#this woman will stay unnamed but it was fun to write

[theperfectawful]

Waking Up in Vegas

Dieter Bravo x Stripper!Reader

Summary: A bad night at work turns around when you meet Dieter Bravo. Word Count: ~10k Content & Warnings: Vegas nightlife, stripping, sex work, reader goes by “Bunny” at the club but is otherwise unnamed, alcohol use, douchey dudes, unwanted physical touch (not from Dieter), lap dance, unprotected PinV sex, oral sex (m!recieving), hair pulling, light choking, no sleep! bus, club, 'nother club, 'nother club, plane, next place... Author Note: Fun fact - my favorite movie ever made is Pretty Woman. I've been toying for a while with the idea of writing a fic inspired by it, and while Dieter Bravo shares approximately 0 traits with Edward Lewis, I couldn't help but imagine that kind of scenario with him. What I came up with isn't a carbon copy of the first act of Pretty Woman, but it is heavily inspired by it. If you're reading this fic and think to yourself - "did she rip that bit off from Pretty Woman?" the answer is yes! Absolutely I did. This is also my first attempt at writing a smut-heavy one-shot. Enjoy!

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, licking the tip of your finger to smudge away the botched eyeliner wing. You lean in closer to the mirror, trying to salvage what’s left of your makeup, but your heart just isn’t in it tonight.

You’d been tempted to call out of work. Sunday nights at the club were the worst - quiet, boring, with the weekend tourists already on their way back home. The locals steered clear of the strip on Sundays, and you knew tonight would be slow, the kind of slow that made every minute drag on. The stragglers who did wander in would likely be a pain, more trouble than they were worth. But with the 1st of the month looming and you still $400 short on rent, skipping a shift wasn’t an option.

It was time to find a new club anyway. When you first started, they promised you’d be dancing, maybe bartending occasionally. But since the end of the summer, things had changed. It had been weeks since your name was on the schedule for a floor show. Instead, you found yourself waitressing almost every shift. You didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t what you came to Vegas for. This job was supposed to be a stepping stone - a way to keep dancing while making extra cash. But now, your shifts were barely covering the bills, and the weight of barely scraping by was starting to crush you.

You tried not to dwell on it too much, but the nagging thoughts kept at it. Was it something you did? Maybe you had a bad night, and someone complained. Or perhaps you weren’t making the same kind of money at the bar that you used to - maybe you weren’t pulling in enough customers. That suspicion gnawed at your confidence, making you second-guess everything you did. But beyond the sting of that potential rejection was the harsh reality of your dwindling paycheck. Dancing had been your main income, and with fewer opportunities to perform, you were struggling to stay afloat. Whatever the reason, it felt like a subtle push towards the edges of the room, away from the center stage where you’d once thrived.

You’d thought about finding another club, starting fresh somewhere new. But the thought of walking into a new place, rebuilding your reputation from scratch, learning a whole new set of unspoken rules - it felt like too much. This club was familiar, the regulars knew you, and you had a rhythm here, even if it was starting to falter.

You draw another wing on your eyelid, take a step back, and decide it looks good enough. With a sigh, you grab your things and head out into the night, hoping to make the best of whatever the evening throws your way.

—

“We need you in the back,” Gary says as you pass in front of his booth, not bothering to glance up from the stack of bills in his hands.

“The back?” You stop in your tracks, wobbling slightly as you balance the tray in your hands. The request catches you off guard—it's been weeks since you were called into the VIP lounges, and tonight the floor is busier than usual.

He finally looks up, splitting the stack of bills between his hands with a look that makes you feel like you’ve just asked the dumbest question in the world.

“Yeah, the back,” he repeats, his tone clipped and impatient. “Big party tonight. High rollers. I need everyone back there making sure they’re taken care of.”

You nod slowly, your feet rooted to the spot. Were you performing?

“What are you standing around for?” he snaps, irritation flaring in his voice. “They’re waiting for drinks. Go take care of our guests!”

You nod again, quicker, and start back towards the VIP lounges. You can hear them halfway down the hallway, loud, boisterous voices carrying over the heavy bass of the music.

The room is dimly lit, the air thick with cigar smoke, and you can detect at least four different Tom Ford colognes competing to choke you. Men in tailored suits lounge on plush leather couches, their conversations loud and punctuated by obnoxious bursts of laughter.

“Bunnyyyyy!” Your coworker, Angel, exclaims from where she sits perched in Suit #1’s lap like a decoration. The attention in the room shifts to you, a dozen predatory gazes following your every move. You raise your arms, tray aloft, smiling big and feigning enthusiasm as you move deeper into the den of wolves.

“Gentlemen,” you purr, embracing the act. You start around the room, introducing yourself and taking orders.

“Here comes the entertainment,” Suit #1 sneers, shamelessly staring at your chest. He requests a bottle of Clase Azul, something you could have guessed before he even opened his mouth. He leans in close as he says it, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol, and follows up his order by murmuring something you pretend not to hear. Instead, you smile and wink, moving on down the line before he can say anything else.

“Bunny, huh?” Suit #2 leers, the cigar hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth. “How about a little bunny hop, baby? You gonna give it to me?”

Sure, loser. You force a giggle, twisting your hips just enough to appease him, your skin crawling under the weight of his stare. Angel plays along, her laugh a shade too bright as she strokes Suit #1’s chest.

“Alright, baby, alright.” Suit #2 takes a long draw from his cigar, blowing the smoke directly in your face. “Dom. Bring the bottle.”

You nod. As you begin to turn away, you’re stilled by the loud clap of Suit #2’s hand smacking your ass. You yelp, stumbling forward, your tray wobbling precariously as you regain your balance. Your jaw drops as you whirl around to face him, and the room erupts in laughter, every man on the sofa doubled over in delight.

“Did you see that? She jumped like a little bunny rabbit!” one of the suits howls, slapping his knee in delight.

“Better be careful, she might bite,” another one jeers.

For a split second, you catch a glimpse of discomfort on the other girls’ faces, their masks slipping just long enough to reveal the disdain beneath. But just as quickly, they snap back into their roles, the forced smiles and hollow laughter resuming as if nothing had happened.

You swallow your anger, resisting the urge to slap the smug grin off Suit #2’s face. Instead, you keep your composure and swiftly take the orders of Assholes 3, 4, and 5, your movements automatic, your mind focused on getting through the task without any additional humiliation. When you reach the last man in the room, something about him makes you pause.

You hadn’t noticed him before, but now he stands out. His outfit is almost pajama-like - soft silk pants and a floral shirt with sheer panels that reveal glimpses of his chest. Despite the fact that you’re indoors, he’s wearing dark sunglasses, the shades resting lazily on his nose. He looks completely out of place among the tailored suits, disheveled, chestnut gray curls and half-lidded eyes suggesting he’s either too tired to keep up the pretense or too rich to care.

But his gaze isn’t any softer. Beneath his glasses, his deep brown eyes appraise you, traveling slowly down the length of your body with an interest that feels different - more curious than lecherous, but still enough to make you uneasy. Behind him, Michelle, another dancer, rubs his shoulders while chatting with one of the other Suits. You brace yourself, remembering that each of these guys seems intent on one-upping each other in sheer douchebaggery.

“What can I get you, honey?” you ask, leaning in just enough to draw his attention back to your eyes. He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes half-lidded but intense as they look straight into yours.

“Macallan,” he finally says, his voice quiet, almost bored.

Of course, you think, suppressing an eye roll. The way these guys always tried to outdo each other with pricey whiskeys was almost laughable.

“Coming right up,” you reply, adding a playful wink for good measure. He responds with the barest hint of a smirk, his eyes remaining locked on you.

—

Crafting drink trays for customers required a surprising amount of effort and creativity. LED lights, sparklers - some drinks even had entire plastic centerpieces that made them look more like carnival floats than cocktails. You always joked that your customers were like toddlers, so easily dazzled by shiny objects and flashy displays that they’d gladly drop thousands of dollars if the bottle was dressed up enough.

By the time you finish assembling the trays, Angel is bouncing down the hallway toward the bar. She flashes you a smile, raising her eyebrows as she exhales a puff of exasperated air.

“They’re so ridiculous,” she says, moving in to help you carry the trays. “They’re like a pastiche of lame Vegas dudes.”

You give her a curious look, eyebrows arching at the word choice.

“My word of the day,” she explains with a grin, referring to the calendar she kept in her locker. You laugh, shaking your head.

“One of them just snapped Mercedes’ bra strap, like he’s some middle school brat.”

“Oh my god!” you reply, eyes widening. “Is she pissed?”

“Beyond pissed. But Gary doesn’t care - he’ll let them get away with murder because they’re some big movie executives.” She rolls her eyes. “Super rich.”

“Assholes,” you mutter, and she nods in agreement. You light the sparkler on your tray, carefully picking it up as you prepare to follow Angel down the hall.

“You caught the movie star’s eye, though!” She teases as you walk. You look at her, trying to figure out what she means. “He was glued to you when you left. He’s barely said a word to anyone. Real moody.”

You feel a flicker of interest at the thought, but keep your expression neutral. “He’s a movie star?”

Angel nods, telling you his name - Dieter Bravo. She lists off some of his movies, shocked when you tell her you haven’t seen any of them. Now it made sense. He was one of those millionaire celebrities who dressed like they were homeless.

“You should offer him a dance!” Angel suggests, her enthusiasm undimmed by the less-than-ideal crowd tonight. You can’t help but admire her ability to stay upbeat and eager, even with a party full of entitled jerks.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t be shy!” She bumps your shoulder playfully, her energy infectious. “He’s, like, the least gross guy in there. Someone’s going to snag him if you don’t.”

As you approach the VIP room, the sounds of raucous laughter and clinking glasses grow louder, pulling you back to reality. You glance at Angel, who’s already flashing a bright smile, ready to dive back into the chaos. She’s right - if you don’t make a move, someone else will.

With a deep breath, you make up your mind. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot,” you say, more to yourself than to her.

“Atta girl!” Angel cheers, her eyes twinkling. “Just be yourself, and he’ll be putty in your hands.”

—

You both step back into the room, the smoky air wrapping around you like a thick blanket. She brings the sparkling tray of Clase Azul to the left side of the room, delivering it to Suit #1 as she returns to her spot next to him. Dieter is still there at the far end of the sofa, slouched in his seat, knocking around the ice in his empty glass. His eyes meet yours as you approach, and you catch that same curious look from earlier, like he’s trying to figure you out.

You set your tray down, steadying your nerves, and pour the amber liquid into the glass of ice on the tiny table in front of him. Before you can even straighten up, you feel the light touch of his fingers on your hip. He slips a hundred-dollar bill into your waistband, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he lets them fall away. “Do you dance?”

“I see you, Bravo!” one of the Suits hollers from across the room before you can answer, laughing boorishly. “You fuckin’ dog!”

The look on Dieter’s face suggests he finds this guy just as charming as you do.

“Atta boy! Thought you didn’t want to come tonight, bro,” another Suit teases, his tone dripping with mock affection. There’s a round of snickering from the men, their eyes flitting between you and Dieter like this is some kind of game.

“Bunny, sweetheart, why don’t you come sit over here?” one of the Suits beckons, patting his lap like he’s calling a dog. “I’ve got a tip for you, too, if you’re nice.”

You force a smile, your skin prickling with irritation, but before you respond, your gaze drifts to Dieter. He’s watching the exchange with detached amusement, his eyes holding a silent apology as he takes a long sip of his drink, setting it down on the table pointedly.

Just then, Angel’s voice cuts through the air, sugary sweet and smooth. “Are you sure, honey?”

You turn slightly, noticing that all attention has shifted to Mercedes, dancing on the pole in the center of the room. Everyone is captivated, except for Suit #1, who’s inspecting the tall bottle of Clase Azul in his hands with a look of disdain.

“I thought you wanted the Azul,” she coaxes, her hand running coaxingly along his thigh.

“I wanted the gold bottle,” he snaps, waving her off dismissively. “That’s what I asked for. I could get this shit anywhere.”

Angel’s eyes meet yours for a brief moment, the silent message clear - you brought him exactly what he asked for. She quickly shifts back to him, lifting her hand to trace it up and down the bottle.

“I love the Azul,” she purrs, attempting to soothe his growing agitation.

“Yeah? You wanna pay for it? 'Cause I wanna pay for the fuckin’ bottle I asked for,” he retorts, his tone hostile.

You stifle a retort and start across the room. The last thing you need is for Gary to come storming back here, demanding to know what the problem is.

“I’ll get you the gold bottle,” you interject, your voice calm and composed. You start to turn away, but before you can take a step, he grabs your wrist, his grip firm and possessive.

“Make it quick, sweetheart,” he growls, his grip on your wrist lingering a second too long. You force a tight smile, carefully removing yourself from his grasp.

“Of course, right away,” you reply, your heart pounding in your chest. As you head out to the bar, you notice Dieter from across the room.

His eyes are dark, shooting daggers into the man across the room. He leans back in his seat, his fingers drumming on the table and his eyes flick towards you for just a moment, his jaw clenched tight.

You grab a bottle of Clase Azul Gold from the top shelf of the bar. You don’t bother with the theatrics this time around, simply placing the bottle on the tray before starting back towards the lounge. You return to much more activity than when you left, several of the girls performing lap dances as the men lounge back, their eyes half-lidded with alcohol and lust.

Dieter hasn’t moved, but there’s a noticeable shift in his demeanor. His glass is already empty. One of the girls is perched beside him, but his gaze is fixed on you, following your every move with an intensity that’s hard to ignore.

“There it is, I knew you could do it,” Suit #1 sneers as you present the bottle, his voice dripping with sarcasm and condescension. You bite your tongue, instead forcing a smile as you pour him a glass, the golden liquid catching the dim light as it flows.

“Such a good girl,” he mocks, the words making your skin crawl.

You busy yourself with clearing ashtrays and empty glasses, stacking them on your tray with practiced precision. The constant stream of tasks provides a welcome distraction, keeping you in motion and away from the men’s leering gazes and crude comments. It’s easier to manage the discomfort when you’re moving, not lingering too long in one place.

You filled the tray, carefully moving through the crowded room. Just as you turn to pick up another glass, one of the suits reaches out, their hand brushing against your waist in a way that’s far too familiar. You flinch reflexively at the unwanted touch, and in that split second, your balance shifts.

The tray tips precariously in your hands, and before you can steady it, everything - half-full ashtrays, glasses, the first Azul bottle - tumbles forward. You watch in horror as the inevitable unfolds in slow motion.

The tray crashes onto Suit #1’s lap, drenching him in a cascade of liquor, ash and ice. The glass shatters against the table, the sound ringing out like a gunshot in the busy room. For a moment, no one moves, the shock of the accident hanging heavy in the air.

Suit #1 erupts, his face twisting with rage as he jumps to his feet, liquid dripping from his tailored trousers. “What the fuck!” he bellows, his voice booming across the room, eyes blazing with fury as he turns on you.

Angel rushes to help, dabbing and brushing at his pants with a napkin. The other suits are no longer laughing; their expressions range from shock to thinly veiled amusement, but none of them move to help. You stand frozen, your heart hammering in your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, grabbing another napkin and mimicking Angel’s actions, your hands trembling. “I’m so sorry, I’ll get-”

“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ sorry, I’m sure,” he spits, dismissing you with a wave of his hand. He shakes off the liquid from his suit sleeve, his angry eyes darting around the room before locking onto you. “You just ruined a suit worth more than what you make in a fuckin’ year. I bet you’re sorry.”

One of the suits chuckles. Your coworkers try to distract from the chaos, each picking up where they left off, while you and Angel continue to clean up the mess. Suit #1 pushes you away harshly, storming towards the door.

“Relax, Tom,” one of the other men calls across the room.

“You fuckin’ relax!” He snaps, not bothering to turn around, his back to the hall as he brushes off Angel’s attempts to help.

