation. He lowers it to straighten his tie, and his face breaks into a smitten, amused smile at the sight of you.

“Good afternoon.” The way the corners of his eyes tighten and his voice has the slightest hint of wavering, you can tell he’s barely holding back laughter. “I’m truly flattered that you wanted to answer the door so quickly, but you didn’t have to rush.”

“H-Huh?”

He gestures to his face like he’s stroking a nonexistent beard. You move your own to mirror the movement, immediately regretting your choice when the fingertips find the shaving lather you still have on half of your face.

The accumulated tension is blown to smithereens.

You can feel your face heating up in embarrassment, running to answer the door like this.

A momentary silence falls between you- with you too dazed to access your proper manners, and Carlyle too patient to suggest you move out of the doorway and let him through.

Both on one side of a threshold, but neither being quick to trespass.

It’s a foreign feeling, knowing how close you’ve gotten, yet having this invisible, manufactured barrier still standing between you.

That evening in the shop when he came by late and you were in much the same circumstances comes to mind. There’s no extinguished neon shop sign barring the way now, though, just your own awkward behavior.

“Um. Well,” You cringe at yourself, trying to relax your wooden posture. “Come in?”

As soon as Carlyle has slid past you and inside the room, you scoop up your main layers of clothes that you had laying out within reach.

“Right, um. I’ll just. Be out in a minute-” You manage to blurt out before unceremoniously locking yourself in the bathroom, only catching half of his affirmative words before the door shuts.

Finishing shaving and getting dressed doesn’t take nearly as long as you’d hope- not nearly enough to think up something meaningful to say to him. You find yourself gripping the edges of the sink, staring yourself down in the mirror, desperately trying to plan your approach.

What is even appropriate here? Should you thank him for coming? Should you apologize again?

Anything is better than this. You can’t hide in the bathroom forever torturing yourself.

Right?

You close your eyes to splash your face with a bit of water, and take a long, drawn out, deep breath. Then you steel yourself and meekly emerge from your hiding spot.

You stall in front of the hallway closet, eyes turned away, and pick up your tie from the neck of the nearby hanger with your blazer on it.

But before you can make much progress with your tie, you’re hit with a pleasantly familiar, slightly sweet, slightly malty smell that calls you out into the room proper, despite your best attempts to keep hiding from your date.

You glance around for the source, quickly finding that there’s a neutral white mug sitting on the grotesquely ornate lacquer tray next to the brewing machine.

“Tea?” You identify, forgetting your task and taking the still-warm mug into your hands.

“I made you a cup. I thought you might need it.”

Carlyle’s taken a seat in the embroidered club chair in the corner of the room. Even in a place like this, he manages to somehow not look out of place. He peers out at you, one leg folded over the other. His spaded tail lazily whips the empty space below him.

“Ah. T-Thanks.” You say, trying not to let your voice crack, before taking a long sip.

Queen’s Breakfast Blend. He even put cream and sugar in it- a bit under what you would’ve, but that’s only to be expected from him. You’re sure to him, this was just as excessive as you’d like. It’s nothing like the authentic blend Devin brings you, but you’re touched that he remembered your preference.

“Can’t help but see the coffee’s untouched.” You sniff dryly and look into the beige, opaque liquid in your cup, extending a cursory bit of teasing. Testing the waters.

“Hah! Well. A man has to have some standards.” Carlyle quips in turn, clawtips drumming the fabric of the armrest.

Another long sip. You investigate the prepackaged coffees.

“...It’s the same store brand that I buy, though.” You snort. “You've been drinking it for months. Every time you turned up at the shop…”

“It’s different when you make it.” He shrugs with a knowing smile; a bolt through your chest. You can only huff out a laugh in response to prevent yourself from getting too flustered.

The mug clinks against the tray as you set it back down to focus on the fabric still hanging limp around your neck, waiting to be arranged.

You can feel Carlyle’s eyes on you as you fumble your attempts to tie it, but he’s not saying anything. Yet.

You try again. You fail again.

Your hands are trembling the smallest bit, but it’s making it hard to complete the fine movements. You don’t know if it’s your nerves about the event in general, or maybe the fact that you know if you look up, you’ll catch Carlyle’s warm, dark brown eyes shamelessly fixated on your movements.

“B-Blast it-” You hiss under your breath as you fail to form the knot once more, but clearly not as quietly as you think, and you seem to have fully spurred your date to action.

“Here. You look like you could use some assistance.” Carlyle laughs a sift laugh as he gets to his feet and clears the short distance between you. Though, he does hesitate a moment before touching you, despite his hands already raising to do so; “If you’d like it.”

“Please.” Your voice comes out an exasperated groan, weakly throwing up your hands in defeat.

He moves in closer now that he has expressed permission, untwisting the mess of a tie and laying it flat against your flipped up collar. The room is so silent, you can hear the faint sound of the cotton brushing against this stoneskin.

“I know how to tie a tie,” You insist in your own defense, fighting no one but yourself- not angry, but more so particularly exasperated. Of course you’re failing this task while someone’s watching you do it. “I just. Don’t do it as often as you do, probably…”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable.” Carlyle says in a reassuring tone while his hands deftly maneuver with the finesse of someone who has absolutely done this way, way more often than you have. “Though, I’m not complaining about getting to do it myself.”

His movements are delicate but still firm, just like you remember.

His stone fingers brush the sides of your neck in the process. You simultaneously fight the urge to melt into his touch while your heart hammers in your chest so hard that you’re starting to feel it in your throat.

…You’re fairly sure he’s dragging this out on purpose, but you, similarly, are not complaining- you’re too busy savoring the feeling.

“Is this okay?” He speaks barely above a whisper, and secures the tie at the base of your throat with a gentle tug. He’s asking about the tightness of the knot, surely, but with the way his hands linger, it’s also serving the purpose of re-confirming where your boundaries for physical closeness are, in your still undefined standing.

Your anxiety on the matter can't stand up to how badly you want him.

Your hand rises to gently touch the side of his jaw, but you hesitate, still unsure of yourself despite the clear look of invitation in Carlyle’s eyes.

Then, there’s a slight pressure on your neck from your tie, still in Carlyle’s hands, as he gently pulls you closer by it. He does it slowly, almost agonizingly drawn out, giving you time to back out or stop it. But you don’t- you only lean in to close the gap, taking his lips in your own.

His kiss is warm and slightly rigid, just like you remember. You flinch, second guessing yourself- but his grip on your tie is still there, holding you firmly to him, clear that he has no intention of letting you go this time.

So, your hesitance melts away. Your other arm snakes around the yoke of his shoulders as you embrace him, the way you’ve been dying to do since you saw him standing at the threshold. You feel his tongue and the tips of his fangs, remapping the shape of them with your tongue.

Your kisses grow more heated by the second, barely keeping from gnashing teeth, desperate to get more of this feeling; there’s a pit of lacking in your chest needing to be filled from the time you spent apart.

When he finally releases his hold on your tie, you pull back just enough to part your lips, you’re a glutton for air and blinking back the moisture rimming your eyelids. Overcome with emotion, you lay your head on his shoulder, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, but not ready to break your touch for the fear that you’ll wake up and it won’t have been real.

“I missed you.”

Your voice is barely audible as you speak into the padded surface of his suit shoulder.

“I missed you, too.” He responds in a breathy, almost half-laugh, stroking the back of your head with his claw points.

Several moments pass with you unmoving, entwined with your head resting on him. None of what was bothering you seems to matter much now.

You could stay like this forever- if only there weren’t things you had to do…

As if on cue, you hear the rumble of Carlyle clearing his throat, sounding particularly hollow from your ear’s position on his chest.

“We should be going if you want to make it to the ceremony on time.” Carlyle finally says quietly, checking his watch behind your head, but doesn’t budge yet himself, either.

“Right...” You sigh wistfully, still basking in the heady feeling of having your arms around him and his lips on yours again. You manage to somehow pry yourself away and slip your blazer on, but it’s the most difficult thing you’ve done in days.

Carlyle watches in approval as you straighten the lapels, a warm smile on his face.

“I have to say, you look stunning this evening.”

“My, what did I do to deserve such flattery?”

“Well- you see me in a suit regularly, but this is the first time I’ve gotten the pleasure of seeing you in one. It feels like a rare treat I should savor while I can.”

“I’m sorry but you’ll need to wait to do much more savoring, I’m afraid.” You say, unable to resist touching his face one more time, gently running your finger over the smooth stone surface of his bottom lip.

He kisses the tip of your thumb in response, looking you straight in the eyes as he does so.

You feel your face heat up immediately, and quickly detach your hold on him and open the door to the hallway before you give into the temptation to miss the event entirely.

“Sitting through this wedding is going to be difficult enough already- for completely other reasons now.” You quip, your voice coming out a slight rasp as you pass through the threshold of the hotel room.

“Look at this way-” Carlyle follows closely behind you, pulling the door closed with a soft click. “It's an excellent incentive.”

You manage to make it into the ceremony space just in time to not stand out as rude, sliding into the carved wooden benches at the back row, amongst the hushed pre-ceremony conversation.

The ceremony venue itself is just as extravagant as the reception area you got acquainted with while setting up the cake.

The tree is most present in this room. Huge branches reach in through the partially open roof of the area, clusters of blossoms covering the whole left side, suspended high over the altar and reaching past over the rows of wooden benches.

If nothing else, the pictures will be fantastic…

A small band of classic Elven musicians are in one corner, playing the equivalent to faerie elevator music on their antique reed and string instruments, to fill the room while people file into their seats.

Every attendee seems to have pulled out their best gown or set of robes from their wardrobe for the occasion, desperate to win the coveted and definitely real title of ‘best dressed wedding guest’. Swathes of Aurelian fabrics dominate your vision- shimmering flowing silks and light, twinkly sheer voiles, some likely literally enchanted with magic to float or gently shift like an aurora. You do see a handful of suits, as well as several more numan-standard cocktail dresses, but they are far outnumbered by the sheer amount of Elven finery in the room.