Just then, Gary’s head pops into the doorway. His eyes narrow as he takes in the scene - the mess on the floor, the shattered glass, the upturned ashtray, and finally, you.

“Is there a problem here?” he asks, his gaze fixed on you, his tone demanding an explanation. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you look down, stacking shards of glass on your tray.

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” the Suit growls, gesturing to his soaked trousers and the shattered remnants of the evening scattered around his feet. “Your little waitress here just fucked up a perfectly good night.”

“We’ll take care of everything, don’t worry” Gary’s eyes flicker to the Suit, then back to you. “We’ll comp your bottle. Don’t worry about her. I apologize.”

You’re too embarrassed to look around the room as you stand. The bass of the music throbs in the otherwise silent room, mimicking the rush of your heartbeat in your ears. You glance up at Gary, who jerks his head toward the door, signaling you to follow him out. Your cheeks burn with humiliation as you gather what’s left of the mess and shuffle out of the room behind him.

—

Gary sends you home for the evening, making a pointed example out of you to avoid any further risks to the tab the Suit party was racking up. The humiliation stung, leaving you frustrated and embarrassed as you stepped out into the cool night air.

It was barely 1am - you had no idea what you were going to do with the rest of this evening. Aimlessly wandering the strip, you debated your next move. Maybe it was time to start scoping out other clubs, testing the waters before word got out about tonight’s fiasco. Better to have a backup plan in place than to wait for the fallout. But the thought of lingering around another loud, smokey club felt repulsive right now.

Eventually, you found yourself at the Wynn, the sleek and glittering resort where your best friend Kat worked as a bartender. The idea of sitting at her bar and bitching to her about your disastrous night over a drink was infinitely more appealing than anything else you could think of.

The Wynn made you feel like a bum. Kat’s bar was swanky and elegant, the kind of place where everything gleamed with understated luxury. Well, understated for Vegas, anyway. The decor was all white - plush chairs and couches arranged percectly, mirrors covering nearly every surface, reflecting the soft, ambient light. Despite its elegance, the bar was quiet tonight, so you didn’t feel too out of place in your hoodie and shorts.

Kat spots you as soon as you walk in, her face lighting up with a warm smile that instantly makes you feel a little better. You slip onto a stool at the bar, sighing as the weight of the night begins to lift slightly.

“What’s up, girl?” she greets you, pouring you your usual. “You look like you’ve had one hell of a night.”

You take a sip, letting the warmth of the liquor soothe your frayed nerves, and slide a $10 bill across the bar. “You have no idea.”

She leans against the bar, her attention fully on you, and you begin to recount the night - the Suits, the accident with the tray, the way Gary had humiliated you in front of everyone. An hour passes in a blur, Kat slipping away occasionally to serve guests but always returning to listen. As you vent, the frustration and anger pour out of you, mixing with the alcohol until you start to feel a little lighter.

“What a bunch of assholes,” she says when you finish, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’ve gotta get out of there.”

You huff in acknowledgement. “I know.”

“You should audition for one of the shows here,” she suggests, wiping down a glass. “It’s the same shit every night, but it beats dealing with all of that.”

“Yeah, maybe…” you reply, though the idea feels out of reach. Your resume wasn’t exactly packed with the kind of experience that would land you a spot in a resort show.

Kat’s attention is momentarily drawn to an older couple at a nearby table, waving her over. She glances at them, then back to you. “Stick around. I’ll be done here in an hour, and we can go grab something to eat, talk it out more.”

The idea sounded perfect. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Kat always made you feel better. You were lucky to have found her here. As she moves off to help the couple, you pull your hood up and linger at the bar, twirling the swizzle stick in your empty glass, trying to avoid drawing any more attention to yourself. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Maybe tomorrow, with some sleep and a clearer head, you’d be able to figure out your next step.

A few minutes later, she returns, mixing up something fancy. You’re surprised when she places it in front of you, the glass hitting the marble countertop with a clink.

“Since when do you give me free drinks?” you ask, confused, as you pluck the cherry from the glass and pop it into your mouth.

“It’s not from me,” she replies, her tone mischievous. You furrow your brows in confusion, and she tips her head toward the back of the room. You turn, following her gesture, and spot Dieter sitting alone at a corner table, still wearing his sunglasses. He nods at you.

You shoot him a puzzled glance, not bothering to return the greeting, before turning back to Kat. “What the fuck?” You whisper, biting the cherry from the stem and dropping it on your napkin.

“Were you going to tell me you knew Dieter Bravo?” Kat asks, her eyes twinkling as she removes your other empty glass and places it beneath the bar.

“I don’t know him. He was at the club tonight.”

“The suits?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “He was the only one of them behaving himself.”

“Well, it looks like you made an impression.”

You take a sip of the drink, tapping your nails on the bar as your mind races.

“Is he alone?” You whisper again, even though he’s far enough away that your voice wouldn’t carry anyway. She nods in confirmation.

What was this guy’s deal? He was famous enough. Didn’t he have better things to do than follow you around and hang around a hotel bar alone at two in the morning? He could probably make a call and have a dozen eager girls in his hotel room within a half hour. What did he want with you?

You exhale sharply through your teeth, downing another big sip of your drink. “Fuck it,” you say, sliding off your stool. “Be right back.”

Kat nods. “Let me know if he needs to go,” she reassures you.

Drink in hand, you stride across the room to Dieter’s booth. You slide into the seat opposite his, setting your glass on the table. He tilts his head slightly, peering at you over his sunglasses.

“Do you make a habit of following strippers around after they leave work?” you ask, your tone sharp but not entirely uninviting.

“No, not usually.”

“Not usually,” you repeat, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “So, I guess that means I’m special?”

He shrugs casually. “I happen to be staying here.”

“Ohh, I see… That’s lucky, huh?”

“Guess so,” he answers, taking a sip from his drink. He seems amused, clearly in better spirits since the last time you saw him, his brown eyes glimmering from behind his dark shades.

“It’s a nice place.” Your eyes wander around the room, eventually landing back on him, still eying him suspiciously.

“And what about you?” He swallows a sip of his drink, big fingers and shiny rings gesturing towards you.

“What about me?” It comes out a little harsher than you intended.

“Do you usually hang out at hotel bars alone at two in the morning?”

“I happen to have a friend who works here,” you tease his tone from before.

“Ah,” he acknowledges.

“Mmhm.”

A brief silence falls between you, punctuated only by the distant clinking of glasses and murmurs from the bar. Dieter reclines back into his seat, once again obscured by the shadows and his sunglasses.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“It’s Bunny, honey, you knew that already.” You answer, putting on an exaggerated version of the sultry voice you use at the club.

He huffs a laugh, clearly not interested in the act. You tell him the truth.

From across the room, Kat waves an “OK?” sign with her hand, and you nod.

“So, what are you doing here all alone?” you ask, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Don’t people like you usually have an entourage?”

“You met the people I was with. Would you want to spend any more time with them than you had to?”

You grimace. “I wouldn’t want to spend any time with them at all.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Exactly.”

“Really, though. What are you doing here?” you ask, lifting your drink slightly, gesturing with it. “Why this?”

He took a moment to think, studying you. Finally, he shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, finally. “To tell you the truth, nothing in my life is exactly going as planned at the moment.”

You purse your lips and nod, then quip, “Private jet in the shop?”

“Something like that.” He laughs, the sound of it genuine. His demeanor now was night and day compared to the sullen grump you met in the VIP room.

“No, you… I know tonight couldn’t have been a highlight for you, but you’re very… real. I don’t get a lot of that these days. Plus, the guy you spilled that drink on has been pissing me off for weeks, so I had to thank you personally.”

You laugh hard, heat burning at your cheeks as you’re reminded of the incident earlier.

“Oh, well, I’m glad you liked it. If it gets me fired, I’ll at least have that.” You flash a big, genuine smile at him.

“They can’t fire you for that,” he says, shaking his head. “An asshole like that needs a drink spilled on him every once in a while.”

“I’ll let them know you said so.” You laugh into your drink. You can’t believe he actually has you giggling. Lots of big names come into the club; you haven’t been remotely starstruck in a long time, and you can’t even remember anything this guy was in. Something about him was disarming.

You take him in as you continue to chat. It’s obvious he’s a movie star now - he’s stubbly and disheveled, but he’s movie-star handsome. Brown and gray scruff covers his jaw. He’s wearing a soft, chunky cardigan over a dress shirt, the mismatched layers somehow perfectly complementing his broad shoulders and chest. It’s a look that shouldn’t work, but on him, it does. He smells good, too, not oppressive like the Suits, but nice and warm and heady.

A comfortable silence settles between you, and you find yourself relaxing, crossing your legs underneath you in the booth. He glances toward the bar, then back at you, before pushing his sunglasses up onto his head and leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“Do you want to come upstairs with me?”

The question surprises you.

“For?” you ask, meeting his gaze directly, trying to get a gauge on his intentions.

“More of this. Some company that won’t drive me fucking crazy,” he says, his tone surprisingly sincere. His voice drops lower. “Plus, I never got my dance from you. You girls make house calls?”

Ah, there it is. Your breath catches for a moment, but you quickly regain your composure.

Briefly chastising yourself for believing this guy was any different from any other dude at the club, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

“That’s a bold question.”

“I’m a risk taker,” he smiles, his forehead soft and creasing slightly, somehow still endearing despite it all.


You consider it. You weren’t paid out tonight so you really need the money, and the opportunity is right in front of you. But this is new territory, even for you.


You glance over at Kat, who’s still keeping an eye on you. Turning back to Dieter, you fidget with a cocktail napkin on the table, folding it and unfolding it. “Not for free.”

“Of course not.”


“What exactly are you looking for?”

“The dance, some conversation. You can stay for the rest of the night - there’s plenty of room.”

Yeah, right. You raise an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe you just want to talk?”

“I’m not expecting anything,” he replies smoothly. “Just hoping. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“There’s lots of girls on the strip who do that sort of thing, you know.”

“I know.”

You glance at Kat once more, then back at Dieter. If you’re going to do this, you might as well take a bold swing.

“Five hundred dollars.”

“I can do that.”

Holy shit. Between that and the hundred he gave you earlier, you’d have rent and then some. You think for another moment. All you had to do was dance. You’d be done in an hour and then you could go home.

“I don’t do any weird shit,” you say. You don’t even know what you even mean by that.

He nods, accepting your terms without hesitation.

“And I’m not entertaining a party. I don’t want to meet any of your buddies up there.”

“It’s just me.” He confirms.

You think it over for another moment.

“Okay.” You say, ​​doing your best to mask the relief surging through you at the thought of that kind of money.

You finish your drink and stand up, gesturing for him to follow. Kat catches your eye and tilts her head, curious, and you shrug slightly as you walk out of the room.

—

As you leave the bar, you’re immediately aware of the kind of attention Dieter gets everywhere he goes. Heads turn as you walk through the lobby, you notice at least three people attempt to subtly snap photos with their phones. He seems unfazed by it - his sunglasses are back in place, but he’s calm and confident.

The hotel is huge. You haven’t even explored most of it, usually just bee-lining to Kat’s bar whenever you visit. He leads you past the main lobby, down a short corridor to a part of this hotel you’ve never seen before. Intricate gold leafing sprawls and swirls on the marble floor before you, yellow gold fixtures evoking a version of old-Vegas that has you suddenly feeling very underdressed.

It’s the middle of the night, yet the lobby is still bustling with people dressed to the nines in suits and cocktail dresses, their chatter and laughter filling the space. As Dieter walks by, he’s noticed in a more subtle way - eyes flicker toward him, a quiet recognition that follows in his wake. An employee at the front desk greets him with a smile that falters when she notices you by his side. She glances over you, her eyes taking you in with a slight but unmistakable judgment. You shrug your hoodie forward, zipping it up a bit higher as your heels click-clack against the marble, each step feeling more out of place.

Dieter’s hand spreads across the small of your back, guiding you to turn towards a trio of tall, golden elevators. He presses a key card to the wall the middle doors open, revealing the mirrored, plushly-carpeted interior.

“So,” you begin, forcing a lightness into your tone as you follow him inside, “your penthouse or mine?”

“Mmm, mine,” he replies with a soft, tired chuckle.

The elevator ride is quiet, the tension palpable but not uncomfortable. You watch the floor numbers tick upward, trying to focus on anything but the nerves building in your chest. It’s a long ride. You count the dings as the elevator rises and lose track somewhere around twenty.

You’re fucking nervous. Really nervous. You were half expecting to wake up from this fever dream of an evening at any moment. The thought that this guy has money to burn flits through your mind, and you can’t help but worry about what he might expect for five hundred bucks.

The elevator doors open directly into his suite. It is exactly what you’d expect: luxurious, sprawling. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a stunning view of the city skyline. You walk over to the wall of glass, taking a moment to steady yourself.

“This is a beautiful view,” you say, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“It’s better now,” he replies, and you turn to see him watching you intently. His glasses are finally off and his eyes are warm and inviting, sparkling with the reflection of the skyline behind you. You find yourself relaxing just a little around him.

“Want a drink?” he asks. He shrugs his sweater off and tosses it over a chair as he moves over to the bar.

“Sure,” you reply, slowly walking around the room, surveying the luxurious decor.

As he pours the drinks, you take a seat on the plush sofa. You fiddle with the tassels on a throw pillow next to you, crossing and uncrossing your legs, trying to control your fidgeting. This was all so bizarre. The opulence feels almost surreal, like you’ve stepped into someone else’s life. You were still waiting for some perverted catch to reveal itself, but at least for now, Dieter seemed like a nice enough guy.

“So, what brings you to Vegas?” You ask, trying to make conversation. “Big Cher fan?”

Her face watched you from outside the window, fifty feet tall, advertising her residency across the strip. He laughs, looking to her, then to you.

“Of course, but that’s just a coincidence,” he says, bringing you a glass of champagne. “I’m here for an award show.”

“Oh, that’s fun…” you answer, taking a long draw from your glass. “What’d you win?”

“The opportunity to present a lifetime achievement award to someone who hates me.” He answers.

You nod, frowning in acknowledgement, unsure of how to respond to that.

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah,” he says, a slight groan in his voice as he sits on the couch with you and settles in. He picks up a remote from the side table and with a press of a button, the lighting in the room shifts to a warm, amber glow, casting everything in a soft, intimate light. “Lucky me.”

You sit in silence for a moment, sipping champagne.

You’re not sure how this is done. You know how to play this part at the club, but this was different. You slip in and out of eye contact with him, surveying the room as you try not to polish off your glass too quickly. Should you ask if he wants a lap dance? Just jump on top of him? Were you supposed to ask for the money before or after?

You take a gulp and put your glass down, deciding to just shift into character like you would for any other dance. Scooting in towards him, you place your hand on his leg and run it up and down the length of his thigh. The buzz from the drinks you’ve had tonight is starting to hit, and the contact sends a jolt of something electric through your nerves. You flip your hair to one side, batting your lashes and gazing up at him.

“So,” you purr, your voice low and inviting. “What do you want?”

His eyes flick down to your hand, then back up to meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips. “What do you do?” he asks, curious.

You lean in closer, tucking yourself into the crook of his neck, your lips hovering near his ear. “I can show you,” you whisper, letting your breath caress his skin.

His eyes darken slightly, drinking you in as you let your fingers trail and explore his chest. “I’d like that,” he murmurs.

You stand up slowly, zipping your hoodie off and letting it fall to the ground.

“Music?” You ask. He points at a shelf on the wall with a set of speakers. You walk over and turn it on, Insatiable by Prince picking up midway through the track.

“Oooh, Prince,” you say, genuinely excited as you turned around. Music you actually liked was a welcome reprise from having to writhe around to Cherry Pie for the hundredth time. He smirks, leaning back in his seat, his eyes following your every move.

​​You start your routine, taking your time as you peel off your shorts and your top, giving him ample time to appreciate the view. You’re grateful you decided to keep on what you wore to work tonight - this set accentuates your curves perfectly, a far cry from the tired-looking boyshorts and nude, full-coverage bra you usually wore off-duty.

Swaying your hips back and forth to the rhythm, you begin by tracing your fingers slowly up and down your torso. For what he was paying, you figured you’d give him a show. Your fingers linger over your breasts, tracing the edges of your bra as you lower your lashes, then lift them slowly to meet his gaze to make sultry, sexy, in-character eye contact with him. He’s staring right back into you with an intensity that makes you pause for a moment, but you slip right back into it.

You walk towards him, stretching your legs out long as you cross the room. He spreads his legs slightly when you arrive in front of him, his deep brown eyes darkened several shades as he takes you in. You rest a hand on his shoulder, hitching your leg up and placing your high-heeled foot delicately on his bent knee. You watch eachother as you stand there, rubbing your leg up and down, deliberately grazing the seam of your panties a couple of times with your pinky and ring fingers.

Planting your foot back on the floor, you turn around, giving him a full view as you bend down. The fabric of your bra and panties hugs your curves just right. He runs his hands along the outside of your thighs, a long, low groan escaping him as you slowly stand back up and lower yourself backwards into his lap. You roll your hips a couple of times as you squat down, but you swallow your gasp when you finally settle in his lap.

He’s half-hard already and you can feel it, an immediate ick under normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. The feeling of this hardening length against the back of your thighs sent a jolt down your spine, a buzz moving through you straight to your center. You maintain your composure, continuing to move in rhythm with the music, your fingers weaving into his hair as you grind against him. His hands find your waist, supporting your movements as they slide down towards your thighs and back up again.

You lean backwards, pressing your back into his chest and grinding into him, His breath hitches, and you can feel his grip tightening slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin.

“You’re incredible,” he growls into your neck, his teeth just nipping the tender skin there. You try not to moan, the goosebumps spreading down your arms and legs threatening to give you away.

“Mmm, yeah?” You hum, twisting around to face him and lifting your knees up to straddle his waist. Your eyes lock onto his, and a thrill buzzes in your stomach - you’re enjoying this more than you expected. He’s hot, especially up close, especially like this. His chestnut-gray curls have started to break free from their gelled-back position, framing his face in a way that makes him look irresistible.

You reach behind your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall down. His eyes are glued to your chest as you angle it towards his face. One hand plants behind his head on the sofa and the other traces along his jawline, feeling the roughness of his stubble before settling around the back of his neck. You use it as leverage to hold yourself steady as you settle on his lap.

“You can touch me, Dieter,” you whisper, guiding his hand up your stomach until it cups your breast. He squeezes, his grip firm and possessive, fingers trailing across your delicate skin, making your nipples harden under his touch.

The fingers of his other hand dig into the flesh of your thighs, his eyes locked onto your body. His hands guide your lower half as you rock to the beat of the music, encouraging your barely-covered pussy to drag again and again along the shape of his throbbing cock.

You try to remember that you’re working - that he’s a client, that this is a job, that you’re not here to enjoy it. You try to focus on the music and moving your body to the beat, but it’s difficult. He’s got you lined up perfectly, every sweep along his lap punctuated with a slight push of his hips into yours. You can feel how wet you are and pray he doesn’t notice, the middle of your panties damp with the arousal he’s built up in you.

Then, his fingers pinch your nipple, and a moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. The sound is loud, shameless, and your hand flies to your mouth, eyes wide with shock. He chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, and you feel a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. You lean forward, pressing your breasts into his chest to hide your embarrassment.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs. You can hear the grin in his voice, unable to look directly at him. “That’s good. Take what you need.”

You exhale a breathy laugh, leaning back to meet his gaze. The smile on your face fades into a soft O of surprise as he encourages you to resume your movements. He’s getting harder, the thick length of him straining against the fabric of his pants.

Finding your pace again, you reach back to grab his knees, arching your back and rocking your hips. You’re working, you fight to remind yourself. You’re working. It becomes more and more difficult to stay detached as you roll your body for him, angling your breasts towards him. The pressure builds between your thighs, every movement pulling you tighter and tighter at your core. He’s watching you intensely, his pupils blown out in the dim, low lighting and his fingers digging deep into your waist.

Your lower lip draws between your teeth, your brows furrowed and focused as you bounce and grind in his lap. Suddenly, you’re moaning again, the noise coming out of your mouth like a rhythmic hum. You let it out freely, encouraged by his touch, the strong pull of his hands at your waist.

The sensation overwhelms you, the friction of his body against yours pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, your hips jerking in his lap as you cry out, waves of pleasure crashing through you. You collapse forward, panting into his neck as his broad hands steady you, stroking up and down your back as you ride out the aftershocks. It leaves you trembling, your body pressed tightly against his.

After a moment, you shift back up and press your forehead into his, feeling the heat of his body through your thin clothing. His hand cups your breast, and he dips his head to drag his teeth along the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You gasp, angling your head to the side, your fingers tucking a stray curl behind his ear.

“Tell me what you want, Dieter,” you say, your voice just above a whisper, lips grazing his ear. You’re putty in his hands now, ready to give him anything.

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, his voice rough with need. “Can I fuck you?”

Your nod is quick and urgent, your body responding before your brain catches up. You stand, pulling him up with you as your fingers intertwine. Your bodies are pressed close, and you blink up at him through your lashes, lifting a hand to his jaw to trace your thumb along the patchy stubble there.

“Show me where.”

—

The bedroom is gorgeous, all luxurious, soft fabrics and warm lighting. Rich, dark wood furniture contrasts with crisp white linens, and a large window offers a breathtaking view of the city lights below. Although, for all you cared right now, it could’ve been a threadbare mattress in a seedy motel - you felt so incredible, it didn’t matter.

He leads you to the bed, releasing your hand only to turn around and face you. He kisses you without hesitation, hard and intense, as if he’d been doing it all night, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You draw in a sharp inhale through your nose, allowing yourself to indulge in it. You wrap your arms around his neck and lift up onto your toes, deepening the kiss.

Only momentarily breaking contact with him to see where you were going, you gently push Dieter backwards to sit on the edge of the bed.

You grab his knees and drop down between his thighs, paying special attention to the growing bulge between his legs. You run your hands from his ankles to his thighs all the way up to the waist of his pants. Stilling your hands at his belt, you look up at him to make sure you have his permission.

He cups his big hand around your jaw, angling your face up towards him.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your cheek and dipping into the hollow as your jaw drops in anticipation.

You undo his belt, the ornate metal buckle clinking to one side as you unbutton and unzip his pants. Your breath catches as you wrap your fingers around his cock, impressed by the girth of it even before you pull it free. The sight confirms your suspicion - he’s big.

Your fingers glide along his length, eliciting a low groan from him. Leaning in, you press a kiss to the tip before taking him into your mouth. You start slow, your tongue going flat and dragging along his shaft. Wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, you work him steadily deeper into your mouth as you adjust your position on your knees to take more of him.

His hand tangles in your hair, guiding you as you set a steady rhythm. He’s groaning instantly, the sound turning you on as you bob over his still growing length, your tongue swirling up and down the length of it with each thrust. Saliva pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping out as he lifts his hips to position himself deeper and deeper.

He tightens his grip on your hair and you hum and swallow and whine around him, wiry curls at the base of his cock tickling the tip of your nose. You run your hands along his tightening middle, dragging your nails down his stomach to his thighs and pulling a soft, sweet moan from him. You respond by taking him deeper, breathing steadily through your nose as your throat relaxes to accommodate his size.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he breathes, his voice a rough whisper. You glance up at him, eyes wide and dark. Gently, he wipes away a smudge of mascara from beneath your eye with his thumb, his touch surprisingly tender. “So fucking good for me.”

Your head bobs faster and faster. Wet, gurgling noises fill the room as his pelvis begins to twitch, losing its rhythm. You can sense he’s close, and you’re determined to make him come, quickening your pace as you fantisize about the taste of him on your tongue.

“Stop,” he commands suddenly, his voice firm as he fists your hair, pulling you off him with a wet pop. “Stop. Stand up, baby.”

You obey, blinking away fat mascara tears as you rise to your feet. He hooks his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and laying you down on the bed. The cool sheets contrast with the heat of your body, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he unbuttons and removes his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours.

He’s back a moment later, working his hand slowly up and down his shaft as he covers your body with his and kisses you again, this time slower. You indulge in it, rooting your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and pulling him in closer. You arch into his touch, your hands exploring the soft planes of his chest and back, reveling in the warmth of his skin against yours.

His hands roam your body with purpose, sliding under the hem of your panties and pulling them down roughly. You kick them off, sending them flying across the room, and your legs return to hook around his back, pulling your naked body flush against his. The heat of his cock brushes against your entrance, teasing your swollen nerves and sending shivers down your spine.

"Fuck me, Dieter," you beg, your voice breathless and needy. "Please, fuck me."

"I got you, baby," he breathes into your ear, that familiar smirk audible in his voice. He lines himself up at your entrance and pushes forward.

You moan together as he fills you, his head sinking into the curve of your shoulder. It’s a stinging stretch as he enters you, but it feels good. You squeeze around him instantly, the heft of him inside of you drawing air from your lungs. He starts slow, rocking into you gently. Each movement is deliberate, his pace unhurried as he lets you adjust. He works deeper into you, thrusts growing stronger as your body stretches to accommodate him.

He’s groaning in your ear, a depraved voice telling you how amazing you feel and sending tingles down your spine. It’s all you can do to moan in response, your head thick and foggy now. His hand cups roughly around your jaw again as he finds a rhythm, his cock sliding in and out with ease and you bend into him, eager to take as much of him as you can.

“Dieter,” you gasp, the intensity building within you. “Oh, my god. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. With a groan, he quickens his pace, groaning as his free hand slides down to your clit. The moment his thumb makes contact, pressing and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, a deep moan rips from your chest, your arms wrapping tightly around him, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shifts, standing and lifting your legs to bend in front of you, his forearm pressing across your calves until your knees are nearly at your chest. His eyebrows knit together in concentration as he fucks into you with an intensity that fills the room with the wet, rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by the hoarse, desperate moans pouring from your throat.

“God damn, you can take it, baby,” he praises, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and using it as leverage to push even harder into you. All you can do is moan and whine - it’s complete nonsense, slurred approximations of “Yes, Please, Dieter, Please”

He fingers strum at your clit and you cry out, the feeling of his fingers incredible. He begins to draw small circles on the bundle of nerves, the movement mirroring his thrusting in and out of you. His hold around your jaw shifts down to your collarbone, his fingers curling around your neck with just enough pressure to make your head spin. The circles turn to quick flicks up and down and you feel your stomach begin to tighten, pleasure mounting with each stroke.

You pull your knees up higher as he pistons into you, your cunt soaked and squelching with each thrust. You try to match his rhythm, but it becomes more and more difficult as the nerves at your core threaten to burst.

“Come on my cock,” he commands, his breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you come.”

His words push you over the edge. Your body tenses as a wave of pleasure crashes through you. You can’t fight the high-pitched cry of relief that rips from your chest and you cling to his wrists, his arms, anything you can get your hands on as your orgasm shudders and ripples through you.

He groans, too, his own control slipping as he collapses onto the bed beside you. He turns over, pulling you with him until you're straddling him.

“C’mere, baby,” he says and you nod, unable to speak. You pant, climbing on top of him and lowering your head to kiss him deeply. As you do, you lift your hips to position yourself over him and he buries himself in you, thrusting his hips up and bottoming out inside of you. You moan into his mouth, a deep, depraved cry vibrating through your chest.

His hands grip your waist as you push yourself back up, guiding you up and down his length, and his breath is ragged and hot against your skin. He lifts himself to take your breast in his mouth and you root your fingers in his hair as he latches onto you. His tongue swirls around the stiffened bud of your nipple and his hands stray towards your clit, insatiable, unable to stop touching you. It’s overwhelming and your head is empty as the pleasure turns you into a trembling mess.

“God damn,” he breathes the words into your chest as he buries his head between your breasts, his fingers digging tighter into your waist as he holds himself tightly against you. He’s a man determined now, his thrusts into you unforgiving as you cling desperately around his neck. Your chests are sweaty and slick as they move against eachother, the sounds of your hot, salty skin slapping together echoing through the room.

He lies back on the bed, hands still roaming your body, his chest heaving beneath you. Your hands brace on his thighs, giving him a perfect view of your body as you take him as deeply as you can, his cock buried inside you, slick with your arousal.

Finally, his hips begin to stutter and a long groan escapes him. Noticing that he’s beginning to falter, you pick up your speed, determined to return the pleasure he’s been giving you all night. You lift up and drop down, bouncing yourself on his hips. He slides in and out, burying himself to the hilt and back again, his cock sending sharp pangs through your stomach. You brace yourself with a hand on his chest and he grabs it, guiding it to his throat, his eyes dark and pleading, and you obey, tightening your grip just enough to make his breath catch as you continue to ride him.

“F-Fuck,” he stutters raggedly, arching slightly into you. You squeeze just a little tighter and he’s done for. The feeling of his cock twitching inside of you is unmistakable. You hum happily, tracing your nails along his chest and squeezing around his length as he spills inside of you with a guttural groan. You collapse on top of him to rest on his chest and he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you closer to him. You feel him twitch and pulse inside of you as he steadies his breathing, rubbing circles into your shoulders as he slowly comes down.

You press your lips to his neck softly, fingers trailing through his sweaty curls and scratching slightly at his scalp. Soft, quiet moans follow his orgasm, his breath hitching slightly as you teasingly squeeze your pussy around his softening cock, his release still hot and thick inside of you.

—

You had no intention of spending the night. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, your face is buried in a pillowcase made of the softest fabric you’d ever felt in your life, and you’re drooling. The room is filled with the warm, muted light of the mid-afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. You push yourself up onto your elbow, squinting against the brightness as you try to piece together where you are. The suite was quiet. Dieter was gone.

You sit up fully, ruffling your hair with both hands as you try to shake off the remnants of sleep. A yawn escapes your lips, and you stretch, attempting to soothe your sore, stiff muscles.

Your eyes drift to the nightstand beside you, and you do a double-take when you notice the stack of paper sitting there. Eight crisp, hundred-dollar bills are neatly stacked on top of a piece of hotel stationery. You reach out, picking up the note, curiosity fluttering in your stomach as you unfold it. One word is scrawled across the page in a bold, hurried script: “Stay.”

[lol-jackles]

I understand producers wanting a no risk lead and Jared earned that credibility and reputation. I don’t disagree with everything you said about Jared.

But I’m still surprised that Jensen didn’t earn the same reputation being co-lead and surprised he has not been given the opportunity to lead or co- lead again on another show. He seemed to have built a strong reputation with directors and producers and execs in the industry so shouldn’t he be on that same short list? I just don’t get what jensen is missing that jared or max theriot, Tom Ellis or Justin Hartley seems to have. What is that “x” factor?

The work he did on Smallville, Spn, Big Sky and The Boys, why didn’t that earn him points to have studio execs ensure he stays employed and part of a show?

Even in an industry that 97% are unemployed, Jensen seems to be a standout actor that gets constantly overlooked. Why?

Jensen was going to be a lead in Greg Bertlanti's unnamed project, but then Zaslav happened. But you ask a very good question on why the networks' bean counters don't have him on a Short List.

First, my wild guess is while Jensen's scene stealing talent improves the episode he's in, it's not the same as having screen presence to create a story, which is a must for lead actors to carry a show. For example, Jared's two-minute screentime in "The End" was not scene stealing, he became Lucifer for the sake of the story and left a memorable impact on the viewers' impression.

Think of every time spin-offs were created to capitalize on the scene stealers’ popularity, only for the scene stealers “special-ness” to evaporate into the ether when they have to carry the show by themselves.  Rebel Wilson had her own tv show called Super Fun Night. but it failed because fans expected to see the whacky side kick persona, but instead got a Rebel Wilson playing a normal woman who is sometimes socially awkward.