It’s suffocating.

You can already feel your back muscles tensing and your jaw setting, looking out at the gathering of rich people dressed in formal wear. Even knowing you’re well within the dress code, you can’t help but think you’re underdressed somehow.

Every time a set of new eyes glance over you with brief curiosity or hazy half-recognition, you’re hit with a new small wave of panic and disgust. You sure recognize many of them- all extended family members and acquaintances that you’ve encountered over the several years of large, overblown functions for every Elven holiday with Trevor’s family that you had to endure.

You’re sure none of them recognize you in turn- after all, why would they bother to remember you? You were only present for eight years. You were only engaged to be married. Why bother to remember something as trivial as what you look like or what your name was? At the very least, if any of them do remember who you are, they don’t dare acknowledge it.

You weren’t enough before, why would you be now?

The only small mercy is that the people closest to Trevor are far at the front, without a clear view to the back where you’re seated…

“So, how many crystal chandeliers do you think that lovely lady’s gown is worth?” Carlyle leans to the side with his back straight, just enough for his words to be audible to you but not likely anyone else, nudging your knee slightly with his own to direct your line of sight. You can hear the smirk on his lips without even turning to seeing his face. “Or do you think perhaps she robbed the baron’s bank vault directly?”

“That would be a difficult heist.” You reply, barely keeping a straight face, somehow no longer able to dwell on the occasional, real or imagined scan of familiar eyes on you. “Three, maybe four.”

A few minutes pass with Carlyle pleasantly distracting you from the impending ceremony with silly chatter. It works marvelously, until you catch sight of Trevor, dressed in uncharacteristically formal elven robes, taking his place at the altar. He, as always, looks as bored as he could probably get away with looking, though he’s standing at attention with his hands joined in front of him, rather than leaning on something.

A particularly bitter thought- that he looks far too overdressed for his face to look like he’s waiting for the bus- crosses your mind. He can’t even muster the effort to look excited on his wedding day, of all days? Typical.

Bile rises in your throat. You could vomit, and being in a crowd of people might be the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You want to yank the circlet off his head and wing it like a frisbee across the room.

Your teeth grit, and it takes all you have not to scowl. He’s attractive, and it makes you angry how good he looks in his stupid robes. Of course you find him attractive, you dated him for eight years. But any sense of thinking he’s good looking now comes with the added footnote of him leaving you when you needed his support the most.

You don’t want him anymore. You’re well aware of that. But you still can’t let go of the fact he’ll never own up to the pain that he caused you, or the fact that closure from him will stay out of reach-

The fact that you weren’t good enough.

Before you can spiral too far, however, you feel the familiar sensation of a stoneskin palm gently slipping into yours.

Carlyle doesn’t say anything, clearly not wanting to be disruptive during a ceremony, but he looks over at you and gently squeezes your fingers in a firm grip when your eyes make contact.

You don’t really need him to speak, because you can hear the message loud and clear-

I’m here.

He doesn’t take his hand back, letting it rest on your leg indefinitely. The feeling of the weight is comfortable and reassuring.

Warmth spreads in your chest. Maybe you can make it through this ceremony.

The music slows, then immediately shifts into a recognizable, though mellow composition of a wedding march. Heads all turn in expectation.

The bride finally appears at the end of the aisle, and despite your feelings around the wedding itself, you find yourself a bit stunned by the sight. Devin is pretty anyway, so it’s not surprising that she’s also pretty on her wedding day of all days. Even if her face wasn’t obfuscated by a shifting, translucent veil, she would still be almost unrecognizable in the sheer amount of layers of fabric in varying levels of opacity she’s clad in, between the veil, train, and the full body of the gown. The bodice is fitted, with slim sleeves that start at the elbow and go down all the way past her wrist into delicate closures on her middle fingers. But the rest of the gown is simply the most ornate sea of cloth you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s so foreign to anything you’ve ever seen her wear before, and you have to imagine it must be heavy, if the squadron of flower-clad elven children in white dress, barefoot and nymphlike, holding the train of her dress behind her are any indication.

It’s definitely still Devin under all that finery though, because she can’t hold the emotionless countenance of a demure elven bride at all- she’s too overjoyed, a permanent grin on her face as she tries to lock eyes with each and every person in the rows and give them a tiny, hurried wave from behind her bouquet- starting with you. You can’t help but smile sheepishly and return the quick wave. A small child abruptly and enthusiastically throws a fistful of flower petals at your row as soon as the bride passes by. A single petal clings to your blazer.

Trevor manages to smile in what looks like an almost genuine manner, but not after a moment of thought.

She finally reaches the altar, and the gaggle of blonde elven children are dismissed, seemingly barely restraining themselves from dashing back to their seats.

Devin is already visibly struggling to keep her composure, even through the veil, the sniffling audible in the gaps of the music.

Like most elven ceremonies, the wedding itself is elaborate and a bit drawn out. It involves multiple phases, the first of which involves both of the betrothed’s parents, even before any actual marriage vows are made between the couple. You of course are familiar with this, given the research you had started back when it was going to be you up there. This is the closest thing that an elven wedding ceremony has to a typical numan bridal party, instead focusing more on the couple themselves.

Trevor has always looked like a perfect mixture of his parents, almost like he was purposefully created in a lab, selected from their best features. They never quite warmed up to you, so you simply try to avoid making much eye contact with either of them. Devin, on the other hand, looks like a carbon copy of her mother, with her father having a more neutral complexion and dark brown hair- likely a grey elf, rather than a dawn one. As you let your eyes wander to avoid looking at Trevor and his parents too much, you follow Devin’s parents back to their row. Your eyes settle on a curiosity in the front row next to them; what certainly is the back of the head and shoulders of an orc, towering above the svelte people around them.

And of course, such a culturally important ceremony is completely performed in an archaic Aurelian dialect of Elvish. You struggle to follow along with the small amount of basic Elvish you learned from your mother, but it is a battle you’re slowly losing. Even Sunday mass for the Burning Lady doesn’t take nearly this long, and that might as well be a standard measure for what constitutes “too long” back home.

Several more observances go by, from what you can tell: A cleansing ritual with pastel colored clouds pouring from a small rose gold censer, Another chanting rite performed by the priestess for longevity and fertility, A spell performed to dissolve the bride’s veil with a sparkle of magic. Then, what you assume must be their vows, given that either of them speak following being prompted by the officiant. And after that, finally, is the actual handfasting.

A set of hazardously long ribbons are secured around their joined hands and the priestess says the last of their spiel. The music slowly starts to build back up.

Bride and groom kiss.

After all of the anticipation, you thought it would’ve felt worse- a twinge of jealousy, or even disgust. But you don’t really feel much at all, apart from a strange, deja-vu adjacent sensation that it might’ve been you up there, if things were different.

And finally, somewhere, in the back of your mind… there’s relief.

You can’t say you mind that it isn’t you. Not anymore.

It’s not you. And that’s a wonderful thing.

You squeeze Carlyle’s hand.

Mercifully, after a one more short closing verse of Elvish, the new couple walks back up the aisle, fastened together, hand in hand.

If nothing else can be said- at least Devin looks happy. You can’t bring yourself to feel sour at the moment, regardless of how wary you are for her, given who the groom is.

“Well, that was enlightening.” Carlyle rises to his feet and moves to the end of the row, where he stands, straightening the buttons on his blazer. “Very… thorough.”

“Reminded me a bit of going to mass back home as a kid, to be honest.” You chuckle as you scooch to the end of the bench after him. “But much less kneeling.”

“Oh? We must’ve gone to different types of mass, then. I haven’t been since I was a child, but I clearly remember ours was always very succinct.” He holds out his hand to you with an amused smile, giving you a flash of fang. “If we ever find ourselves on the Queen’s Isle, maybe you can instruct me on the finer details.”

“I’d like that.” You grasp his hand and he helps you to your feet.

You don’t even need to plaster a smile on your face after that, and head to the reception area, hand in hand with your own date.

All that’s left now is to see the cake through to the cutting.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mlm #mxm #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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leeragnvindr · 10 months

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- I'll rescue her from her chains, make her a porn star in Japan.

- you left out a couple of points, — the younger man snorted and added, — like the fact that she will suffer, be tortured, and God forbid you kill her, mutilate her for the sake of content.

- My dear brother, — Ran applauded and laughed, — you know me well, but you forget the fact that I am not a tyrant.

- Yeah, right.

- There's no point in talking to you. Sit quietly and enjoy this wonderful auction,—the older man turned away from him, ending the matter.

Rindou gave him the middle finger and closed his eyes, wishing he could leave soon and not see this shame.

Fifteen minutes had passed since the auction had started. There was still nothing interesting, but as suddenly a girl was brought on stage. She was Asian, short in stature, had fair skin. Her eyes were blindfolded and not realizing what was going on, the girl squirmed standing in front of thousands of people.

- For this beauty I bet, — creating intrigue, the owner of the auction banged the gavel on the table, — five thousand dollars! Who will give higher?

- Oh, wow.

- Ran, no.

- Ran yes,— he grinned and shouted, — six thousand dollars!

- six thousand five hundred dollars!

Voices with different amounts came from all directions and at one point the amount went up to nine thousand. Ran was obviously dissatisfied and grumbling unhappily shouted out a new amount.

- ten thousand dollars!

- Are you crazy?, — Rindou stared at him, figuring out how many yen he'd already given for some girl.

- Shut up, I need her. So pure and innocent,— he bit his lip, offering twelve thousand, — perfect figure.

- Asshole.

- Shut up.

The money war went on for about five minutes until someone called the sum of twenty-five thousand. Senior Haitani clapped his hand on his leg.