Second, Jensen has a bit of a branding problem.  If an actor doesn't understand what their brand is, then how do you expect casting directors to see it as well?  

Actors make the mistake of trying to please every customer by changing who they are and not understanding that getting hired starts with choosing a brand for themselves and sticking to it.  Say you own an Italian restaurant and I come in and say, “Oh, gosh! You know what? I want Mexican food.” And then you say, Okay, we’re cooking Mexican food now.”   This is what a lot of actors do.

I used to joke that Jensen was like an active from the show The Dollhouse. Actives are neutral human husks until they're downloaded a personality to carry out a specific mission.  You don't know what the true nature of an active unless you're willing to watch several episodes to look for clue crumbs to their innate personalities.  

I tell young aspiring actors on how to discover their brand by pretending to write a profile for an online dating site.  People usually don't write descriptive sentences but use adjectives: funny, athletic, intense, quirky, great smile, etc.  To help them along, ask their trusted friends and family members to make a list of 5 qualities that pop into their heads.  Then use the impression that appear over and over again because now you know that is you, your essence.

Too many times actors wait for an agent or manager to show up and tell them who they are. Or they ask me, “what do you think I am?". Actors have to decide for themselves and figure out their acting “singularity”  -- that exclusive combination of attitudes and behaviors that make them an original even when they're typecasted. Some people describe Jensen as a version of Dean-lite, but that doesn't make Jensen an original then.

Third, Jensen is not a natural born-leader. Most of us aren't, but like acting, you can constantly work on the craft. Leaders are supposed to protect their team, but Jensen was still soft-bashing Jessica Alba twenty years later. I don't care if Jessicca was a bitch, a real man is not supposed to betray a woman’s confidence. He can still talk about the difficulties of working with Jessica while respecting the position she was in and up against. In contrast, Jared immediately defended his female co-stars when it was popular to dunk of them: the Olsen twins, Paris Hilton, and Snookie.

[apricia]

For ever by your side / Aemond Targaryen x reader // Part I

_____________________________________

Author's Notes:

I never expected such a response and I'm still a bit speechless. I just wanted to write down my thoughts without any expectations. This is my very first fanfic, so don't expect too much. And forgive spelling mistakes, because English is not my first language. I'm not even sure where this story is going, I just know I have to write it. So stay tuned.

** Warning: blood, attempted murder, the word whore (although that's pretty normal in the GoT universe), sooner or later incest

____________________________________

Chapter 1 - In need of a dragon 

"Do it."

Alyssa stared at the bowl on the table in front of her. A red-brown paste lay in it. She looked at the spoon, back at the paste, and gritted her teeth.

"You first," she demanded of her cousin.

She wasn't stupid. If Aegon wanted her to try this stuff, he had to go first. Alyssa didn't know exactly what the paste was, but she smelled the sweet spice and it smelled pungent. Probably too spicy for her taste.

Aegon shook his head. "Don't you dare, cousin?"

"Says the right one. Who is arguing here? Either we both do it, or we don't do it at all."

She felt Aemond shift restlessly in the chair next to her. Aegon had first tried to get his younger brother into a bet, but Aemond had backed down.

Coward, Aegon had called him. That's when Alyssa stepped in. She hated it when Aegon, Jace or Luke made fun of Aemond. Whenever she found out they said something mean, she made the boys regret their actions with her own hands.

More than ten years have passed since the day Alyssa became a princess and was adopted into the family of King Viserys.

Some things have changed for her, and Alyssa knew some things with absolute certainty.

First, she was a Targaryen. Daughter of Prince Daemon. Although she had never spoken to him, she benefited from his reputation. Many feared the prince, his vengefulness and ferocity, so few dared to disrespect the princess. Even if her father lived far away from her in a different land. With his new family.

Second, she was the daughter of a whore. Though Alyssa wasn't sure what that meant, or who her mother was, she knew the unnamed woman hadn't belonged to a noble house. She was no lady, no woman of honor. She heard the whispers in the palace corridors, the chatter of the servants, even the voices of her own family.

Third, she wasn't a dragon rider. Syrax's first throw had been unsuccessful. The eggs she and her cousin Aemond were given at birth had never hatched. She would never have a dragon, at least not if she didn't claim one that already existed. And Alyssa didn't believe that anymore.

Fourth, she was a green. Even if Alyssa couldn't understand what that meant when she was younger. She wasn't stupid. She saw the behavior of Queen Alicent and Princess Rheanyra. They were on different sides, even if the king didn't want to see it. Alyssa wasn't blind to the arguments, however. Her side was only certain: she belonged to the Greens, because Alicent Hightower had taken her in like a daughter. The Queen didn't get along very well with her own daughter Heleana, because Heleana was mostly in her own world. But Alyssa and Alicent shared a closer bond. So Alyssa's loyalty was unquestionable.

And fifth, her best friend, her companion and possibly the love of her life was Aemond Targaryen. He was only five months younger than Alyssa, but she had given him her heart the moment he was born, or he had stolen it from her. What exactly happened didn't matter. He was her better half. They shared the same interests, reading and studying together, spending almost every free moment together, and sharing the same fate due to their lack of a dragon. Aemond understood Alyssa without having to say anything. Just as she understood him. He was her best friend and nothing would ever change that.

Syt mirre ondoso aōha paktot. For ever by your side, that had been her vow and Alyssa would never forget those words. Carried her in her heart like the greatest treasure in all of Westeros.

Alyssa looked at Aemond, who was staring at her with wide eyes. He seemed nervous, but Aegon looked from her to the strange spice that had just been brought to the palace in the morning. It came from Bravos and no one knew exactly what it was.

"I'm a Targaryen, dear cousin. I fear nothing and I'm no coward, but you seem to be." She pulled the bowl towards her, took the spoon and dipped it in the spice until the spoon was full. She gave Aegon a challenging look, then took it into her mouth.

Her cousin's eyes widened and he jumped out of his chair.

"Alyssa..", Aemond said next to her and looked at her worried.

Alyssa swallowed and grinned triumphantly at Aegon. She felt the flames in her mouth, felt them running down her throat. Her whole mouth burned. Alyssa was sure if she opened her mouth she would spit fire. And probably turn Aegon to ashes with it.

But she wasn't about to admit how hot this stuff really was. She felt the tears in her eyes, but didn't let them roll down her cheeks.

Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and stood up.

"As you can see, my dear cousin. I am a true dragon, you apparently are not." She grinned at him proudly and then left the room. Footsteps were heard behind her and she knew instantly that it was Aemond following her.

"Alyssa, are you alright?"

She nodded haltingly. "I think my mouth is on fire, I need water."

Aemond looked at her confused, then burst out laughing. "I knew that stuff burned like fire."

"You were smarter than me. But I couldn't watch Aegon win again."

"Anyway, the look on his face was worth it. Come on, we'll get you some milk and bread so you can taste something again sometime."

Alyssa nodded and fanned herself to get the heat off her face. Aemond took her hand and walked her down to the kitchen. While she tried to get the sting out of her mouth with bread and milk, Aemond sat across from her.

"Shall we go to the library together later? New books arrived yesterday, about the history of Aegon the Conqueror." The joy on Aemond's face made Alyssa's heart beat faster and a warmth spread inside her. She loved seeing him so carefree and happy.

Alyssa made a face. "We'll have to put that off until tomorrow. I promised the Queen I'd spend time with Helaena today."

"You're my best friend, not my sister's."

"I'm both, yours and her friend, Aemond. Except that Helaena doesn't have any friends except me."

Aemond scowled at her. "She has her bugs."

"They hardly count as friends, Aemond. Why don't you just come with me?"

He shook his head. Although he loved his sister, and Alyssa was aware of it, he didn't like the crawling insects that Helaena loved so dearly. Alyssa didn't blame him. She often sat in the mud with Helaena and inspected worms, larvae or spiders. Listened to her cousin as she told her all the facts about the little animals. Helaena was... unique, as Alyssa always said. She was no ordinary girl and mostly kept to herself. However, the princess had accepted Alyssa by her side and that had led to Alicent asking Alyssa to spend time with her daughter so that she wouldn't be so lonely. What Alicent didn't know was that Helaena wasn't lonely at all. She was alone but not lonely. But the queen saw no difference.

Alyssa was fine with spending time with Helaena, after all she was like a sister to her. And she had learned that she did care what the princess had to say. At least when it came to scorpions, they were really exciting. However, she could safely do without worms and spiders.

"No thanks," Aemond grumbled. "Feel free to spend time with my sister. I'll accompany Aegon to the dragon pit."

Alyssa put down the milk jug and narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you doing this to yourself, Aemond?" They shared the same fate. They were both dragonless, but unlike her cousin, Alyssa was not obsessed with the creatures. She didn't try to attend the Dragon Keeper's lessons, join Luke, Jace or Aegon while they trained with their dragons. She went for a walk with Helaena and Dreamfyre from time to time, but nothing more. She read about dragons, but she would not get any closer to the flying creatures.

Aemond avoided her gaze. "I'll have a dragon eventually, Alyssa. And I need to be prepared for that."

She grabbed his hand. "I know that one day you will be a dragon rider, but why are you putting yourself under so much pressure?"

Aemond glared at her, but his anger wasn't directed at her. "I can no longer take the humiliations of Aegon and my nephews. They tease me."

"They wouldn't if you stopped going into the dragon pit." If he would stop giving them the opportunity for their mean jokes. But it fell on deaf ears. Aemond just didn't listen to her.

"Someday they'll regret their jokes. When I have my own dragon. And then I'll take you flying, I promise. Syt mirre ondoso aōha paktot," he said softly and grabbed Alyssa's hand again.

She squeezed and gave him a smile. "Pāsan isse ao," she whispered. She had always believed in him, even when no one else did.

"Dracarys, Varmax," Jace roared and they watched as the dragon set the goat on fire. Aemond watched his nephew with envy and disgust. He didn't understand. How come his egg wasn't hatched but Luke and Jace's were? They weren't true Targaryens. At least if he believed his brother's and mother’s words. They didn't look like they had old Valyrion's blood running in them.

They were unassuming. Brown boring hair and eyes of the same color. They didn't look like him and his siblings, or like Alyssa. Aemond knew tat Alyssa’s Mother wasn't a Targaryen either. Still, his best friend looked like him. Silver-white hair, violet eyes. They both deserved dragons. Jace and Luke didn't.

He hated the fact that his nephews owned dragons, but he didn't.

"Aemond, we have a surprise for you," came his older brother's voice and Aemond turned to Aegon.

"What is it?"

"Something very special." Luke joined them and grinned at Aemond. But there was something sly in his grin. Then he disappeared inside the pit.

"You're the only one of us without a dragon. You and Alyssa. While she doesn't seem to care that she doesn't own one, I know how much you want one, brother."

"Indeed," Aemond said, not knowing what this was all leading to.

"And we felt badly about it," Aegon continued. "Precisely because without a dragon you won't have a chance to marry her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Alyssa, of course," Aegon laughed. "She's a Targaryen, well, halfway. She looks like one, at least, and as a princess, she'll only marry a true dragon rider. You understand that, don't you?"

Aemond narrowed his eyes at his brother, but felt himself tighten. He wasn't a dragon rider, neither was Alyssa. But she was his! They were bound together by an oath. He had never thought that one day Alyssa would get married, but it made sense that she would. But if she had to marry someone, it would be him!  They belonged together. Not that Aemond had already thought of marrying her. It was much more that he always saw Alyssa by his side, no matter how he imagined his life to be. She was always a part of it.

And now he shouldn't be allowed to have her just because he didn't own a dragon? Could the gods really be that cruel to him? First they refused him a dragon and now they want to take Alyssa from him... Aemond wouldn't allow that!

"So we found one for you," his older brother continued. "We wouldn't want you to loose Alyssa, would we, brother?" Aegon put a hand on his back and led him towards the tunnels that led down into the pit. There was a rumble and the earth shook beneath their feet.

"A Dragon? How?"

"The gods provide," was his brother's only explanation.

Out of the tunnel came Luke, a pig at his side. Aemond looked at the animal with hate-filled eyes. Wings were attached to its back and the pig trailed an improvised tail. Aemond clenched his fists.

"Behold - the pink dread!" said his brother and nephews in unison and then burst out laughing. Each laugh pierced Aemond's heart like a knife.

"Be sure to mount her carfully. First flight's always rough," laughed his brother. "Perhaps with her help you will be able to make Alyssa yours."

Aegon grunted in Aemond's ear and his nephews did the same before leaving Aemond alone. Humiliated and angry.

His father wouldn't let Alyssa marry anyone else, would he? His mother knew how important Alyssa was to him and she herself had taken the princess to her heart. They wouldn't let Alyssa be taken from you, would they?

But if only a dragon rider was allowed to marry Alyssa, then Aemond would become a dragon rider. He stared into the darkness of the tunnel and clenched his jaws. He would have a dragon! For Alyssa!

Meanwhile, Alyssa sat alone with her cousin in their chambers. Also coming by ship from Bravos were two scorpions, which Helaena proudly presented to Alyssa.

"Like spiders, scorpions also have eight legs. They also have two tentacles with claws, like a crab," Helaena said, holding the little creature in front of Alyssa's nose.

"With the claws and the poisonous sting, the animals defend themselves in case of danger or kill their prey."

Alyssa looked from the scorpions to her cousin. "How can you be sure that he won't stab you with it and you die? I imagine death by poisoning to be extremely painful." She had respect for the little creature and avoided getting too close to the stinger, let alone picking up the scorpion like Helaena did.

However, Helaena looked at him with a tenderness on her face that Alyssa found incomprehensible. She looked at Aemond like that, maybe sometimes at Alicent, but not an animal that could kill her in seconds.

"He won't harm me."

"If you say that."

Alyssa was about to ask a question when the door opened without knocking. Into the room came a man in a black robe that Alyssa didn't recognize. He didn't look like the king's guard who had been at the door when they'd arrived.

"Who are you?" Alyssa wanted to know and looked at the man curiously.

The man approached her and pulled a knife from his belt. Alyssa's eyes widened in horror and next to her, Helaena, who seemed to be in her right mind, began to scream.

"Death to the Targaryens," the man hissed, lunging at the girls. Alyssa pushed Helaena aside and started calling for help as well. Someone had to hear her and come and rescue them both.

She was just a girl, just eleven years old. What could she do against a grown man who was armed? Nothing at all. But Alyssa refused to die today. She wouldn't let this man hurt Helaena.

She heard shouts and hasty footsteps, and Alyssa knew they wouldn't have to last long before help would arrive. So she fought. She snatched the scorpion from Helaena's hand and threw it at her attacker. He screamed, but threw the venomous beast away before the deadly sting could hit him.

Then the blade came into Alyssa's field of vision. She didn't think about it any further, but threw up her arms.

Her hands gripped the weapon and she felt the pain a split second later as the blade dug into her flesh. She gripped the knife with both hands and pushed the man away as best she could.

"Princesses," came the familiar voice of Ser Harrold Westerling.

Alyssa screamed as the man was pulled away from her and the knife fell to the ground. Her knees buckled under her and she sank onto the cool marble floor beneath her. She was shaking, trembling all over and barely aware of what was happening around her. She heard Helaena screaming and crying through a veil. She heard more guards storm the room, someone calling for the king and queen. And then she saw two pairs of boots come into view.

Ser Harrold knelt beside her. "Let me see, Princess."

Alyssa stared at him through a veil of tears. It hurt, it really hurt. Her palms were soaked in blood. Two deep cuts adorned her skin and the blood continued to flow incessantly. She whimpered as the commander pulled her into his arms. "You were very brave, princess, like a true Targaryen. A maester will look into this, but I'm sure it's only a flesh wound."

Alyssa nodded haltingly. The adrenaline had left her body, she felt the exhaustion, felt the fear and began to sob.