- Twenty-five thousand one, two. No one's going to offer more? Well, if that's the case,— just as he was about to hit the table with his gavel, the man shouted.

- thirty thousand!

- sold!, — the man shouted, and the owner smiled sweetly at Ran, — this beauty goes to you,— pointing in his direction, the girl was taken away and the man breathed a sigh of relief.

- is that it? Happy?,— he looked at his brother and finished his coffee.

- Yeah. Now we're gonna sit for a while and go home with this girl.

- A nightmare. You spent four and a half million yen on her.

- It's okay,— he scrutinized the girl, — but she belongs to me now, and I have special plans.

- Got it.

05/29/23. Tokyo.

Second part.

#tokyo revengers #ran haitani #fanfic #rindou haitani

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slashyrogue · 1 year

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Au-Gust 2023 Day 5: Pet Sitters

Will had a problem.

He had another teaching conference next week, his third in six months, and he had to be out of town for almost four days.

And all the pet sitters refused to take his pack.

Will knew it was his own fault, he may have been a little strict with a few sitters in the past and gotten angry at the slightest mistake, but this was his pack.

His family.

He wasn’t gonna just let anyone take them.

Which was why he finally caved and went to PamperedPooch.com.

PamperedPooch.com was a very expensive pet sitting site where the creme de la creme of society found their pet sitters. The cheapest sitter was almost five hundred dollars a day, not even counting overnight, and as he made his account he made sure to be polite while he posted pictures of the pack.

Well trained pack of seven dogs very used to pet sitters.

May need overnights for four consecutive days.

Send message below.

He waited, chewing his lip, and after thirty minutes he went to let the dogs out thinking maybe he could make an excuse to his boss that he had to miss this one.

Not that Jack would be happy with him.

It wasn’t his first.

Will ate lunch and came back to the computer where he found several messages asking for astronomical prices that he deleted immediately. Then he got to the last message and as he read the sitter’s reply he smiled.

Hello Will

I am a very experienced pet sitter who has worked in the profession for nearly ten years. I can handmake all your pack’s food - following my own or a provided recipe of your choice - and I will if need be take them to my home if I cannot stay at yours. I will need to be provided adequate ingredients ahead of schedule for their meals but will make my own. For four days I would charge one thousand dollars.

Please tell me if you’d like to meet in person or we can talk over the phone.

I look forward to your reply.

Hannibal Lecter

Will answered back fast, feeling so happy he could burst, and agreed to meet Hannibal later for coffee. He went to give the dogs treats, still smiling, and got himself together putting a nice shirt and some clean jeans before he headed out for the city.

He got there early, the shop a little pricey but not overly, and looked around waiting for Hannibal to arrive.

And froze as a man in an Armani suit started to walk towards him. He blushed, looking the man over with way too obvious interest.

It couldn’t be.

The man paused in front of Will and pulled out the dog bone they’d agreed upon to show who they were.

“Hannibal?”

Hannibal Lecter smiled and held out his hand.

“Hello, Will.”

Will blushed as he took the man’s hand, and found himself almost uncomfortable with how good looking he was. He never would’ve guessed this man was a pet sitter. A doctor maybe? A model? Not a pet sitter.

“So…I…”

“What is it you do, Will?”

He blinked. “What? I…I don’t know why that matters.”

Hannibal leaned forward and smiled. “I’m merely curious. You’re not my usual clientele.”

Will blushed. “I’m a Biology teacher.”

“Ah,” Hannibal said, as a woman came over, “A man after my own heart. I will have a Americano, three sugars please. Will?”

Will looked at her. “Um, a black coffee four sugars.”

She smiled, and Will was surprised to see her unusual name.

Mischa.

“Coming right up,” she said, winking at Hannibal who just smiled back.

Will frowned. “She…”

“That is my sister,” Hannibal said with a sigh, “She’s much younger than me and likes to…observe my meetings.”

Will smiled. “That’s…kinda cute.”

“Is it? One would think the older sibling would be the more protective. Mischa is barely out of her twenties and treats my job like every client may be a secret serial killer.”

He laughed. “You never know.”

Hannibal smiled. “No, I suppose you don’t,” he said, looking at Will oddly, “So…ask me anything, Mr. Graham. I’m all yours for the next several hours. What do you need to think of me as a potential pet sitter?”

Will blushed again. “I…I just…I’m a little picky, that’s all. I’ve ran myself off of so many sites and I…”

“You love your dogs, Will, that’s not a bad thing. What scared all of them away?”

He sighed. “I want everything perfect, that’s all.”

Mischa returned and put the cups down in front of them, eyeing Will the same odd way Hannibal did. “Anything else, guys?”

“Just privacy.”

She laughed. “Yeah, not gonna happen. I’ll be…over there.”

Will watched her go, her blonde hair so different from Hannibal’s and, he smiled at him.

“So…you’ll do anything I ask of you then? Anything at all?”

“Yes. Perhaps, I can come to your home and meet the pack to see how they like me. Would that ease your worries?”

Will frowned. “I…I guess so.”

“Wonderful,” Hannibal said, pulling out his phone, “Give me your address and we can set this all up as soon as possible. I….I really am looking forward to meeting them and…working for you, Will.”

Will wiggled in his seat.

This was a bad idea.

Very, very bad.

But he took Hannibal’s phone and gave him his info, feeling Hannibal’s eyes on him the whole time before he handed it back.

“I think maybe you might be my ideal dog sitter,” he said, laughing nervously, “It’s like you were made for me.”

Hannibal smiled as he sipped his drink.

“You seem like the ideal client,” he said, “Perhaps…we were made for each other.”

Will blushed again.

“Maybe.”

#au gust 2023 #hannigram au #pet sitter hannibal #smitten kitten will #fluff

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iamjucie · 5 months

Text

A History in Lessons

Chapter 9: "Your Most Prized Spawn" (final pt.)

(final pt. of the “Your Most Prized Spawn” part of the story, not the entire fic A History in Lessons)

“What?! Were you not hysterical?” Astarion stands up and follows you, standing close to your back.

You whip around and put a finger into his chest. “Did it not occur to you to even ask why I was in hysterics?! Why was I so utterly ravaged?! That man you were chumming it up with while I was forced into submission fucking assaulted me. R*ped me and drained me of my blood.”

His eyes grow cold, and he is looking away from you at the ground. He stands with his arms crossed and doesn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?! He fucking r*ped me Astarion.” You are in his face now, screaming. Still nothing.

You and Astarion leave the Ravenloft castle and talked about everything that happened.

CW: Domestic Violence Word count: 1.9k AO3 Link

“I suppose one more drink couldn’t hurt.”

----

“Six Hundred and ten, six hundred and eleven, six hundred and twelve…”

It’s been around twenty minutes and one and a half drinks since the “one more drink” that Astarion insisted he should stay for. It’s been a little over ten minutes since you’ve decided to count the seconds to pass the time.

You’ve been tuning in and out of the world outside your mind. The world where your body is present, standing politely at Astarion’s side. This party was a nightmare even with full bodily autonomy, now that it’s stripped from you it’s even more unbearable. Whenever you pay attention to your surroundings, you despise what you see.

When your counting was at around two hundred, you heard the other vampire lords praising Astarion for managing to obtain such a “valuable spawn” as yourself. Impressed by him having the “Hero of Baldur’s Gate'' succumb to his every will.

So, you’ve decided it’s best to stay in your mind. And count.

----

“One thousand one hundred and ninety five, one thousand one hundred and ninety six, one thousand one hundred and ninety seven…”

The next time you tuned into your surroundings, you saw an elegant vampire woman sitting upon Astarion’s lap feeding him the grapes that were only meant for decoration. She pops them into his mouth and asks him to describe the taste to her. She hasn’t eaten any fruit for centuries.

His devilish gaze leaves the woman on his lap and enters yours for a moment. After he looked at you, your vision went dark. You couldn’t see your surroundings and were forced into your mind.

When your counting reached around two thousand is when your vision began to return to you slowly. There is an ache behind your eyes after vision is taken and returned, akin to a migraine.

You can feel your muscles aching, stiffening up as you’ve been in the same position for thirty minutes. Can’t he compel you to just bend your knee or something? You don’t even care if he is still compelling you to be calm and quiet, you just want to move.

----

“Five thousand four hundred and twenty two, five thousand four hundred and twenty three, five thousand four hundred and twenty four…”

Most guests have left by now. The celebrations have finished and now it appears to only be the most powerful lords left. It looks more like a business meeting than a party now. Men sitting around the head table discussing plans, arguing and debating different strategies for world domination.

Your vision is glazed by the exhaustion of standing completely still. Or, it may be the effects of being under such strong compulsion for a long period of time. You don’t know for sure, you find it difficult to formulate a full thought. It feels as though your ability to use your mind has dulled.

The men stand up, bringing your focus out of the mind palace you’ve cultivated for yourself for a moment. There’s five people left; Zarovich, Astarion, two lords you don’t know, and the monster that almost killed you.

They push in their chairs and begin to give farewells to one another, cordially shaking hands and providing contact information. Astarion is shaking hands with the monster and he pulls your lover into his chest and whispers something in his ear. You can’t hear what he said. The world has a filter over it as if it were an abstract oil painting. And your mind is unable to interpret your own thoughts properly, let alone attempt to read his lips.

Gods finally, it’s time to leave. You wait for Astarion to drop his compulsion on you, surely he knows you can handle your own now. Surely he knows that you’ve learned your lesson.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes control of your movements once again. Your legs begin to move to walk out of the ballroom. The first movements are accompanied with loud popping of your joints, Astarion looks at your legs startled by the sound. He laughs slightly to himself. Surely the eight goblets of wine are giving him the giggles. He isn’t laughing at you, you reassure yourself.