"Everything will be fine, Princess, I promise you."

Some time later, Alyssa was sitting in the Queen's chamber with Helaena. Alicent was beside them with anger. The man who attacked the girls was in the dungeon and was being questioned. The queen had calmed her daughter while Maester Orwyle examined Alyssa's wounds and sewed them up. Alyssa hated every second of it. She watched as the thread and needle pushed through her skin, over and over again. At first she had flinched at every bite, but now she sat motionless.

"It'll heal, won't it?" Alicent asked while rubbing Helaena's back soothingly.

"It will. The scars will remain, but will fade over time. However, the princess will not be able to use her hands for the next few days. She will need help."

"Thank you Maester."

Alyssa hated being dependent on help from others. But she watched silently as the maester bound her hands so that she could not even move her fingers. As if instead of two hands she only had two lumps, as if she were a cripple.

Alicent knelt in front of Alyssa and smiled at her. "Thank you, Alyssa. You protected Helaena and made your family proud. I am so glad und thankful that you are alright."

Alyssa nodded. She would always protect her family, no matter the cost.

A knock sounded and a guard entered the room.

"Your Grace," the guard said, dragging Aemond with him.

Alicent, Alyssa and Helaena whirled on the two at the same time.

"Aemond," said the Queen, leaving Alyssa's side. She herself looked at her friend with wide eyes and wanted to get up from the chair she was sitting on, but the maester prevented her.

"What have you done?" the queen wanted to know angrily. The princesses had been attacked and now she had to take care of the prince, who broke the rules again.

"He did it again," Helaena murmured and looked at her brother blankly.

"After how many times you've been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers? After everything that happened today, I don't want to have to deal with such nonsense anymore!" The anger was clearly audible in the queen's voice.

Aemond wasn't looking at his mother, his eyes were fixed on the floor. However, Alyssa knew him too well. He had been humiliated and he was ashamed. What had Aegon, Luke and Jace done this time? Alyssa wanted to clench her fists, but couldn't. Her hands were so bandaged that she could barely use them.

"They made me do it," Aemond yelled, jerking his head up.

"As if you needed encouragement. Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding."

Alyssa narrowed her eyes. She didn't know how many more times Alicent wanted to have this discussion with Aemond. Her son wouldn't listen to her. If he didn't listen to Alyssa, he didn't listen to anyone.

"They gave me a pig," Aemond then roared, and a hiss escaped Alyssa.

It was only then that he noticed that she was there too. He looked at her, blush gracing his cheeks, his eyes full of tears, tears of anger. Aemond looked away from Alyssa. He didn't know why she was in his mother's chambers, but his own feelings controlled him so that he couldn't think about it.

"A what?" Alicent asked blankly.

"They say they found a dragon for me. So I can claim.." Aemond fell silent, but his gaze slid to Alyssa, who looked at him in horror.

What had he wanted to claim? The dragon? His rightful place in this family? She didn't know what he was talking about, but she understand his anger.

Alicent also followed her son's gaze, but she knew immediately what Aemond was getting at and what it all had to do with Alyssa. She knew her youngest son's feelings for his cousin. She even supported them.

Ignoring the Maester's protesting words, Alyssa got up and started to leave the room.

"Princess", the maester called afterwards. "Where do you want to go? Your hands.."

"I'll find Aegon, Luke and Jace and give them the treatment they deserve." She was filled with anger. She hated it when someone treated Aemond badly. No one was allowed to treat him like that, not even his brother or nephews.

Alicent stopped Alyssa and pulled her back. "You will do no such thing. You must rest, Alyssa. You and your hands need rest."

Alyssa just snorted and tucked her bandaged hands behind her back when she felt the blank look from Aemond on her, who didn't seem to know what had happened in the princess' chambers a few moments ago. Alyssa didn't want to show him her injuries, didn't want him to worry about her. As she worried about him.

When the queen was satisfied that Alyssa would not leave the room, she turned back to her son and placed both hands on his shoulders.

"You will have a dragon one day," she tried to encourage Aemond and calm him down.

"He'll have to close an eye," Helaena said quietly and Alyssa frowned at her cousins words. Sometimes Helaena said strange things. And sometimes these strange things came true.

"I know it," the Queen continued.

"They all laughed," Aemond said quietly, staring at the floor.

Alyssa would love to run to him and hug him, but she knew he didn't want that at the moment. He didn't want her pity. He didn't want to show weakness in front of her, so she stayed where she was. But her anger towards Aegon, Luke and Jace only increased. If she could use her hands, she would beat up the three boys herself.

Alicent pulled Aemond into her arms and held him tight. Over the queen's shoulder, Alyssa and Aemond exchanged a look. She gave him a hesitant smile and nodded, as if she too was sure that one day he would have a dragon. Aemond tried to return the smile, but his eyes drifted to her hands and he frowned in confusion. He looked questioningly at Alyssa.

She just shook her head and hid her hands behind her back. Everything was fine, she was fine. Heleana was fine. And the man who did this to her was already behind bars.

Alyssa was safe. Although she could still see and feel the man and his blade as soon as she closed her eyes. 

_________

Tagg-List:

@girl-with-an-orange-cat​ @itsjustmyopinionf1​ @xcharlottemikaelsonx​ @immyowndefender​ @kohsongbird​ @curiouser-an-curiouser​

[halfbakedspuds]

Thanks to @illarian-rambling for the tag!

OC assumption tag

Share one of your characters' name and a quote from them with zero context and let your followers (or other people who stumble upon your post) make assumptions about said character. You can post about more than one character but only one quote for each one for things to stay out of context.

I'll do this for the little unnamed WIP I've been writing scenes for that probably won't turn into anything.

Adam

"See this? This is a master directive disc. Simply put, I slot it into the master computer, flick the switch, et vóila: every Vellassian positronic matrix from here to Nordren gets updated instantly.

Now, you buggers have been a real big thorn in my side for longer than I realistically should've allowed, so I say we do something about that by pushing the following new directives: violence against thy neighbours; violence against thyself; violence against the very gods, art and nature!

Heark! The choir, and let. there. be. war!"

Wayn Vakasa

"Oh it's absolutely your fault, captain 'We cannot stop to hunt while on the run, Wayn'.

Oh look at me! I'm the big, scary man from Earth gods-know-what and I know better than the Kachatanu wild-woman who's survived off the land for seventeen years.

...Yeah, I've had my fun. You were saying?"

James Holden

"Hey. Hey! Look at me! This right here? This is full fucking tilt. If I push 'er any harder then our next stop will be five layers deep into hell, so why don't you take that little rifle of yours and make yourself useful while I focus on stopping the engine from turning into a pile of slag at whatever unholy speed we've achieved.

Come now, chop-chop,"

Mari Demouchet

"Right. Other worlds. Magic. I'm pretty goddamn sure I just saw a robot catcalling a toaster but I could be wrong.

Fuck man, I... I-I need to get some fresh air, 'cause this is either a drug induced psychosis and I'm actually lying in some dingey-ass storage container where some... thing is getting ready to root around in my noggin for whatever makes me different, or this is actually real and at this point I genuinely don't know which is scarier,"

Tagir Aslan

"Just breathe, moy drug, breathe. Crossing over is a massive system shock, I know, but you're not doing yourself or us any favours by working yourself up.

I am serious: adrenaline entering your bloodstream at this moment could actually make your heart explode.

Relax, it is a joke. No seriously, relax, I wasn't joking about stress still being incredibly dangerous to you at this moment."

Cerberus

"Get dressed. Do not step in front of me, and avoid mirrors so that you're not in my line of sight. Do not under any circumstances allow me to see you. You may speak, and ask questions. Do I make myself abundantly clear, child?"

Adair Holden

"Oh, and Eleven? If you see the boy, would you kindly kill him for me? Redundancy must serve a purpose, and he no longer does.

It's a shame though, his mind showed so much promise... but, Kazra deals all hands, and unfortunately he was dealt no spine for what is required of him,"

No pressure tag for @honeybewrites, @thatoneterrariaplayer, @oh-no-another-idea, @orion-lacroix and anyone else who wants in.

[foreverrandomwritings]

Controversially Young Girlfriend- Part 1

@sylviebell asks: A pride month celebration is such a good idea! I’ve got a headcanon request for you. I’ve seen several things about Rooster and Hangman with a controversially young girlfriend, but what are your thoughts on Phoenix with one?

(For some reason tumblr glitched and posted this yesterday so I deleted it and copied the ask from my google docs)

Pairing: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x afab! unnamed OC type (CYG short for controversially young girlfriend because I was not typing that a bunch)

Warnings: Age gap and tooth rooting fluff.

Word count: 533

Masterlist M’s PMC Masterlist Series Masterlist

~ I absolutely love this idea.

~I think they'd have met in like sephora or ulta or something.

~Phoenix looked completely lost and this pretty young woman came wandering over to her.

~Asked her if she needed help with anything.

~Phoenix told her what she was having trouble with and the young woman helped her out quickly.

~Before walking away she turned to Phoenix handing over her phone.

~ “I think you're super attractive and would love to see you again sometime.”

~Phoenix was taken aback, she was used to men hitting on her but not women.

~Especially as cute and young as the one standing before her.

~She put her number in her phone and then they parted ways.

~They talked constantly after that.

~Literally talked about everything under the sun.

~When CYG told Phoenix how young she was, Phoenix was a tiny bit hesitant to pursue anything.

~CYG being like 19-21.

~Confided in Rooster who encouraged her to go for it.

~They exchanged snapchats and every time Phoenix would post a picture of her or of her and the guys, the CYG would be sliding up hyping her up.

~ Their first date consisted of coffee and thrift shopping.

~ They had a lot of fun and it was instant chemistry.

~There was barely a day after that they weren't together.

~It was a whirlwind of romance and they moved in together within months.

~CYG was constantly pulling Phoenix into tiktok trends.

~CYG having to explain new slang and trends to Phoenix.

~They got a cat together from a shelter and it is their little baby.

~CYG is a nanny and on her rare days off she goes and has lunch with Phoenix on base.

~One time she sees one of her friends dads there (Admiral Simpson) and it was a little awkward. (Will write this as a little blurb if anyone wants me to.)

~Also a college student majoring in Psychology.

~The family that CYG nannies for loves Phoenix and has approved of her coming over and spending time with CYG and the kids anytime she wants.

~Phoenix is so good with the kids and they love playing with her when she's over.

~CYG integrated into the Squad well.

~Got made fun of by Harvard and Yale for still being in college.

~Hangman was actually the first person she got along with.

~They became super close much to Phoenix's dismay.

~But he had defended their relationship and the fact that CYG was still in college.

~CYG's friends absolutely adore Phoenix and love the two of them together.

~Phoenix always feels out of touch with them though and normally just sits quietly confused.

~They occasionally got mistaken for siblings instead of girlfriends because of the age gap.

~Both of their families had questions and concerns over the relationship.

~Phoenix would occasionally get insecure that CYG wouldn't want to stay with her.

~CYG would reassure her constantly however and would never get upset with her insecurities.

~Would go to pride together and have the time of their lives.

~The first deployment was rough for the both of them. will be posting a oneshot of this soon)

~Overall they are both super head over heels for each other.

A/N: Thank you for this request Sylvia! I am completely fucking obsessed with this idea. No one better be surprised when I make a series around this. I also maybe already have the awkward Beau, CYG, Nat scene written up lol.

Tags(Open): @wkndwlff @eternallyvenus

@sillygooseses (you liked this yesterday when tumblr for some reason glitched out and posted it early)

[sideralwriting]

Welcome to my contribution to the ACoTaR writing circle (n.3).

Thank you @azrielshadowssing for planning this fun event!

"A Sunshine from the Ocean" is a HelionxLoA fanfic.

Summary: "The youngest daughter of a Duke of Autumn is unstoppable as she lauches herself overboard, during a storm in the middle of the ocean between Prythian and the Continent, just to save an unnamed man. Only to finish stranded on a deserted island with him and no way to go back.

Not that she would like to go back the her father's estate."

AO3; 1546 words, no warnings.

I hope you'll enjoy it!

It took one month to go from the Continent to Prythian by sea. One month of peace and freedom, of sun and sky and water. Yes, there were seventy more people on the ship with her, one of them being her governess and a few guards sent by her father. She had to keep herself in check in front of them, as he would surely interrogate them on her behavior. Nonetheless, her soul sang again, her heart secretly dancing in her chest.

She had to follow her father on a business trip to Montesere, as the youngest daughter of his business partner asked for her to meet and keep her company. Her sisters stayed back in Prythian.

She loved her sisters and how joyous and free they made her feel. Their father was a stern and close-minded duke of the Autumn Court, dictating that they followed the highest etiquette rules even between sisters, often followed by her mother tightening their corsets, slapping their hands with the yellow fan if they took a cupcake more, firing servants and etiquette teachers for their laziness in the girls training. But in those rare moments when no one was around, when they escaped to the forest and the sea beyond it, they laughed and ate and ran to their heart's content, splashing each other on the seashore, careful never to go missing for too long. Careful to style their hair as they were when leaving, their dresses dried. This time, though, had been the worst moment of her life.

The daughter of her father's business partner, a nineteen-year-old brown-haired girl, was proper and gossipy with her, but was the most awful person on the Continent with her staff. She was so annoying that when an old servant spilled water on the table, the girl slapped her in front of everyone and had the servant brought to the dungeons. And that slap had been enough for her. Enough of fake smiles and bad-mannered girls.

She got on her feet, poured her cup of water on her host and left the room, glaring at the woman as daring her to do anything. The girl accepted the challenge, because that same night her father slapped her in the private office he was given and sent back home.

The first half of the journey went fast, the sails of the three masts captured the wind, sending them gliding towards the horizon while stretching the ropes, the crackling wood a constant sound together with the rolling waves beneath her feet.

Around the twentieth day of travel, anyway, an intense storm hit the ship and lasted the whole night, faces and water and sky only visible thanks to the lightning falling all around them. She had to stay in her cabin to avoid distracting the sailors and giving them something else to worry about. The roaring of the storm and waves was deafening, joined by the screams of the sailors and by those of her maids. Mother above, some people were terrible under pressure. How could they even work for her father if they didn't have nerves of steel? The guards kept their posts by the doors and so did she, spine straight and a mask of calm on her face, sitting at the center of the bed, until she felt a tug in her chest.

And a second one.

Something tightened inside her, panic rising. Why did she feel like this?

A third tug.

Was it the storm? Was she anxious because of the danger?

The panic got her on her feet and swaying toward the window. She scanned the dark sky, the water. No one and nothing more alarming than the storm in sight. No enemies. Then what was tha—.

A fourth tug, stronger, nearer, calling for her to Run, run, run.

So she did. She put on a long-sleeved cream dress, making fast work of the corset with openings on the front, styling her hair in a plait of red hair while running toward the door.

Her guards stopped her telling her that they did it for her own good.

She felt the tight line in her chest become looser, as if something was going to be lost in her chest, in her life, forever.

She knew they were just doing their job. She knew it as she put on an expression she saw her mother make countless times and threatened the guards to be shoved overboard for insubordination. She knew they were going to have a heart-attack, as she ran down the slippery stairs, landing with a jump on the freezing and chaotic deck.

Faster, here, danger, watch out! seemed to scream the thing in her chest. She looked for the right direction, the tightness guiding her like a compass until — there! A lightning rolled between the clouds, setting everything alight in time for her to see the dark silhouette of a person rolled over a plank in the middle of waves as high as the ship.

No one saw her in time to stop the lady from rolling two barrels bound by a net of rope over the edge of the railings. The guards yelled for her while scrambling towards the railing, but it was already too late.

She jumped in the stormy water, the cold strucking her dumb for a couple of seconds before she emerged from the ocean thanks to the two still intact barrels, the rope now looser. She started swimming for the figure in the middle of the waves, teeth clacking.