You both walk out of the hall and the carriage is waiting on the road at the bottom of the stairs. Every step you take down the stairs is unbearably painful. Standing and not moving for so long had made your muscles and ligaments rigor.

Being under compulsion is strangely exhausting, you are finding it difficult to be present. You glimpse in and out of reality, as if what your eyes are showing your mind is but a slideshow of photographs. Completely separate from yourself.

You approach the carriage door, Astarion opens it for you and simultaneously has you climb into the cabin. You move over to the opposing seat and Astarion sits to your right, closing the cabin door behind him.

You are sitting, back straight and your hands placed politely on your lap; the way he has set you up to be. He’s going to drop the compulsion any second now. There’s no vampire lords around to judge you anymore, so there’s no need to force you to submit now. Right?

The carriage begins to move and his hold on your body and mind isn’t let go yet. What is he waiting for? Who is this for?

Several minutes pass and you are in the thick of the Shadowfell, far away from the castle. Suddenly, he drops the hold and gives you back full control of your body.

You scream as loud as you are able to. Every muscle in your body aches and stings, your head is pounding, your vision is swirling. You look over to Astarion. He is not looking at you. His legs are crossed and he is looking out the window, biting his thumb nail.

You continue to wail, you mind reeling. Recollecting everything that happened, it’s too much.

Your screams and sobs continue uninterrupted for the entire ride back to Baldur’s Gate.

----

By the time the carriage pulls up to the Crimson Palace, you’ve exhausted yourself. You’ve expelled every ounce of energy you had in your crying and begging to whatever God would listen to make sense of what happened to you. No Gods answered. You only received a cold shoulder from your lover.

You walk silently into the entrance of your home, eyes vacant of life. Your face is sore from crying. Your head is pounding from both Astarion’s extended hold on your mind and from sobbing.

Following Astarion, you end up in the den. He sits down onto the couch with a loud sigh and leans back, arms against the top of the cushions and a hand over the top of his face. He knows a conversation he doesn’t want to have is bound to happen, you can tell.

You walk up to him, hovering over him. You pause for a beat, waiting to see if he will start the conversation first. He doesn’t. “We need to talk about what happened.” you state plainly.

He scoffs and looks up at you. “Oh? Is that so? Whatever do we need to talk about, my dearest?” he asks you, patronizingly.

Rage fills your body, you can feel the pressure of the little blood in your body rise. “You saw me having a fucking panic attack and took control of me. For hours, while you had the grandest of times. Does that ring a fucking bell?!” You are in his face, voice stern and volume rising.

“Tav you were in hysterics,” he responds with the same intonation as you. “You left me no other choice!”

You stand up straight and turn around and laugh to yourself. If you don’t indulge in the ridiculousness of it all, you’re not sure what you would do.

“What?! Were you not hysterical?” Astarion stands up and follows you, standing close to your back.

His eyes grow cold, and he is looking away from you at the ground. He stands with his arms crossed and doesn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?! He fucking raped me Astarion.” You are in his face now, screaming. Still nothing.

You lift your hand, about to slap him across his face. Without even looking at you, he grabs it before it makes contact with his cheek. His grip grows in strength, your hand cracking as he turns his gaze to you. You’re curling into his grip, the pain agonizing. Every bone in your hand is shattered before he lets go, throwing you to the ground. Your breath wavers as you stare at your hand, horrified at its disfigured shape.

“I heard you, you wench.” He put a finger in your face. “Don’t you dare think you can lay a hand on me.”

You hold your hurt hand with the other and look up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed and there's something in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You don’t recognize this man. It’s the same stranger you saw at the ball, the man impressing vampire lords with his charm. This isn’t your lover.

He turns away from you to look out the window of the den. It overlooks the garden. He places a hand on his chin as he gazes, pondering something.

A few minutes pass before he interrupts the pregnant silence in the room. “He’s a very powerful ally to have, you know. We will remain in his good graces.” he says facing away from you.

You look from your mangled hand to him, horrified. Trying to think of a response is impossible. You have nothing to say, until your thoughts leak from your lips.

“Who are you?” you whimper.

He closes his eyes with a slight chuckle coming from his lips. Still not facing you, he walks up to a cabinet and sifts through various potions and elixirs until he finds a healing potion. He takes it in his hand and walks over to where you are collapsed on the ground.

“I am your eternity, darling.” he says as he holds the potion out to you. “Drink this.” you take it from him, shaking.

He begins to walk out of the den into the hallway that leads to your shared chambers. He stops and turns his head over his shoulder slightly. “I am heading off to bed now, I will see you there when you are ready.” he says before continuing to the bedroom.

You stare at the potion in your hand before drinking it dry. You watch as your hand cracks and bends back into place from the effects of both your vampiric healing abilities and the potion.

A few minutes pass, your hand is back to normal as if nothing happened. Your eyes glaze over with a feeling of numbness. A sigh escapes your lips as you stand up and head to the chambers to join Astarion in bed.

#astarion #astarion posting #ascended astarion #vampire ascended astarion #astarion smut #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion smut #ascended astarion fic #mind control #mind corruption #i cant fix him #hes gone

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sam--morgan · 1 year

Text

𝘀𝗮𝗺'𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 》𝒔𝒂𝒎 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 - Chapter six

Sam's wife m/l here !

"Sully, don't worry about him. You know Nate. He's going to survive this." Y/N reassured him and placed her hand on his arm.

"I'm ain't worried about him. I am worried about the fact that the bidding is starting now, and Rafe will get that damn crucifix." Sully said taking a puff of his cigar, and y/n rolled her eyes.

"In a couple of minutes, we will start the bidding." Said the auctioneer and y/n started to bite on her bottom lip. "Come on Nate.." She muttered to herself. Just then she heard crackling on her earpiece and she took a sigh of relief.

"Sam? Sully? Y/N? You there?" he asked.

"God damn it, kid, where the hell have you been?" Sully asked, worried laced in his voice.

"I made it... Had a few close calls but..." He started but he was interrupted by y/n. "You need to cut the power right now. They are literally about to start the bidding."

"All right, well, I'm gonna need a minute before I can reach the panel."

"We don't have a minute, Rafe's about to walk out of here with your cross," Sully stated, which caught Nate's attention.

"Wait, what? Rafe? Rafe is here?"

"Yes, that son of a bitch is here and if he thinks that he is going to get that cross, he's going to..." Y/n started but was cut off by Sam. "Baby not the time. Yes, Rafe is here. And as of right now, he has the highest bid."

"Well outbid him."

"How are we gonna do that when we don't have that type of money?" y/n asked incredulously.

"Y/N, we're stealing it, remember?" Nate reminded them and y/n looked at Sully with a shrug. "He has a point."

"What if he calls our bluff?" Sully defended and Nate sighed

"He won't."

"Guys, if we do not get this cross, I am as good as dead," Sam said over the earpiece.

"Do you need to remind me every time?" Y/N complained and she took a bidding sign. "Screw it. I'll do it. You focus on getting to that panel." Y/N said getting to the floor.

"Since we have no other bids... going once... going twice.." The auctioneer started and y/n puts up her sign-up. "Bene! We have one hundred thousand euros in the room. Thank you do we have any other bids?" The auctioneer asked Rafe stared at her as he slowly raised his sign and y/n smirked back at him.

"We now have one hundred ten thousand euros in the room."

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Sully said, as y/n smirked as she lifted her sign up.

"That bid brings us to one hundred twenty." The auctioneer stated and Nate said, "You'll be out of there in no time."

"Oh take your time. I love seeing the look on Rafe's face." Y/N chimes happily as she saw Rafe's face grow angry with each bid. The bid was getting higher and higher and y/n's blood was running cold.

"Hey man. Starting to sweat bullets here." Sam said over the earpiece and y/n scoffed.

"You? You're not the one who is bidding," she said quietly.

"Yeah gimme a second," Nate said and the bid was up to one hundred eighty thousand.

"All right guys. I'm at the switch. You ready?" Nate said and y/n's sighed in relief.

"As I'll ever be. Victor? Y/n?"

"Just a sec," Y/n said back to him and smiled sweetly, and raised her sign. "The lady's bid: two hundred thousand euros."

"Five hundred thousand! Let's get this show on the road here." Rafe said looking over to her and she smiled at him before making a bowing motion.

"uh.. thank you. We have five hundred thousand euros in the room. Does the lady wish to bid again?" The auctioneer said everyone turned to her and she put her hands up before stepping back.

"Okay, my liege. Go take your throne." Y/N said sarcastically and the crowd chuckled

"Had me worried there for a minute, Y/N? Thought I might have to kill you!" Rafe said in a cheery tone but nothing about that was cheery.

"Over my dead body. He won't even come near you." she heard Sam say.

"Okay. Let's ruin this asshole's evening." Sully said laughing softly and y/n chuckled as well.

"Anyone else? We are going once... going twice... then i shall sell it for five hundred thousand..." She was cut short when the lights turned off and y/n felt someone grab her hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm..." She didn't hear the rest because they were trying to make their way out the door where Nate and Sam went previously.

"Sam, tell me you got the cross.." Nate said coming through the earpiece.

"I got Saint Dismas right here, you want to say hi?" Sam joked and moved his arms around y/n's shoulder as they ran outside to the civilians trying to make their way to the front by the roofs.

"Yeah, we've kicked the hornet's nest down here. Ballroom's locked down, security's scrambling."

"Sully where is our getaway?" y/n asked quietly as she avoided the spotlights that the guards were swinging around searching the area.

"Come to the driveway out front... just follow the spotlights. I'll bring the car around." Sully answered as they heard guests in the background panicking.

"You ready sweetie?" Sam asks quietly as he gets a nod in return.

"As I'll ever be. I'm lucky that I'm wearing pumps for this." y/n joked as they saw that the guards moved away and they moved quickly in the shadows making their way toward the front.

That's when they heard gunshots starting to ring out and y/n became paranoid.

"Nathan, what's going on?" Sam asked over the earpiece as it got louder on his end.

"I'm being shot at."

"Told you, we should've brought guns," Sam said in disbelief and y/n hits his arm slightly.

"Ain't nobody thinks that this was going to happen Sam." y/n said rolling her eyes and he looked at her as he said, "We wouldn't be in this situation right now if we can fight back."

"I know, but for right now let's just stick to the sides and away from the flashlights." She said making the first move as she stayed underneath the balcony.

"How are we doing, Nathan?" Sam asked checking on his little brother and y/n smiled.

"I'm on my way... heading to higher ground to get my bearings," Nate said over the earpiece and y/n sighed in relief.

"Stay safe and we'll meet you there," y/n added in.

"All right," Nate said before his earpiece went silent.

The two couple made their way across the rooftops unnoticed but when they were close to the ballroom and the exit they saw three guards standing around and y/n and Sam went up to them and snapped their necks, and took their guns.

"Che cos 'era questo?" They heard another guard say and made their way to where they were standing Sam cursed under his breath before shooting the guard in his head making the other guards notice them.

"So much of that idea.." y/n mumbled as she joined Sam in the gunfight.

"All right, I'm at the car. Where the hell are you guys?" Sully said coming onto our earpiece.

"Ah, just met your friend Nadine Ross. She's lovely." Nate joked and y/n just sighed.

"Yeah? Well, it's chaos out here. They're trying to keep it contained, but everybody's freaking out. I don't wanna rush you, but.... hurry the hell up!"

"Nathan, where are you?!" Sam said after Sully got done explaining and he grabbed y/n's hand moving across the rooftop.

"Good question. You?" He answered back.

"We're by the ballroom. Look for this round sign thing, it's on the way." Y/N answered as they ran into more trouble and started to shoot at the guards.

"Good news is, we got a gun, see you soon." Sam finished for her and they took out the guards and sat behind a plotting bin as they waited for Nate but more guards came and they got out of their covers to start shooting.

Then they heard a crash and even more, guards showed up. They looked up to see Nate on the sign and y/n sighed as she saw that they were shooting at Nate.

"Nathan! What are you doing?" Sam called at him as he started to shoot at the guards along with y/n.

"Oh, you know! He's just hanging around! What's it look like?" y/n said sarcastically as she took down one guard and moved on to the next, but they started to shoot at them.

"Ah, shit! Get down babe!" Sam said grabbing her arm and pulling her down as he stood back up again. "Nathan! Catch!" He said tossing the gun towards Nathan who was far away from them and Nate caught it.

y/n looked at him in shock and noticed that he was a lot of buffer since he was in jail for fifteen years. They took down the guards with the help of Nathan and Sam pulled y/n up gently

"Nice shooting! You all right?" Sam screamed towards Nate as he was still hanging there.

"Yeah. Hanging in there." Nate called back and Sam laughed as y/n shook her head with a sigh.

"The two of you are unbelievable," Y/N commented and Sam looked at her with a smirk.

"You married a Drake hun. What did you think was going to happen?" Sam commented and y/n shrugged her shoulders.

"Something that will give me less grey hair, and something that will keep me up at night. The usual." Y/N said with a laugh and Sam laughed.

"This is why I love you." He said then he looked at Nathan who was making his way down. "We can't get to you from here. You have a way down?"

"Yeah. Yeah, i think so." Nathan said out of breath.

"Okay. We'll meet you at the driveway, just head towards the ballroom." Sam said taking y/n's hand and leading her away.

"All right see you there," Nate called out to them and they made their way toward the ballroom taking some of the guards out along the way.

"Sully, we're kinda stuck here, any ideas?" Y/N called him onto the earpiece.

"Fastest way is through the ballroom."

"You said that the ballroom is locked down." Sam retorted as he headed towards the ballroom.

"Yeah, well now that they know it's you guys, they cleared the place out," Sully said and y/n cursed under her breath for the umpteenth time today.

"Ballroom it is. You get that, Nate?" Y/N asked over the earpiece as they sneakily made their way to the ballroom.

"Yeah.. I'll be there in a second." He said and they got pinned down at the ballroom where there were too many guards.

"Nathan, we're pinned in here! We could use a hand!" Sam panicked which got y/n to panic as well. She never heard Sam panic before.

"On my way right now," Nate said back. They tried to take out as many as they can but more and more came, and Nate swung through the window behind them.

"Jesus Christ! Nate?!" y/n asked as she was behind the covers and lifted her head to look at him.

"Hey. How's it going?" Nate said in disbelief that happened.

"Uh... i think I'm done with this auction, huh?" Sam joked and y/n laughed nervously at that.

"You can say that again," Y/N mumbled and she started to shoot.

"All right boys and girls, change of plan! Too many people trying to leave, the driveway's all jammed up."

"All right Sully. What's your backup?" y/n asked as she was trying to talk over the gunfight and shooting her gun.

"There's that fountain just outside the ballroom. I'll meet you there." Sully suggested and the three of them nodded their heads.

"Got it. Let's go!" Nate said they started to shoot again and they were able to take down all the guards.

They started to make their way to the side doors but more of them showed up.

"You bastards don't know when to give up!" Y/N called out to them as she headshot on guard as they ran out the door and to the steps.

"Sully we're running out of time here!" Nate called out.

"Hold on, kid... nearly there!" Sully said struggling slightly over the earpiece. They shot at the guards that were on the steps and made their way down the steps to the small courtyard where the fountain was at. "Almost there," Sully said coming again through the earpiece.

"Unless you're driving a hearse, you better hurry." Nate joked as he kept shooting. They were able to shoot down some of them until they saw Sully crash through the hedges with a white car.

"Someone call for a limo." He joked as the three made their way to him. They got into the car, Nate was first then y/n was in the middle, and then Sam, and they shut the door.

"Hang on!" Sully screamed as they turned around quickly and tire screeched their way out of there.

time skip

They were all at the table where they stared at the crucifix. Sam puts down his shot and takes a hammer and grabs the crucifix.

"I hope I don't go to hell for this." He joked and y/n rolled her eyes who was already in her casual attire and was standing next to Sam.

He broke the crucifix and looked inside it and his face dropped. "Shit.." he mumbles.

"What?" Nate asked as he sat closer and y/n looked at him worriedly.

"It's empty." He said looking back up at them and they looked shocked.

"What?!" It was now y/n's time to say it, and Sam turned the crucifix around shaking it as a paper fell out they all groaned as y/n punched his arm hard. "Don't do that to me asshole."

"He's your husband," Sully said back.

"Yeah and sometimes i regret marrying him," Y/n stated playfully and she stuck her tongue out at said husband.

"Alright. Skull and crossbones. Very good sign." Nate said getting a good look at the sigil.

"That's Avery's insignia..." Y/N and Sam said together and Sam started to pull away the stamp carefully and unroll it. He examined it and got confused. "What is this? Ah... "Hodie mecum eris in Paradiso," Sam said trying to read it.

"Today you will join me in paradise." Y/N translated and San looked at her with a small smile.

"In paradise... It's what Jesus said to Saint Dismas on the cross, but..." Sam said a little confused. "But what about these numbers here? What do you make of this?" Sam asked turning the paper around and y/n got a closer look.

"Some kind of code? Or a phone number?" Sully joked leaning back as he smoked his cigar.

"C'mon guys. They're dates.." Y/N started and the men looked at her, and y/n pointed it out. "Look. 1659.."

"The year Avery was born," Sam said interrupting her and she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"And 1699. The year he supposedly "died"." Y/N said putting air quotation when she said Sam smiled even bigger at her, and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You talk about the treasure before even in your sleep." She admitted and saw how his cheeks went slightly red.

"Ah... well.." He said shyly and y/n leaned down kissing his cheek, and he looks down at the paper. "That means we have the date of birth, date of death, and "paradise"."

"Which means we're looking for... Avery's grave." Y/N said as Nate looked behind him and then back to them.

"At Saint Dismas' Cathedral," Nate said with a smile, making the two couple smile with him.

"Wait a second... Hasn't Rafe been scouring that site for ages already?" Sully asked as he leaned back.

"Yeah, the cathedral. See these symbols? These are found on old Scottish gravestones. Right?" Nate explained pointing to the symbols then he pulled out a map. "The layout of this place is unusual. Here's the Cathedral..." Nate said pointing to a spot.

"And this is where the graveyard is at... huh." y/n said pointing to another place and y/n hummed.

"Rafe's been focusing on the wrong area," Sam said butting in and Nate smiled as he said. "Exactly."

"Guys. We're going to Scotland." Y/N said getting excited as she hasn't done this for years. y/n moved to stand in between Sam and Nate as they looked at the map.

"All right, all right. Wait.. wait up. You do realize that Rafe knows your coming?" Sully said as he said looking at the downside of this but he has a point.

"Yeah, we can deal with that when we get there," Nate said not caring about Rafe.

"That psycho would like nothing better than for you to show up," Sully said trying to talk them out of it. "Plus he's got Nadine and her whole army to back him up."

"Yeah but he doesn't have this," Y/N said pointing to the clue that they stole. "That rich boy doesn't know what he is doing." she insulted and she high-fived Nate.

"The biggest pirate treasure of all time is within our grasp." Nate finished.

"I thought this was about saving Sam," Sully said pointing to Sam and y/n looked down at the table. He was right and she completely forgot about that because of all of the adrenaline that happened within the past couple of hours.

"It is. But come on, it's both, right? We need the treasure to save Sam." Nate explained.

"How is Elena cool with all this?" Sully asked then looked over to y/n directing the question to her about Mya, and they both stayed quiet. "Oh, Jesus, kids," Sully muttered in disappointment.