Save him, save him, save him, chant her soul. She didn’t even stop to think why the person should be a man, nor why she just endangered her life for someone she didn’t know. She just swam toward the figure, waves too big to see him anymore. Water in her eyes, panic in her chest and cold all over her, she oriented herself only thanks to that internal compass pointing toward the man.

She didn’t know how long she swam, she didn’t know where the ship was anymore, forgotten minutes, hours, ages ago.

At last, when her strength started lagging and her body started to feel heavier, she finally reached the man and a thunder struck far behind her, setting once again the sky alight.

The man was the most beautiful young man she ever saw in all her life, even if he was almost passed out on the plank, dark hands still gripping it tightly. His long, dark eyelashes fluttered open as their eyes locked.

Time stopped.

And resumed. A thunder rolled closer, toward them. She put his left arm around her shoulders and started swimming again. Safe, you’re safe, stay with me, the loose rope, now tighter, sang in her chest. He would have to explain a few things once they reached the shore. If they would ever reach it.

They swam together, bodies pressed against each other to keep themselves warm. The dress pooled around her waist and she thanked the Mother for the mysterious man's eyes pointed toward the sky, heavy rain and thunder easing into slower rain and mist. As they kept going, she prayed that the direction was the right one. That they didn’t end up more lost than they already were, that she could reach shore in time to help the man.

That her parents didn’t scold her further. How could have she forgotten about them? About how they hated when she thought selfishly and not about the greater good of her family name?

Staying out in the now warmer waters started to look mighty appealing to her when the young man grabbed her shoulder as if to keep her near him and started swimming faster, steadier, toward a point in the mist at their right.

“What did you see?” she asked near his ear, scanning the horizon as far as she could.

“Th-There…” he stumbled hoarsely, pointing with his chin and glossy eyes toward something in front of them and then turning to peer at her under wet eyelashes. She couldn’t make out the shape of anything, so she remained silent and decided to just support him, trust him with her life. So easier, the rope of light, of life, clang in her, changing into pure, glittering gold.

They swam and swam again, further, slowly, each stroke wearier than the previous one.

She was getting ready to give up, to wait for her sister on the other side, as the young man put her against his chest, grabbing her face with two fingers and lifting it towards his.

Burning amber eyes as the richest honey fixated on her, her vision faintly swinging.

“We’re almost there. Don’t give up. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, sunshine. Like that, good” he encouraged. “We are almost there”.

He kept repeating those four words, over and over again and she kept swimming, even if tired, she kept moving.

And as at last she felt something gritty under her feet, her knees, her hands, she thought that she was knee-deep in problems.

She collapsed on her back on damp sand, pewter sea at her feet, verdant palm forest behind her.

She fainted, as a set of worried amber eyes framed by long, wet onyx hair and rich brown skin stared at her.

————

This chapter fits in Day 5 prompt "Daring Rescue" for the Helion×LoA event at @sunandflameweek (organized by @starfall-spirit)

[gargoyle-doyle]

notes & thoughts i had when i was reading this book ;-3 (its kinda disjointed and doesn't read well, there were just things scrawled when reading. idk i might write it up properly one day xx).

-Clinically obsessed with Neil Gaiman's 1994 'The Tragical Comedy or Comical Tragedy of Mr. Punch' and yes i am incredibly biased, and yes it is because i'm living away from pompey right now, and i miss my ghost adventures, and fratton rd subway.

-Its just such a nostalgic, and fun read. Mckeans art is so vivid, its like something walked straight out of my mind and onto the page, its really a graphic novel that properly exploits the medium and captivates on every page.

-As someone who has personally beefed with the descendants of these swans, i can tell you for a fact that this still stands true - they will break your arm, and not only that, they will peck into ur stomach and pluck out ur intestines. Apart from one swan who has arthritis, and is fed medicine in the evenings by an unnamed local, he is probably too busy eating his medicines.

-Reading all these passages written in 1994, almost exactly 30 years ago, set even further back into the late sixties, and seeing such relatable anecdotes. it's hopeful. Pompey stays Pompey forever.

And then you're hit with bits like this:

-And I'm reminded of the bridge centre bookshop losing the war against the council, the privatising of the secret garden, commercial road - the ghost town. And subway, and rowans, and London rd dying. Moorhouse becoming a newsagents, becoming a house.

-And then even before me, (mandatory obelisk mention), tricorn, charlotte st. The shadows of the past. What becomes of the time capsule in the bridge, when there is no bridge? But then in the same way theres development. Gunwharf, The spinnaker, The Mary Rose Museum.

-But it's all the superficial stuff - the tourist attractions. And it's all the heart and soul that get left to rot.

-I love this graphic novel because it's alive. and its mean. an affair, a pregnancy, forced abortion by beating a woman with planks of wood, disguised in cloudy memories and that slight childhood hope to mask it. to retell it again and again until the story turns out different this time.

-And there's this house, and its my childhood home. its the home of everyone i've ever befriended, and ever went to school with. And I'm reminded of when i used to see Punch and Judy shows over in St James' Dog park for picnic on the green.

-And one year, after the show, after the ice lollies, and after the raffle, my friend and i walked home, past all the shops, and at the end of my street was a great plume of smoke, and crinkle chip was burning down. We stood across the road and watched it burn.

Crinkle chip survived - but not as crinkle chip. It changed, it became Crispy Cod. But the foods the same. the important stuff. idk, i hate everything closing, its gone, and likely never coming back. But i still care, and i think that's the important part. that it mattered to me once upon a time (second mandatory obelisk mention in brackets so i don't waffle on about the obelisk).

-the story of punch and judy is told and retold by so many. as life here is lived by so many, but in many ways the same life. with many of the same characters and set pieces.

-the tale really articulates the frustration, the whimsy, the worry, and the awareness of childhood. living in a dream-like world, only in that none of your questions ever get answered. fantasy from boredom, fear, and confusion. the world is new, its your first time here and everyone just expects you to know whats real and whats not. That feeling of being looked over, of raising yourself because adults lie, cry, and run away from questions.

-This lamppost is real - so are the lights. i know exactly where this is and what they look like at every time of day.

-I love puppets, i love making them, buying them, studying them. This book reads like a love letter. But one written to a love never indulged. a love letter written and then kept in a box in the attic. The book feels like everything we want to say but don't. in the real world there's the story following the boy and his grandfather, and in the magical, theres the denial to let the self wear the puppet. nothing ever comes to fruition. nothing stays long enough to have the time to tell it how you felt, to express the grief. at the end theres a moment where the narrator just might wear mr punch. but theres not enough time to rationalise, to explain. its not the same mr punch anyway.

-its a scene that reminded me that sometimes we never get to do the things we desire because its too late. like trick-or-treating. if you dont do it as a kid you never will. and it sucks. and we dont get to go back.

-i should've bought all those Anne Rice books from the Bridge when i had the chance. but its gone now. and i won't.

-everything goes. but the memories remain, spectres to be engaged with, and in that its not really gone. The hearts arent gone, because they are here in this book. and so is the grandfather, and so is pompey.

-i should've written more notes about the art. The combination of photos and drawings portrays memories in such a beautiful and disorienting way. its distressing, and memorable. the way some things are emphasised by the photos, Punch and Judy, and the grandfather, while other memories are more obscure sketches, like the pier and the houses. it reads like a Cecilia Condit film scary and fragmented and young, or Jan Svankmajer's (my birthday twin xx) Jabberwocky short film.

-“Everybody dies but Mister Punch, and he has only the life he steals from others”

-----

after reading the book, and spell-checking my notes. i also read this companion article by Jennifer K . Cox 'From Stage to Page: Adaptation as Survival in Neil Gaiman’s Mr. Punch' that i would like to share highlights from;

-Forbidden knowledge, portrayed as the magic of puppetry, parallels the narrator’s traumatic childhood memories; the adaptations to his memories have allowed him to survive, even if they obscure the truth of his past.

-“The path of memory is neither straight nor safe,” - Gaiman

-'In some sense, telling a story makes it happen again' - Schank (eek! i love this, it fits with the ethos of the graphic novel itself being that things change but that doesn't mean you can't return to how it was in story and memory).

-'As inanimate objects that rely on human hands to give them life, puppets represent a physical “link with the dead, with the realm of the uncanny, the threshold realm of things unknown or repressed” - Gross (sums up how i feel when i make my frog puppet dance to Modern Talking).

-“Tolkien’s view was that the myth-making imagination always tends toward truth rather than lies; that fantastic stories lead toward a genuine understanding of the conditions of existence” - Attebery

-Theatre historian John Bell describes puppets as “performing objects” and suggests that people manipulate them “in order to show us how parts of the…material world can be animated by humans. [..] that our playing with objects allows

us to come to terms with death”

-this adapted work is by and for adults. (i dont know if i particularly agree with this statement. i think kids should read tough and scary stories. Mr Punch provides a great framework for exploring ones own anguish with the world in a way thats relatable and readable. with sections feeling specifically catered towards kids. 'adults lie', 'i should've written this in blood' and the mystical views on death. Yes, they have a nostalgia factor for adult readers, but they are childish thoughts, relatable to child readers. Kids deserve thoughtful and dark stories that challenge them, that haunt them).

-For the lower classes during the eighteenth century, divorce was improbable, public hangings were employed to discourage crime, and a healthy Puritan work ethic threatened bodily harm, while a poor work ethic threatened eternal damnation; Punch thumbed his rather large nose at each of these oppressive institutions

-the narrator resist picking up the puppet for one of two reasons: because the knowledge will destroy the magic of puppetry, and if the audience knows how the magic works the genre of puppet theatre ceases to function, or because he knows wearing the puppet means he must then become Punch

[dancingkirby]

Well, I did...something. Thought @akiizayoi4869 would be interested in seeing it. This is an unedited draft where I was basically writing at the speed I was thinking; if I were to ever complete the story, this would undergo quite a bit of fine-tuning.

WARNINGS: Implied/inherent underage, mention of blood, death of unnamed character.

The emergency evacuation order blared over the loudspeaker as hundreds of panicked people streamed out of the Arcadia Movement headquarters.  It wasn’t like the outside was much more of a welcoming place to be, with the raging fires cutting those swaths in the streets, but the inhabitants had faith in their leader.  They knew that he would have not activated the order unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Down here, in this underground nursery, the screams of those outside were muffled, but the flashing of red strobe lights combined with the flickering and dimmed electricity made for a setting equally hellish.  The high-pitched queries of the children mingled with murmured and futile attempts at reassurance from their minders.  They had a diffcult task: to get out of here quickly while simultaneously making sure that all of their charges were accounted for.

“I think that’s everyone!” the head nurse said, raising her voice to make herself heard over the sirens.  The children who could walk were all lined up near the door, many in tears.  The smallest ones were being held by anyone who could take them, or piled into whatever could be used as wheeled transport: meal delivery carts and hand trucks and even toy wagons.  “Everyone except for…”

“I’ll take care of it.  You all leave!” a younger woman volunteered.  As everyone else headed out the main entrance to the room, the adults entreating the children to keep in line and stay with their buddies no matter what, the woman ran inward instead, long robe fluttering with the sudden movement.

She paused outside the door at the end of the hall, taking a precious second to collect herself.  Everyone needed to be completely calm when caring for Subject One; those were orders directly from the top.  Multiple nursemaids had been fired for failing to check their pulses before entering the room, and she was one of the scant handful of people who was actually good at this.  Subject One reacted poorly to emotional disturbances of any kind, and as soon as the woman opened the door to the soundproofed room she could hear the all-too familiar screaming. 

“Hey there, little guy!” she said while peering into the crib at the enraged infant, attempting to keep her voice cheerful despite the fact that the whole building was on the verge of collapsing on top of them.  “Let’s get your blocker on, okay?  And then we’ll be going for a walk.  It’ll…it’ll be fun!”

She was wondering if it had been a mistake to evacuate him last; they had done so to minimize, as much as possible, his exposure to external stimuli.  And a lot of good that had done.  He’d already worked himself up to such an extent that his face was nearly the same hue as his hair. Thankfully, he did calm down a bit after the bulky metal contraption was slipped onto his head.  However, it had been designed to have room for him to grow and fit quite loosely, so she hoped that it wouldn’t fly off his head during their escape. Before he got it in his mind to start up with the crying again, the woman used the bedding to swaddle him snugly and reached for the briefcase where all the important papers were. 

She had mere moments to get this precious bundle to safety and she knew it.  Cargo in tow, she sprinted up the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, knowing that taking the elevator would be much too risky.  She was no athlete.  Her blood rushed in her ears and every muscle yearned for oxygen.  On one terrifying occasion, she almost lost her footing, but recovered it just in time. Finally, she saw the lobby, with its plush carpeting  and fountain in the middle.  Just one more dash and she’d reach the door…only a few more seconds…

Loud creaking above her.  She looked up in horror to see a piece of rubble breaking loose from the floor above and falling directly on them.  In that last instant, she reacted out of sheer instinct, making a desperate attempt to throw the baby clear, hoping that by some miracle he would land safely…

And then everything went black. 

Elsewhere in the building, there was another rescue mission underway.  An engine roared as a  white D-Wheel of unusual design sped down the stairs, swerving around piles of debris.  Inside, a tall blond man sat at the driver’s seat with the unconscious body of a young girl slumped in his lap.

 By this point, Jack Atlas had lost track of how many floors he’d passed.  Everytime he thought they’d reached the bottom, there were still more stairs.  He had to keep a tight hold on his passenger to keep her from flying out during this bumpy ride.  At least he’d thought to get the shock absorbers upgraded; things would have been nigh on unbearable if he hadn’t. 

His original plan had been to get the girl, Aki, to safety and then go back to look for any sign of Carly.  What had that damn woman gotten herself into?  He knew that his abrupt departure would hurt her, but much against his better judgment he had started to care about what happened to her.  After he had firmly admonished her to stop sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, he had absconded.  And now he had found her broken glasses in this building.  She could scarcely see a thing without them…he knew that.  This could only mean one thing.  She had completely ignored his warning and gone to mess with one of the most dangerous men in Neo Domino.  And now, the way back up was impassable due to the accumulating rubble. 

If he’d lost her for good…but he couldn’t think about that now.  There, at long last, he could see the building’s atrium only one floor below them.  He made Wheel of Fortune leap over the railing, and it landed without so much as a scratch.  There.  Almost home free.  Now all he had to do was regroup with the others outside and…what was that sound? 

He thought, at first, that it was a trick of the ears; a side effect from being exposed to these loud sirens for so long.  But no, now that he was thinking about it, there was definitely a distinct noise mixed in there.  He hit the brakes, skidding to a stop.

Looking over, he had to fight the urge to vomit.  He saw a figure pinned beneath a cement and twisted metal.  It was obvious, even from this distance, that the person was dead.  The blood had already started to spread.

Jack steeled himself.  Stop being a pussy. You saw corpses all the time in Satellite.  When he moved closer, he saw blue and his heart stopped.  To his immense relief, though, the body was not wearing that familiar striped shirt, but rather the Arcadia uniform that was a common sight around the city.  As there was nothing he could do for this person, he began searching for the source of the noise, and finally saw what appeared to be a large bundle of white cloth.  It was resting a few meters away, partly hidden in shadow, so he’d overlooked it at first. 

It was a baby, screaming with a strength impressive even by Jack’s standards.  One arm had worked free of the fabric and was flailing angrily against the floor. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered.  He couldn’t just leave it lying there.  Shifting Aki to one arm, he got out and covered the remaining distance in a few long strides.  He quickly snagged both the bundle and the little briefcase that was lying next to it.  Somehow, he managed to get everything balanced in the D-wheel. 

With two years of intensive experience with hiding internal turmoil from outsiders under his belt, Jack rode out of the building with head held high.  He spotted Yanagi, Himuro, and the twins still on the steps, coughing and rubbing their eyes due to the noxious thick smoke that filled the air.  Still no sign of any rescue vehicles.