"Look, it's just not that simple," Nate said finally.

"With all that you two have been through together..." Sully started but was interrupted by Nate. "She wouldn't understand this." and Sully finished. "You are not giving her enough credit."

"I can't take that chance," Nate said pleadingly and y/n placed her hand on her shoulder.

"Nathan, he's right. I would've told y/n if she wasn't going so she wouldn't be going." Sam said looking at y/n then looked at Nate.

"I would've been shocked if you called me out of nowhere when you should've been dead." She said with a half-hearted chuckle. "But Nate, things are going to get a little dicey out there.. and Elena won't be too happy with a dead husband." y/n said squeezing his shoulder he thought about it before standing up and walking to the balcony as he took out his phone.

Sam grabbed the bottle to pour him some bourbon and then Sully but he pulled his cup away, and Sam sighed.

"Something on your mind, dear?" Sam said as he goes take a drink from his cup, as y/n checked her phone.

"I have to make a call so I'll be right back." She said walking to her room as she checked the contact for her daughter.

The phone ranged a couple of times before her daughter picked up. "Hey, mom!"

"Hi, Mya! How was school today?" She asked glad to hear her voice again. She leaned against the dresser as she listened to what her daughter was telling her putting her input into it.

"That sounds all great, but i miss you," Y/N said with a smile.

"I miss you too mom... When are you coming home and where are you?"

"I don't know hun. Sometime soon hopefully and right now we're in Italy," she said and she heard her daughter gasp.

"Italy?! I always wanted to go!"

"Maybe when I get back we'll make a trip here." She said chuckling and smiling.

"Yay! Oh, Aunt Elena is calling me for school." She heard her daughter rushing with her things.

"Alright. Have a great day at school and i love you, baby. I'll try to contact you when I can."

"I love you too! Bye, mom!" Mya said before hanging up.

Y/N's smile faded and she sighed. She's going to have to tell Sam soon about Mya and she doesn't know how would he react.

She felt a pair of arms wrap around her and she jumped slightly. She felt a pair of lips on her shoulder and the stubbles of a beard.

"Who were you talking to?" She heard Sam's deep voice in her ear and she shivered slightly, and she can also hear the anger slightly in her voice.

"Nobody important.." She hummed softly as she placed her hands on his arms, and she heard him sigh.

"You know... if you moved on, please let me know so i won't get hurt.." Sam said softly as he buried his nose into her shoulder. She widened her eyes slightly and she quickly turned around in his arms cupping his cheeks. If she wanted to move on then she would've over the 15 years that he has been gone.

"Baby.. if i wanted to move on I could've done that by now, but a part of my heart was telling me that you were still alive.. so I didn't.." She explained as she brushed her lips against his softly.

"I know but I'm just afraid that you will leave me... The reason why i got out of jail or even did this in the first place was to see you again." He said tightening his arms around his waist. She felt her heart tighten and she took a shaky breath.

"You're not going to lose me... Not when you need me right now." She said looking into his eyes and he stared back deep into her eyes.

"God i love you so much." He said softly as he placed his forehead against hers.

"I love you too.." she said rubbing her nose against his before kissing him deeply.

#sam drake x reader #sam drake #samuel #uncharted #rafe uncharted #nathan drake

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 2 years

Text

Seven Seconds: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"Nothing is easier than to denounce the evil doer; Nothing more difficult than understanding him." - Fyodor Dostoevsky

Child abductions are one of the worst things a human being can do, but you thrive in those environments. You can usually find the child easily because their energies are pure and will lead you to them. However, the abductions usually happen in a smaller setting like a house or even a school...

This one just so happens to be in a fucking mall where there are thousands of people here. Your team was called to assist as soon as the child was reported missing twenty minutes ago. The good thing about this is you can always spot the perpetrator since they love to insert themselves into the investigations. Plus, they have to pretend like they're sad about this, which means they're lying to everyone, which means you can spot them even easier.

This case is meant for someone like you.

Your entire team gets to the mall quickly since you're only an hour from the crime. The local police are currently there as well to help out where they can.

"I'm James Franklin," James introduces himself when you get there. "I'm the Director of the Bureau's Rapid Deployment Team. We've been in lockdown for almost twenty minutes. My team's already in motion."

There was another kidnapping a week ago from the same location. Jessica Davis lost her life, and the killer hadn't been caught. You don't know if it's connected, but that's what you're here to find out.

"Another female, same age, same time of day, and taken from essentially the same location," Emily points out.

"What makes you sure Katie Jacobs is still in the building?" you ask James.

"The mall's got cameras installed at every entrance and exit. Surveillance video confirms Katie entering the building, but no sign of her leaving. Security paged her over the intercom, and their initial sweep came up empty."

"Whoever killed Jessica Davis last week left that mall with her because he wanted time with his victim in privacy. Assuming it's the same offender, he wouldn't stray from his MO. He wouldn't leave here without his victim."

"If Katie is here, then her abductor is still here." You turn to Hotch with a determined look. "I'll be able to tell you who did it."

"Good. Garcia, report to the mall's security office. Reid, Morgan, I want you to find the head of security. We need all data from every search team. You guys start with Katie's parents," Hotch says to you, Emily, and JJ. "We'll treat the mall like a neighborhood, and we'll separate into areas of control. Come on."

This may not be the biggest mall in Virginia, but it is one of the most popular ones. Still, it's pretty big with a hundred and seventeen stores, sixty-nine storage closets, seventy-three dressing rooms, six men and women's restrooms, seven restaurants each with separate kitchens, four elevators, and exits to the rooftop via the north and south stairwells. On top of all that, there is a whole underbelly beneath your feet. Boiler rooms, air ducts, and a subterranean level.

Every team got a copy of the map, but the reality of the situation is that it'll take at least three hours to cover the basics of the entire mall. Realistically, you only have half that time to find Katie.

Ninety-nine percent of abducted children who are killed died within the first twenty-four hours, seventy-five percent are killed within the first three hours, and forty-four percent are killed within the first hour. Jessica Davis joined that forty-four percent group, so if you have any hope of finding Katie alive, then you have about an hour to find her so she doesn't fall into that category.

Penelope knows more about cameras than anyone else on the team, which is why she is the perfect person for the job. She needs every inch of surveillance footage so she can examine it frame by frame to see if there is anything in the background that the police or security has missed. If you want to find Katie alive, then Penelope is going to do her very best to search for her.

Penelope didn't find much, but she did look into one of the cameras outside of the arcade. Katie is clearly shown in the video, but the video image is so poor that everything else is too blurry... including the person Katie is with. She could start the process to enhance the image, but no one has that kind of time.

The best thing you can do as a person and as an FBI agent is to be where the crowd is. You'll be able to rule out any suspects, determine who is innocent and who is guilty, and hopefully, locate the abductor. You, Emily, and JJ walk toward the general public, and you pause when you feel something creep up your spine. There is something trying to tell you that something isn't right here.

You look over the crowd at the different faces. Most people are in their own little world since they have no clue what is going on. Some are too bored to care, and then there are others holding their own children so they don't run off.

"What's wrong?" Emily asks you.

"The unsubs are here. I can feel them."

"Unsubs? As in more than one? How do you know that?"

"Because there is confusion and panic coming from everyone. And out of everyone here, there are two people who are unusually calm."

"Katie was last seen by her cousin in the arcade about twenty-five minutes ago," an officer interrupts. "She was wearing jeans, a green shirt, gray sneakers, and ponytails. We also have a list of registered offenders located within a forty-five-mile radius."

"Okay, run this against current and former employees as well," Emily says. The officer nods and leaves, and Emily turns back to you. "What do you mean by two people? Who?"

"Them."

You gesture to them with your head. Katie's parents, Beth and Paul, are crying and freaking out like any other parent would. However, Katie's aunt and uncle, Richard and Susan, are beside them acting like they are scared. Susan is unusually calm about this entire thing, and Richard is more scared than panicked. Scared for himself, that is.

"They're Katie's aunt and uncle," JJ says.

"You're suggesting family members can't be predators to their own family? Look, I don't have proof, obviously, but I know what I feel and what I see. They have something to do with it. Looks can be deceiving, so don't let them lie to you."

You three head over to Katie's parents, but your eyes are locked onto Richard. Susan is also a suspect in your book, but Richard seems like he has dark secrets. You know he is hiding something dark, you don't know what it is just yet.

"Hi. We're agents Jareau, Y/N, and Prentiss with the BAU. You two must be Katie's aunt and uncle. This can't be easy. We're here to walk you through this."

Hotch walks away from his group and heads over to you three, but you don't look away from Richard. You cross your arms over your chest to make it look like you know their secret. Richard tries not to look at you, but his wife isn't so shy about telling you off.

"Why are you looking at my husband like that?"

"Just thinking, ma'am."

You look away from Richard and focus on the issue at hand. If you want to prove that Richard and Susan are your unsubs, then it would do you and Katie no good to call them out. You have to build a case first, so you have to stay silent about this for a little while longer.

"So, when you and your cousin were going in and out of stores, did anybody try to talk to her?" Emily asks Jeremy, Richard and Susan's son and Katie's cousin.

"I don't think so."

"Did somebody maybe compliment her hair or open the door for you guys?"

"He wasn't exactly paying attention," Richard scoffs.

"Yes, I was."

"You'd think after all my years in retail, I'd hate the mall, but it was convenient," Susan sighs.

"She was right next to me, I swear," Jeremy says, but his parents are paying any attention to them.

"Then we split up, because I--I had to shop for my husband's birthday," Susan continues. "I should have stayed near the kids. Now I wish we never left the house this morning.

"That's when you got lost in that video game, right?" Richard asks his son.

"This isn't fair."

You need to get Jeremy away from his parents if you're going to get the whole story from him.

"You know, this may all be a mistake. Katie might just be lost, maybe in some bookstore or something. She loves to read. You know, she could just be in a corner, just, you know--or maybe playing dress-up in a store or something," Richard stutters.

"This image was captured moments before your nephew reported Katie missing," JJ says, showing the image that Penelope was trying to work with.

It's very grainy and hard to see, but it's what you have right now.

"Oh, god," Paul sighs sadly.

"I know the angle's limited, but is there anything or anyone in the frame that you recognize?" Hotch asks.

"No. No. Katie has asthma. She needs her inhaler," Beth whimpers.

"H-how could someone have just taken her in front of all those people?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," you state.

"How do you plan on doing that?"

You could tell him what you can do, but that might upset Richard and Susan into killing Katie. You don't know where she is, but you do know that she is alive.

"We're retracing Katie's steps. We're going over surveillance footage. We're searching every crack and crevice under this roof."

"I want to be out there looking for my girl."

"I'd want to be doing the same thing, but when an abduction is reported, the parents are debriefed separately. It's more efficient that way," Hotch says.

"Hotch, can I talk to you?" you say and gesture to the side. He excuses himself as you two go off to the side. "I know this is too early to determine, but you need to keep an eye on Susan and Richard."

"What do you see?"

"I'll bet my entire career that they're both the unsubs. Out of everyone here, they're the only calm ones as if they know something we don't. Susan is showing fake concern--I see it all over her body. I know I don't have proof, but I will work on getting it. I'll have to talk to Jeremy away from his parents. I'd like to go to the arcade to see what really happened."

"I trust you," he nods. "I'll keep an eye on them."

You leave his side and approach Emily before tapping on her shoulder.

"Hotch gave me permission to talk to Jeremy away from his parents. I'm going to meet Spencer and Derek at the arcade. I'll let you know when I'd like for you to bring him over here."

"You got it."

You leave the group and head straight to the arcade which is thankfully, on the same floor as everyone else. Derek and Spencer are there already talking to each other. When they see you, they break up their conversation.

"So she and her cousin came in here about thirty minutes ago, and that was the last time anyone saw Katie?" you ask them.

"That's right. Ten minutes after the assault is generally the molester's lowest point of self-esteem," Spencer says.

"He could be panicking right about now, realizing he's got a witness."

"Yeah, I doubt it," you say.

"Richard Allen Davis strangled Polly Klaas just to prevent her from identifying him," Spencer says.

"Yeah, well, I met our unsubs, and they don't really seem fazed by all this. I believe our unsubs are Richard and Susan, Katie's aunt and uncle. I need proof, which is why I'm here now. Hopefully, with Jeremy, I'll be able to paint a picture."

"A single abduction like this would normally be classified as a snatch-and-grab, but with the Jessica Davis abduction, it's more likely we're dealing with a preferential offender whose victims fall into a particular type. He came to this mall knowing what he was looking for because he feels safe here, familiar with his surroundings."

"Emily, you can bring Jeremy over," you say over the earpiece. Moments later, Emily brings over the kid before leaving you three to talk to him. "Jeremy, we asked your mom and dad if we could talk privately. Thought it might be easier that way."

"Because my dad thinks this is my fault," he sighs and takes a seat at a nearby table.

"No. Jeremy, your dad is just super upset right now because in times like this, people get really emotional," Spencer says, taking a seat across from him.

You don't comment on what he said because you don't want to upset or worry Jeremy over something he can't control.

"Hey, kid, the moments right before a kidnapping like this are the most important. You gotta understand you're the only one who can help us with that."

"But... I can't remember."

"Jeremy, all we need is the last thing Katie did or said before you realized she was gone."

Jeremy starts to think about it, but the more he does, the more he panics. His breathing picks up, clearly showing the signs that he's having a panic attack.

"I can't breathe," he gasps.

"He's having a panic attack," you jump into action. You sink to your knees and place your hand on his back. "You're okay, Jeremy. Put your head between your knees, okay? It'll help." You guide him to the position you want him in, and you rub his back to comfort him. "Just take deep breaths for me."

This is going to take some time, you can't rush something like this.

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night-dark-woods · 7 months

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hi everyone please wish me luck not slaughtering my egotistical manchild coworkers who have repeatedly lied to my fucking face please. thank you.

events under the cut bc my complaining got so long.

- i am the inventory coordinator. it is my literal formal job title. i count the inventory i shoot the outs i handle item replacements when something is discontinued, price changes, defectives/thefts, and product resets.

- this role does not actually give me the authority to scold people it just makes it my responsibility to fix. i get my job done by doing an elaborate dance of staying on everyone's good side like a spy going through bank vault lasers.

- gay republican dickhead hardware manager (i am one of two people who has an even marginally good working relationship with him. but he will never be fired bc the store owner likes him) has decided that im not doing outs as frequently as he wants (it was holiday season. and i had covid. and also no one recovers their fucking sections so a 7 section aisle takes me an hour bc the old hardware men are too busy talking about how back in their day domestic abuse was fine to front and face).

- he decided a month ago to delegate this to the guy who has literally had his product ordering privileges revoked for ordering five THOUSAND key rings and FIFTEEN HUNDRED YARDSTICKS. because he doesnt understand order multiples.

- we had an argument about it bc i have CHECKED this man's work before and literally half of them were wrong, and i asked him POLITELY not to fucking count. he has tried to zero the same item that people love to take off the hook and leave sitting on the shelf below it. SIX TIMES. in the last few months. SIX. TIMES. it has been SITTING on the SHELF in FULL VIEW. and he has tried to zero it.

- i thought this was settled, because Gay Republican has been checking in with me before counting stuff.

- today i came in and Incompetent Guy had some stuff in the counting program (unfinalized). i was like okay fine whatever. ill check on it before i finalize what i have to do. and then i went to do it and his stuff was gone! and i was like huh. hey Gay Republican did you finalize it? and he was like no. and i was like huh. so i check the record and Incompetent Guy finalized it HIMSELF.

- this retroactively makes sense of all the times he's Skedaddled avoiding eye contact away from the computer when i come over to do smth, like a dog with something in its mouth it knows it shouldnt have.

- i lose my shit in the back to a different coworker and also text the gm about how to pull his permissions, he definitely overhears me. i also complain to store manager.

- i figure out how to pull permissions and do it.

- Incompetent Guy (who has been avoiding me) walks by me an hour later and then makes a joke to Gay Republican about how he's "going to have to start taking notes again."

FUCKING. MAYBE DONT GO BEHIND MY BACK TRYING TO DO MY JOB WHEN YOU CANT DO IT AND IVE EXPLICITLY ASKED YOU NOT TO!!!

if youre WORRIED im not on top of it. or you WANT me to delegate. FUCKING TELL ME LIKE A CIVIL ADULT. dont go behind my FUCKING BACK like a CHILD.

because this ALL ENDS UP MY PROBLEM TO FUCKING FIX IN THE END. and if you just LET ME DO MY LITERAL JOB. AND DO YOUR OWN. it will take me TWENTY MINUTES. but instead we have to be FUCKING children about it and heres the thing i WILL win the fucking blackmail backstab game if you want to play that way!!! because im on fucking everyones good side!!!

#my posts #workposting #ALL I WANT IS TO DO MY LITERAL JOB. CAN WE ALL PLEASE BE CIVIL FUCKING ADULTS.

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mckiwi · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022 Day 6: "I've Got a Pulse"

Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Original Male Characters

Summary: The 'Doctor' in his name is there for a reason.

Yes, Stephen understands the irony of shopping for apples. "An apple a day keeps the doctor away," as the saying goes. But perhaps today it was a good thing Stephen's never been one to listen.

Stephen didn't delve into his Midwestern roots often, but when he did, it was almost always for home-cooked food. Nothing quite compared to a homemade Apple Crisp on a Sunday afternoon. He was analyzing the quality of two apples when he noticed a ruckus on the other aisle. "Papa! Papa!" A frantic teenager clung to an elderly man collapsing to the floor. Instincts kicking in, Stephen rushed to the scene.

"What happened?" Stephen asked calmly, taking in the sight of the old man clutching his chest, gasping for breath.

"I don't know. My Papa, he just- he said his chest hurt, and then he dropped." The teen said, scared tears starting to brim his eyes.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Devan," the boy answered.

"Do you have your phone with you, Devan?" Stephen asked in what had been dubbed his 'Doctor Voice'. Devan nodded. "Alright. I need you to call 911 for me, okay?" Tapping the man's face gave him no response, even shaking him yielded no response. Pressing his fingers against the man's wrist, he felt no pulse. He tried to feel the carotid pulse at the neck with the same negative result. "Tell them he's in cardiac arrest."

Devan stared at him, "he's not gonna die, is he?"

Pulling up the man's shirt and positioning his hand on the man's chest, Stephen answered, "I've never lost a patient before, don't plan to now." One hand over the other with fingers interlocked, he pressed the heel of his hand to the man's chest. Falling into the routine of CPR was like riding a bike. One compression, two compressions, three, four, five. Almost immediately the pins in his bones started to protest, but he kept on. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.

"What street are we on?" Devan asked.

Continuing with the compressions, Stephen answered, "Bleecker Street. The store's name is Bleecker Farm." Tilting the man's head back and pinching his nose, he began rescue breathing.

Devan brought the phone away from his face, "they're on the way."

His own breath starting to become a little haggard, Stephen said, "okay, thank you. What time is it?"

"10:27," the teen answered.

It hadn't even been two minutes yet and already his hands were getting sore. The closest hospital was a little over ten minutes away, plus response time, which meant the rest of the day was surely going to be miserable, yet well worth it if he could save this man's life.

By 10:30, the man's at least starting to breathe enough that Stephen doesn't have to perform rescue breaths quite so often.