“I got her,” he told them, removing his jacket and placing it over his nose to create a makeshift filter.  “And this.”

The others gasped as he shifted his arm to reveal the infant cradled in the crook of his elbow, who was fussing but no longer shrieking. 

“Let’s see what we can find out about you,” Jack muttered, unraveling the tangle of cloth.  That blanket was almost certainly cashmere, he was quick to note, and the sheet’s thread count rivaled his own back at the penthouse.  When one was the King of Riding Duels, one had to know these things at a glance or even a touch, to ensure that there was no cheating by unscrupulous suppliers.  Someone cared deeply about this baby, then…or at least was willing to spend a ton of money on it.

After spreading out the blanket on the cement and laying the squirming baby on it, he had Rua go find the flashlight that was in the tool compartment of his D-Wheel.  The baby was biggish, probably several months old.  It didn’t have serious injuries that were immediately obvious, although a quick feel of the skull revealed a sizable knot in the back.  Jack quickly moved the light to the child’s eyes, as he’d seen Martha do with head injury patients, and he noted that the pupils got smaller.  That was what was supposed to happen…right?  Crow was better at this medical shit than he was. 

“Anyone know how to change a diaper, by any chance?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. 

There was a pause, but finally Himuro answered, “I do.”  The muscular tough guy was not one that Jack had expected to speak up, but he wasn’t about to argue.  He could turn his attention, and his flashlight, to Aki now. She still hadn’t regained consciousness. 

Her breathing was worryingly shallow, and he noticed how tightly that corset thing of her was laced.  It looked like it was digging into her skin even with the layers of fabric separating them.  Why did she feel the need to do that?  She wasn’t even fat.  One thing was for sure: it wasn’t going to do anything to help her get better.  He cut the laces with a pocket knife, and was pleased to see her color improve a bit as she inhaled deeply. 

“Looks like we have ourselves a little boy,” Himuro was saying.  “Jack, could I see that knife for a bit?”  It took somewhat incredulous glances from the other three males before he realized that maybe those two sentences weren’t the best thing to say right in a row.  He quickly clarified, “For the sheet.”

An ominous hush had fallen upon the city by this time.  The only sounds louder than white noise were the baby’s grizzling, Himuro tearing up the sheet into scraps after getting it started with the knife, and Ruka’s gradually fading sobs as she clung on to her brother.  Jack now picked up the briefcase to see if he could bust the electronic lock.  He needed to have something, anything, to do…one second of idleness and he’d start being tormented by thoughts of how he had failed Carly all over again. 

“All right,” he asked.  “So what exactly happened in there?”

Everyone started talking over everyone else, and he shouted, “OI!  ONE AT A TIME!”  he instantly regretted this when the baby started crying again.

Ruka knew the most of the four of them.  In a subdued voice, she told about how Divine had drugged them all during dinner and taken them prisoner.  She started crying again when she got to the part where Divine had personally dueled and tortured her brother. 

“I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn’t say anything and I should have!” she exclaimed.  “You could have died, Rua, because you had that stupid plan and I didn’t call you on it!  And I thought Aki was so cool before, but she didn’t really seem to care.”

“Hey, there, sis, it’s okay,” Rua interjected.  “We all made it out alive, didn’t we?  I’ll have lots more stupid plans you can call me out on in the future.”

But there was something beyond even this that was bothering her.  Even Jack, who had a faint idea that he had all the emotional sensitivity of a water buffalo, picked up on that.  Finally, she ventured, “Um…Jack?”

“Yes?” he said, running his fingers over the lock.

“I saw Aki and Divine talking in the hallway…and it was weird.  He was looking at her like she was his girlfriend or something.  I just…it seemed kind of gross. He’s a lot older than her, isn’t he?”

“Hm,” Jack replied.  He stood up, backed up a few paces, and threw a card at that pesky lock.  It hit dead center, severing the electrical connection.  Still got it. 

Maybe they’d find the answers they were seeking in here.  He reached in and took out a sizable sheaf of papers.  The top page only had a few lines of text on it, large enough that he could easily read them without straining his eyes even in this dim light. 

SUBJECT ONE

“ADAM”

I AM EXTREMELY SENSITIVE!  PLEASE USE CAUTION WHILE HANDLING!  :)

Jack wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting: the fact that this baby was being referred to as if he was some kind of feral dog, or the passive-aggressive smiley at the end. 

“His name is Adam,” he informed the others.  He started reading the next page, which was some kind of official-looking record…a birth certificate, he soon realized.

RECORD OF LIVE BIRTH

NAME: ADAM MUELLER

DATE AND TIME:  11/10/2027, 5:22 AM

LOCATION: ARCADIA MOVEMENT HEADQUARTERS, NEO DOMINO CITY, JAPAN

WEIGHT: 2.75 KG  LENGTH: 46 CM

NAME OF FATHER: JOACHIM MUELLER. DATE AND PLACE OF BIRTH:10/28/2000, VIENNA, AUSTRIA

NAME OF MOTHER: “SUBJECT ZERO.”  DATE AND PLACE OF BIRTH: 8/16/2011, NEO DOMINO CITY, JAPAN

As Jack stared at this paper, trying to comprehend the enormity of what it contained, he finally head sirens in the distance. 

Divine had tried his best to be sneaky here.  There was no stamp or signature or any other sign that this had been notarized, and he had so cleverly used that alias for the mother, but anyone with half a brain could figure this out.  For someone who was accustomed to solving all of his problems by yelling at them until they went away, this was a lot to absorb. He clenched the paper in his hand before realizing that this might not be a good idea; that law enforcement would need to see this as well. 

“Jack?” Himuro asked.  “What is it?”  Somehow, against all odds, he had lulled baby Adam to sleep. 

“Two things,” he answered through teeth clenched at the injustice.  As the ambulance lights closed in on them, he looked at Aki, then at the dusting of burgundy hair on Adam’s head.  “First, Ruka was right.”  The vehicle rolled to a stop, and he was vaguely aware of Mikage and some EMS techs hopping out.  “Secondly, everything just got a whole lot more complicated.”

[hot-soop]

WIP list

hahahahaha kill me it’s so much worse than i thought 💀

gang - i have 25 (TWENTY FUCKIN FIVE) works in progress. i started writing for this fandom 2 years ago and i’ve only posted 6 fics in that time oh god. please can everyone kick me up the arse until i finish this shit

unstuck - doctor!yoongi x idiot!reader. based on that very real time i got superglue in my eye and the doctor who treated me at the hospital was a dude i had matched with on hinge. equal parts horrifying and hilarious. 3k written.

there’s no name you can call me - reader/jk/tae. idolverse. really bad, 15k written. needs an entire upheaval if it is ever to see the light of day. honestly will prob just take it to pieces like a written off car and use the scraps for my other WIPs 😬

unnamed tae smut - pwp, 1k written. slight dom vibes

codependent - model!jimin x fem reader. hairdresser au. >1k written. jimin wants to dye his hair soft lilac but he’s only just had it dyed green, hairdresser is perpetually annoyed w him but in a flirtatious way?!

unnamed soulmates(?)!au. fantasy?? - dream sequences where you play out a whole life w/ ur soulmate (joon) but can’t actually meet in this reality. find ways to get messages to each other within dreams? like 150 words written lmao i cannot worldbuild life sux

could you stay - yoongi x reader. f2l. 5k written. forgot i still had this for a while and jess shouted at me and went looking through google docs to check for herself lmao

unnamed hobi fuckboi fic - 54 words written lsdlfkdkgjjss honestly i got bored of it almost immediately. hobi’s character is the hardest for me to get right? idk maybe i need to find a diff trope for him, something nicer. perceived fuckboi??? like unreliable narrator maybe?

sugar fix - yoongi x reader. 90s sex line fic! 1.5k written. absolute nonsense but some of it is quite funny. meetcute at work while talking dirty to horny randos on the phone

unnamed joon sexting fic - established ldr. can’t seem to find the right time to sext bc of time differences, oh no, oh dear, they’re so horny whatever will they do? 1.5k written

carnival fic - yoongi x reader but could change to yoonmin? yoongi is mute, tae the tarot reader seems to know everything yoongi thinks but he’s just making it up and yoongi goes along with it. it’s fun, it’s silly. i’ve got 2k

crossroads - jk x reader. reader is a crossroads demon and jungkook is a total idiot! 1k written

clusters - namjoon x reader. soulmate au, set out of body. everyone in a soul cluster has their soulmate, but namjoon doesn’t, until your soul comes into existence, nearly 50 lifetimes late. 4k written

tattooist jimin x reader. got bored of this immediately and forgot the plot i came up with before i wrote it down. 800 words written that are okay but maybe it could just be a smut oneshot

airport barista hobi x frequent flyer reader. 197 words 😭 hobi why do i struggle when u r so sweet

namjoon x reader. f2l. namjoon wants to go on a road trip but he obv can’t drive, so you, an idiot. volunteer. 700ish words.

tae x reader. college au. lovers to strangers. 5.8k written

seokjin x reader. diner au. e2l (lite). 1.2k written

virtual strangers au - jimin x reader are rival tumblr people. they hate each other but don’t know each others faces. jimin has a big fat crush on this woman who works at the pet shop and he keeps buying cat litter even though he doesn’t have one a cat. anyway. his crush and his tumblr nemesis are one and the same! ha! 1k written

yoonmin fic - jimin is having therapy for anxiety & yoongi runs a cat cafe. 1k written

winterbreak - yoongi x reader. college au. established fwb with one sided feelings. yoongi leaves and spends a year abroad. v angsty. they keep falling back together & hurting each other. based on that song by muna. 5k written

1970s namgi hitman fic - can’t remember where i was going with this, need to reread my notes. was based on that shoot for joons photofolio in the motel. 1.5k written

seokjin’s yarn barn - alpaca farmer!seokjin x knitting enthusiast!yoongi. absolute crack. quite funny. 1.3k written

reader x hobi meetcute on a train. >1k written

spermageddon - namjin fic for lauren. absolute insanity. namjin work at a sperm bank and namjoon breaks things. 1k written

yoongi collab - yoongi x reader musician au. fwb & unrequited feelings. angst heavy 1.4k

➾ feel free to ask about any of these. god. how did it get so out of hand?

[orioo]

Update: New Ideas and Changes to the Already Existing!

lots of time has passed since i updated this project - and to the ones that were let down by my negligence, i apologise. life happened.

but i’m back now! and, after reading a whole lot of books, i’m back with tons of new ideas that i wish to cover in this post. i will spare you the rest of my rants; let’s begin!

1. Name Changes

as scary as this may sound, it’s in fact true that i’ve been thinking of changes to the main6, especially to their individual characterization. i realized that i spent a lot of my creativity on their dynamics as a group and less on their idiosyncrasies, which isn’t right!

first of all, the names of the main cast seemed a bit uninspired to me, despite all the effort i put into finding fitting names for them. some of are an aquired taste - such as Milo and Piper. they can stay.

Shreya i think is the most fitting name i have for now. Phala as well, although if i suddenly get sick of it, i might rethink it a little. (in the midst of writing this, i got sick of it. read more to find out!)

Kaji seems uninspired. so does Filip. especially Filip.

let’s take the whole crew of characters we know so far and (/re)name them.

Filip will now be known as Ailmar

Filip is too boring a name for a prince, let’s be honest. in my humble view, Ailmar does way better justice to his actual strenght - both physical, as he’s not a lithe guy, and mental, with his seer capabilities and all that. he’s an avid reader and especially passioned by mythology and history - of course he’s smart as a result.

Kaji will now be known as Kavi

not as big of a change as the previous one, but one just as important (at least to me). Kaji felt fitting in a way, i guess. possibly the syllable Ka. fun little fact, which i will have tons of fun writing around when the time comes, his full name is Kavinder. this will absolutely become a subject of attempted teasing and good fun in the future.

(i know the syllables in Kavinder are Ka-vin-der, and his nickname should grammatically be Kavin, but it sounds way too much like Kevin, which in now way am i allowing to happen. sorry not sorry, he’s now to be known as Kavi alone.)

Shreya will continue to be known as Shreya 

Milo will continue to be known as Milo

Piper will continue to be known as Piper

Phala will now be known as Ophelia

while i quite like the name Phala, i feel as if it is a bit lackluster. it feels too empty to be deserving of a goddess, thus it’s now to be known as Ophelia! the roots (ph and la) are still there, so hopefully so is the familiarity. 

Unnamed older brother of Ailmar will now be known as Neldor

Neldor is the crown prince and several years older than Ailmar. i originally planned to have him named Julio or Julian... or something along this line. however, as with Filip, the name just felt too basic and real-world for me to use into a light fantasy story. more about him will be written about later - i thought plenty on his character!

Maple will continue to be known as Maple

Maple is Piper’s older sister. she is a witch and lives with a small group of witches hidden away from the eyes of the Kingdom. she will also become Shreya’s love interest later on. more on her to be written.

EM will now be known as Farkas

EM stands for Enemy Man and was the temporary way i chose to call one of the main “villains” of the main6. from now on though, his name is Farkas. more to be disclosed on him later.

EW will now be known as Lethene

EW stands for Enemy Woman and, just like EM, was her temporary given name. she is the other villain in this story, partner of Farkas. more about these two will be talked about later.

2. Character Improvements

as i already said, i got carried away at first by the influx of new ideas for a project that i neglected a very important aspect of any story - it’s characters and their individuality. while plot can be just as important, i personally place a lot of the enjoyment of reading a book on the characters and their development throughout their adventures. i like seeing what they are like from their debut and compare it to what they become in their last appearance. i like seeing how their views change - or don’t, and the reasonings for it. i like already established dynamics between charactes, but enjoy a whole lot more to see how they grow from there on, or how they start off vs. how they end up. i like seeing the journey of each character, both in terms of their personal development as well as their social growth.

all that said, the first obvious amendment to be done is to Ailmar.

as the 2nd royal child, he is treated with less strictness than Neldor. Neldor was brought up being constantly reminded that he is to inherit the throne and shoulder all the responsabilities that come with ruling a kingdom, thus he was pressured into learning the ways of ruling and fighting. as a result, the king and the queen paid more attention to Neldor’s upbringing.

Ailmar was affected by his parents’ neglicence of his childhood, and often withdrew from social and political gatherings (family dinners) to indulge in his passions instead - reading on the Kingdom’s history, myths, folktales and fairytales. he never strayed away from the taboo subject of magic, rather dwelled in the fantastical books and educated himself on it’s peculiarity.

While Neldor was brough up to become a ruler, Ailmer was brough up to become a loyal guardian - both of the palace and it’s king, and of his kingdom. his teacher’s persistence on learning him various ways to fight were fruitful at first - he was quite the expert in the art of the sword. however, as soon as he turned 18 years of age, his first vision manifested itself and the stir it caused had it repercussions: word spread in the castle that he was of magical blood and should be cast out of the kindgom, if not beheaded. his royal blood was his defence, and, by the king’s word, was spared from that fate. instead, he was to retire from his studies and training, as to not further enhance his abilities in case he strayed from the kingdom.

Ailmer grew faintly physically ill because of his visions, as well as the sudden  marginalization he faced from his peers. due to his determination to prove himself unguilty of anything treachery -expect housing magic in his blood- he continued to train himself and expand his knowledge in all fields.

at 15 years of age was when Ailmar first met Kavi, the 10 year old.