10:31 rolls around and he's gathered a crowd.

10:33 and Stephen can feel exactly where his misshapen bones are. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips.

10:34 has only sheer willpower keeping him going.

10:35 comes by and Devan informs him the ambulance would be there in five minutes.

10:37 means twice now Stephen's had to use a small spark of subtle magic to keep the man alive.

10:39 and he's lost count of compressions somewhere around one thousand, three hundred fifty-six.

10:40 brought the bitter-sweet sound of sirens. His hands burned so bad they felt cold. He didn't even know how that made sense, and yet…

10:41 has Stephen nearly in tears when the ambulance arrives.

The stretcher comes out and the responders haul the man onto it. They take the man into the ambulance, and about thirty seconds later he hears a victorious "I've got a pulse!" from one of the nurses.

Devan's about to follow them, but right before Stephen tried to leave, the boy approached him. "Thank you! Is there anything you need? Anything I can do to repay you?"

Stephen thought about it for a moment before replying, "do you know what the greatest gift we can receive in this lifetime is?" Devan's brow creased in confusion. "The greatest gift we can receive is to have the chance, just once in our lives, to make a difference." Stephen conjured a card behind his back before handing it to the teen. "Go make a difference." Devan looked down at the homeless shelter, FEAST's, address, and phone number written on the card. Before Devan could question any further, Stephen had disappeared through a gateway back to the Sanctum.

Wong walked into the main sitting room, greeted by a pathetic-looking Stephen. His head was buried in his crossed arms and his hands were swaddled in ice packs. There was a bottle of pain relievers with a glass of water beside him on the table. "Hands bothering you that bad?"

"Mhm," Stephen mumbled, not bothering to look up.

Wong eyed him skeptically, "I thought you just went to the store to get ingredients for an Apple Crisp. You've only been talking about it for the past week."

Stephen once again mumbled, "mhm."

Sighing, Wong pulled up a chair to the table and took one of Stephen's hands in his own. When Wong starts to massage little circles across the back of Stephen's hand, he tenses with a small noise of pain before relaxing to the soothing motions. "How'd you get your hands so sore? I thought they only acted up on rainy or cold days?"

Barely peeking over his makeshift pillow, Stephen said, "had to perform CPR."

Wong paused in shock for a second, "why?"

Sitting up now, Stephen explained, "A boy's, who I assume to be grandfather, went into cardiac arrest, so I helped him."

"And by help, you mean you were stubborn and did the CPR by yourself." Wong chastised, switching to Stephen's other hand.

"No one offered," Stephen said. Wong just sighs, exasperated at his friend's self-sacrificial nature, and continues to massage his hand.

After a few minutes, he stands up to find the heating pads. "Go take a nap and use these," Wong says, "I'll cover your Sanctum duties for the rest of the day as long as you promise to actually take care of yourself."

Smiling slightly, Stephen took the heating pads with a small "thanks" before heading to bed. In a few hours, he'd wake up to the smell of Wong baking Apple Crisps.

#I've Got a Pulse #whumptober2022 #no. 6 #doctor strange #stephen strange #dr strange #wong #male original characters #marvel #marvel fanfic #doctor strange fanfic #stephen strange fanfic #fanfic #stephen is a doctor #hurt stephen strange #protective wong #wong is a good friend #mckiwiwrites

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the-fae-folk · 2 years

Note

when you talked about the Vadelairn in your stories. not only did you say that the desert where they were was further from where Faerie borders our world than the distance between earth and the large magellanic cloud, but you said that the creatures can get too big to live on land and swim through space. How big is your version of faerie? And how does space work?

Ah yes, so you noticed my little secret there. For those who might wonder, the Large Magellanic Cloud is 158, 200 Light Years away from our humble planet. This means that light, which can travel the distance of 91.601 million miles from our sun to us in 8.3 minutes, takes 158,200 years to travel to that truly enormous distance. If we attempted to convert our distance from Light Years to Miles it would be something along the lines of nine hundred twenty-nine quadrillion nine hundred ninety-eight trillion five hundred thirty-four billion thirty-seven million six hundred forty-nine thousand nine hundred eighty miles (929,998,534,037,649,980mi).

To travel that distance at even a brisk 70 miles per hour on a straight highway would take you thirteen quadrillion two hundred eighty-five trillion seven hundred billion years (13,285,700,000,000,000yr). Helpfully, the Large Magellanic Cloud is among the closest of the galaxies near to our Milky Way. There are plenty more that are much further out. Now that's a very large distance, impossibly, unimaginably large. Far too large, as anyone who knows even a little bit about astrophysics, for a planet of the kind we are familiar with. Most notably, any solid type planet would have long since collapsed to become a gas giant, then a star, and finally a black hole long before it ever reached the size of what we're suggesting here. If that is the case, then we might try to imagine a different sort of realm. A flat plane that begins at the border between our worlds and reaches infinitely in three other directions. Such an existing spatial structure is, as far as we are aware, impossible in our universe. The logical conclusion must then be that the world of Faerie, as they call it, is not only another world... but another Universe entirely. Such a strange thought. Another Universe, different from our own. Of course that immediately brings up issues with the very word "Universe", which is defined to mean everything that exists. So instead we might call it another reality, another bubble of existence that is separated from our own and seems to operate by very different natural laws. For simplicity's sake let's simply refer to them as our world and Faerie. It would be difficult to determine exactly what Faerie is like. This is because it's very unlikely that any human who wanders into such a place is seeing it as it truly is. For all we know it could be a multi-dimensional construct that exists upon a multitude of levels of reality and across vast distances of space. That's not even considering that the Fae might be able to treat Time as a physical dimension and live here and there among that as well. Thus I think we might try to imagine Faerie as a flat world that goes on forever in three directions with an unknowably vast amount of space above it. But having it be like that would cause so many basic physical problems that pretty much everything would stop working if I want the world to even attempt consistency. However, there is a much simpler and more elegant solution. One that I actually introduced through some of the poetry and backstory of Faerie in my tale. The stories about their ancient King when he visited other worlds. "Across the sea he came alone o’er glass-like waters deep. While far below at depths unknown strange creatures lay in sleep." And then later when it mentioned his flight from the dying world. "The Faerie King, or so it's told, he fled back to the shore, where once he’d come from worlds so old to search for something more."

You see, it isn't so much that he's crossing an ordinary ocean to different continents. No, he's traveling outward to different realities, different universes if you will. The implication is that the Faerie are powerful, and collectively they're much more powerful than anything humanity can achieve. We don't know if their king collapsed only a single world or the whole universe he stole light from, but whatever he did it required immense power and knowledge that we do not possess. They came to the world we call Faerie, as the poem mentions at one point. It already existed. So I have a brand new reality whose laws of physics are entirely up to my direction, and a race of beings of incredible power. My solution was that they simply warped reality itself, rewove it. If planets like we know them existed, they were woven together, remade. And in the process the people themselves became inextricably woven together with the world they were making. So while the world itself is made up of many once separated parts, it is essentially endless, just as the night sky above them is equally infinite. Glamours and illusions of immense world-bending power allow for some continuity such as a sun rising and setting, while also allowing for journeys across the world to places with different suns and moons, or places without any day at all. One of the more interesting ideas that surfaces when we talk of creating things, whether writing or art or anything of that nature, is the idea that sometimes when the conditions are right... the creation itself seems to take up a life of its own, it grows bigger than its own creator's ability to truly understand or control. The same effect can be amplified by a thousand times in a creation involving multiple creators. So thus I imagined that in their remaking of this universe, they made something that became more than they intended, something beyond their ability to control or know fully. In their hubris they sought total control, and it seems as if all reality told them no and ripped it from their grasp.

If belief is all that it takes to bend a whole universe and reweave it into something that shouldn't work but does because you believe it to be, then that belief would be self limiting. Belief in fear and confusion, in forgetting and in weakness... those things become real with that belief. But there are also always those who wish to explore, to create, to wonder and dream. You cannot do those things without a horizon of the unknown, without something to be explored. So too does their belief in these things affect their reality. For all their power, they cannot simply exercise it at any given time, they are limited in every way by the very act of creation. They aren't really cognizant of all this in a way that matters. Many younger fae, born in the eons since the reweaving, don't understand at all, and thus have a very different idea of the power their own people once held and the nature of their own world. To be entirely honest, while some of this is and will be relevant to the story of Ardri and his friends, it's really not necessary to know the over-complicated metaphysical philosophy that I regularly ponder while worldbuilding. We look at contemporary fantasy these days and find that people have a desire to create big complicated systems of magic and power, to outline all aspects of this constructed reality. While that's fine, not all kinds of fantasy really need that, and some suffer from it. Some of the power that fairy and folktales have in their telling is sometimes that the magic ISN'T explained. That it lies beyond the understanding of the protagonist (usually a human), and seems to follow a set of rules that they don't know. Part of things is that they must learn something of those rules, must gain some ground, enough to move the story forward, but that there's always much more that simply remains unexplained, a mystery. This same rule of the unknown holds true for many styles of fantasy writing, even well into the world of novelization. But it can be a difficult art to balance the things the reader MUST know in order to make sense of the story, and what things the writer will need to know and decide but NEVER actually tell us in so many words. There is so much advice on how much to worldbuild and how much of that to reveal, but the truth is that the answer is necessarily ever-changing and it simply takes a lifetime of practice to become somewhat decent at getting it right when you tell a story. I myself find a great deal of comfort in excessive worldbuilding, and I will be glad to answer whatever questions about it that you ask, but all my story really needs you to know is that the world they live in is now is vast, wondrous, and strange, and that faeries once traveled between worlds and allowed their hubris to cause irreparable damage to some of those worlds.

#worldbuilding #writing #ardri's story #writing worlds #fae #faerie #otherworld #the large magellanic cloud #metaphysical philosophy

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