Kavi had a rough upbringing - from the very beginning, all he could remember was his journey of being passed on from foster home to foster home, not one stay longer than 1 year at most. homelessness was not a strange notion to him.

all the families that had cared and loved him, then abandoned him without as much as a goodbye were the catalyst to his attachment issues. he varried between the two extemes - either loving too much and bearing the heartbreak that came with abandonment, or being too aloof and detached in order to save himself the inevitable heartache. one more often that the other was his indifference, which got him into multiple one sided arguements and even fights from attention-starved kids.

after one such fight, he had been injured more gravely than the usual scraps - a kid got his hands on a real blade and attempted to best him in front of his older peers, hoping to impress. as much as he forestalled an injury, it was imminent; thus the birth of his infamous cheek scar. 

before it scarred, however, it bled. and it bled a lot. that was the moment fate introduced him to Prince Ailmar; although young Kavi didn’t know of him at that time. Ailmar was out in the city, under the guidance of one of his fighting teachers, hoping to find some refreshments to indulge in after a successful class. he did not expect in the slightest to stumble upon a gathering of citizens that were murmuring between themselves. upon further inspection, he found the subject of their attention - two young kids, one with a bloodied blade and another with a bloodied cheek. 

adults had intervened between them and grabbed the assailant away from the victim, but none had the guts to help that poor, injured kid up. Ailmar did.

untrusting, Kavi only believed Ailmar helped him so he would be sung praises left and right for his bravery. after being illuminated to Ailmar’s identity as a Prince, his next though was that he did what he did to maintain his public stainless image.

only after Ailmar grew to learn of Kavi’s background did he suggest Kavi should come with him to the palace - to heal, nothing more. pity brough on Ailmar sudden affection for the kid, brotherly, as he so wished to get from Neldor. but Neldor was too busy to indulge in brother-to-brother bonding activities, so maybe Ailmar was meant to do it in his stead.

thus Kavi became the victim of Ailmar’s brotherly affection and guidance. not having much of a choice, as any other alternative either did not exist or was significantly worse, Kavi stayed with Ailmar at the palace. they trained together, they ate together, they played together. Kavi, once again subject of his attachment issues, fell victim to one of the extremes: he got himself immensely attached to Ailmar.

when Ailmar started experiencing visions, Kavi was his biggest support. after three whole years spent together (Ailmar now 18 and Kavi 13), Kavi familiarized himself with the notions Ailmar liked studying - such as magic, so he was no stranger to the actual aspects of magic, as well as the unexplainable fear people garnered for it.

people’s ideas about magic were born out fear of what they could not understand* after all, and they could not understand Ailmar’s ability.

* = “Ideas about magic were born of fear of what they could not understand.” - quote taken from ‘The Priory of the Orange Tree’, by Samantha Shannon.

[beepbeepinthecorner]

do you mind telling how your ocs stories go? cause their designs are amazing but i want their lore lol

(and i love your artstyle smm <33 )

You're too kind, thank you! It means a lot that you care about my oc's!! I'd be thrilled to talk about my oc lore! I'll do it below the cut, because this is going to run a little long, lol. Not as long as it was going to be (I spent 3 hours writing out an unbelievably in depth response but something wonked out and it all got deleted) but it will still be long.

Since I've posted a few different sets of oc's on this blog I'm not 100% sure which one's you're asking after, but I'll assume these guys based on context clues!

(If you meant someone else feel free to ask again, I'd love to blab about the other ones too haha)

All these characters come from a webcomic that I've been slowly (very slowly) been chipping away at for the past three years. I am waiting to publish any pages until I have a significant chunk more of it done, so unfortunately it can't be read anywhere yet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The setting is your typical kinda-but-not-really-medieval fantasy world. Magic is not yet well understood by the general population, but some adventurous few have managed to master it.

First I'll go through the characters one by one!

The angular woman in blue is Valen Turnbull, our first of two main characters. She was born and raised in the cliffside town Blackport. Ever since childhood she has been strong, brave, and dutiful. She even had a little bit of a rebellious streak, though she (mostly) grew out of it. She left home after a vicious attack from Sea Spirits sunk most of the town. She felt tremendous guilt that she couldn't do more to protect the town, despite the fact that she single-handedly kept the equivalent of a sentient hurricane at bay. The only one she told about leaving was her best friend, Darius. He wished she would stay, but in the end he understood. Everyone copes differently. There is a lot more to say about her, but frankly I cant find the heart after losing a whole paragraph to a computer glitch. X﹏X

The smiley woman in red is named Laine Feywell, and she is the second of the two main characters. As a young adult her best friend (who is unnamed but will be referred to as 'Green') left home so start his own adventuring guild, so naturally she joined him. As the Guild grew, eventually Valen joined and became fast friends with Laine. Unfortunately, the Guild was not fated to last. Out of greed Green began taking morally questionable jobs for the Guild to do, which Valen opposed. This ended in a battle, in which Laine took Valen's side and defeated the rest of the Guild. After that the Guild disbanded, and Laine and Valen continued to travel together.

I actually have an animatic about it! I'm no animator, and it's the only animatic I've ever managed to finish, but here's the link if you want to see it!

The last character I'll go over today is this scraggly and emotional man in green- Darius. Though he is only a side character in the comic, he champions my heart. I unfortunately have no good art pieces of him, only the panels from the comic he's featured in. I'll have to remedy that someday! Darius's backstory mimics Valens a good deal, since they grew up and went to school together in Blackport. Initially Darius was very shy and unsure of himself, but Valen's boldness proved infectious, and he eventually grew up to be a brave, yet scrawny man. On the day the Sea Spirits attacked Blackport, Darius tried to talk Valen into evacuating with the rest of the citizens for her own sake. Valen wouldn't have it, despite how scared she was. Darius relented, and after evacuating everyone else actually came back to help her. He chucked everything he could reach from a traveling merchants stand- which luckily happened to be selling magical curios. Eventually something he threw seemed to work, and the Spirits abated their attack.

Finally, here's various fun facts about the characters/story!

Laine and Valen eventually get married!!! They fall in love after the guild incident, and confess their feelings after another near death experience. As young adults, they're really unusually intense and kind of scary together. Thankfully they mellow out with age (somewhat lol)

The town of Blackport is actually named after the ex-general-turned-minor-god who founded it! The God is referred to as 'Lady Blackport' or 'The Lady.' She is said to still watch over and protect the town, though her temple was dragged to the bottom of the ocean by the Sea Spirits. People who believe in or follow this god are known to use exclamations such as "Oh Lady above!" or "Lady forgive me." or even "Lady Blessed."

Laine has been working to teach Valen magic over the years. While Laine mastered it a long ago, Valen has been slow to pick it up. However she is both stubborn and eager to learn, so she'll surely master it someday!

The final thing I'll mention is a little au I have of this gang. They're just a bunch of teenagers running an urban exploring youtube channel. Laine is the leader of the bunch, but prone to injury because of her over-eagerness. She also puts together the cutest outfits before delving into abandoned buildings! Valen is their cameraman and Laine's girlfriend, and though she isn't as injury prone as Laine, she's just as foolhardy and actively encourages Laine into dangerous situations. She's also on her school swim team! Darius is the relative straight-man of the group, but not by much. Rather than talking them out of exploring potentially dangerous abandoned buildings, he'll just research if they need to be concerned about asbestos or similar concerns. He is the heart-throb of the DnD club <3

Anyway, that's all I'll say I think! The post is already massive, but hey it's not everyday someone prompts me to talk about my oc's!! So thank you for that again I love you for that!!! I think I covered most of the basics of things, but if there's anything anyone wants to know do not hesitate to ask! Clearly I love to blab ahahah I'm sure this is more than you were bargaining for when you actually asked, but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Once again it was going to be longer before my computer vetoed it and deleted the whole damn post lmaooo.

[seraphim-sophia-morningstar]

Stella Goetia

(Always updating with each chapter)

Nicknames:

Hen, Useless Hen, Wench,

Mum (Octavia)

Darling sister (Andrealphus)

Like:

The idea of romance

Keeping up appearances

Writing and studying

Spending time with her daughter.

Dislikes:

The sexism of the noble class

Stolas

Paimon

Her parents

Andrealphus

Making excuses for others

The mortal realm

Her daughter being in danger.

Sexuality and Gender: Greysexual Female

Speices: Ars Goetia

Abilities:

Demonic magic

Occupation:

Noble woman

Law student (currently)

Family:

Stella's Unnamed parents

Andrealphus (brother)

Stolas Goetia (Husband)

Octavia Goetia (Daughter)

Paimon Goetia (Father-in-Law)

Future son / currently an egg (son)

Other relationships:

Blitzø Buckzo (husband's lover)

Appearance:

Stella is a 7ft tall, slim, creme avian demon. Stella has long, hair-like feathers that have green tips and a large green stripe on her head. She has a short white beak. She has green markings underneath her eyes, which themselves are cyan. Has a Cloaca.

Fun Facts:

+ is currently nesting.

+at this moment, she stays in the study and never leaves because she's intubating an egg.

[pashterlengkap]

An open letter to Bridget Zeigler, the newly outed queer who enjoys having sex with women

Dear Bridget Zeigler, You’ve recently been outed, publicly humiliated, and criticized in headlines nationwide because of your threesomes with an unnamed woman and their seeming contradiction to the anti-LGBTQ+ policies pushed in public schools by the group you co-founded, Moms for Liberty. Related: Moms for Liberty is going to open a taxpayer-funded charter school One critic said the school would create more little Moms for Liberty. It seems terribly unfair to me anytime anyone — even you — is persecuted for their private consensual sex lives. With this in mind, I wanted to ask you some intensely personal questions about your sex with that woman — putting aside, for the moment, that she has since accused your husband of raping and non-consensually recording videos of her in your absence. Never Miss a Beat Subscribe to our daily newsletter to stay ahead of the latest LGBTQ+ political news and insights. My questions will likely come off as rude, possibly misogynist, and definitely none of my business, but please hear me out and withhold judgment, for I hope they may lead you (and others like you) to a greater realization. Did you like that woman? Did you enjoy sex with her? Was it pleasurable? Fun? Were you attracted to her body, her personality? Did you like the fact that you could be naked, vulnerable, and try new things with her? Did it feel innocent, playful, loving, kind? Did being with her make you feel adventurous, sexy and exhilarated, liberated and carefree? Did she make you feel differently about sex and yourself, about your own body, about the way you interact with other women? Did she change how you understood yourself, how you see the possibilities of life? When you were with her, did it feel like you were doing something terrible, negative, harmful, or wrong? That you should be shamed, fired, or forced out of public life for it? That you were doing something so awful, that if you wrote about it in a book, it should be taken off of library shelves and hidden away from others? Would you like to have sex with a woman again? How old were you the first time you thought that you could be attracted to someone of the same gender? Back then, did you ever wish you could talk to someone your own age or older about those feelings without being judged or shamed? Did you wish you could talk to or read writing from someone knowledgeable, a caring adult or peer who might help you understand those feelings? Did you feel like your attraction to women meant you were a child “predator” who wanted to harm kids in any way? I’m asking all of these questions to help you realize something: That you yourself helped engineer the public shaming that you’re currently experiencing. Every day, you help create a world where people just like you are persecuted and hated for what they do, privately and consensually, behind closed doors — a world where queer people are killed and sometimes kill themselves because others hate and fear their public presence. You claim you personally authored Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill, a bill that fueled a national movement to remove books, classroom discussions, and lessons that include LGBTQ+ people from public schools. Your group and its followers have said that queer people like you — yes, you are a queer now — are dangerous and “sexualizing” children. Your followers and allies have threatened to shoot educators and to bomb schools (killing hundreds of kids inside) if they even dare mention that queers like you exist. Is this the world you actually want? Where queer kids and adults like you are taught that they’re a threat to other kids, that their lives are shameful and pornographic, that they’re mentally ill, and we need laws to prevent them from influencing other kids? Where a mom like you is treated like a sex freak who should be run out of her community just because she kissed a girl? You don’t realize that the… http://dlvr.it/T1xqy1

[ask-court-genshin]

Rebirth (drabble) by Navina

[ Decided to write something about the current state of the game! :D its a silly thing because I had this in mind for future players that wants to participate, and I wanted to refer to other people's playthroughs BAHAHAHA. Anyway, have fun reading this! I had a LOT of ideas but this was the shortest and easiest for me to go "lmao I should have every player/eidolon insert themselves in their own shoes here". And honestly idc if people say "um, but I wont—" no, I wont take criticisms because I cherish Lumine and I'll die on that hill. AHEM. I hope the formatting doesnt look like shit (did this on PC). Have fun Kopi! ]

Mod Kopi: HEJAISIW I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU NAVI THIS IS SOME GOOD FOOD 😭😭😭. @navxry YOU'RE A MADLAD I CANT BELIEVE YOU FOUND AN EXPLOIT FOR ADDITIONAL POINTS LMAO

┌─────────────────────────────┐

Being born in the world by a twin star is an... Intriguing experience.

From the start of their birth, they were greeted with the blonde traveler— a woman who's name they never knew. She began to inform them of what happened, of what their purpose is, and especially what'll happen to them should they fail.

Although all eidolons were informed of what happens if they failed, this one— an eidolon with no name— did not set off just yet.

Unlike most in their shoes, they did something... Odd.

Instead, they stayed back and asked Lumine on what to do if things aren't going the way they expected. They even inquired on other matters, mostly so that every other eidolon would know what to expect in their journey. Many others died before them, but they knew some were alive.

And they wanted to keep that hope alive, as foreign as it is.

Lumine was less than relieved of their confirmation to help her, but her answers and behavior spoke of their relationship as strictly business. It may set off some who saw her treat them like it, but not for others like it.

Then, they were given the choice to visit a location. They needn't think for too long, and from the names of each locations, they had thought of what they should pick.

The waters spoke of where the others went.

One set off to Murmure Court immediately;

Another set off to the Heavenly Moon;

And the last went to Mount Sumeru.

This unnamed hydro eidolon wished to start from their search, but they didn't want to risk anything too rash. Alas, they must decide now.

"..."

With a wordless answer, they pointed to the location they wish to go.

And the last thing they feel is the vortex under sinking their body, the rushing waves of hydro muffling their hearing and breathing till they were no more.

The next one shall be coming soon, anyhow. And the twin star had a feeling this one will be more different than the ones she's seen.

└──────────────────────────────┘

«Lumine: +10 Points»

Current Route: Common route

Lumine Status: 30/100

[tsstories]

The Bar Night

!!TRIGGER WARNING!! This includes themes of: drinking/alchocol, implied sexual assult, physical assult, implied attempted rape, drugging someone’s drink, non-consent. All clothes stay on, but this short blip of writing has some dark concepts in it. Please scroll past if you think this will upset you!

Sofie POV

Ugh, I can’t believe he would do that! Today of all days?!

Me too subconscious, me too.

I was blowing off steam by walking away, like I normally did. I can’t help it--if I stayed there, something would get broken; either the wall, or his body.

Not like that would have been a bad thing.

True.

Now, let’s go enjoy my third favorite pastime: drinking

The other two will go unnamed for now.

I’m downing my third… fourth… fifth… sixth… sixth… tenth…

“You know, people usually throw up after three scotches. You have a talent for that.”

Who’s this guy?

I turn to the side and get a look at the stranger.

He’s cuuuuute

Is that the alcohol or my subconscious talking?

...Yes?

Fair enough. I smirk.

“Aw, sad that a girl can beat you at drinking?”

He chuckles, “Oh, no. I respect that actually. You’re a strong woman if you can down twenty shots of scotch and still form coherent sentences.”

How many have we had?!

I don’t know—he says twenty. Is that too much?

YES!

Oh, woops.

“Oh? And how many have you had?”

He smiles but it’s different. I can’t place the way his expression is...it’s familiar…

“Oh, I don’t drink. I prefer to be in control of myself.”

Wait, how long has his hand been on my thigh? When did he get so close? What is happeni—

My mind completely blanks as he starts to kiss me. I'm so disoriented, are we moving? He stops kissing me, but I can’t get out of his grip as he turns and closes the door.

Oh my god we’re drunk in a back room with a sober one-night-stand predator.

Oh god. What am I in for now?

He turns back and my mind is getting the hang of drunkenness because I can finally place the look he has had for a while now: Predatory. He’s looking at my body, not me.

Shit.

“Well, that was a good kiss, but I should be getting ho—“

“Oh, you’re leaving so soon? We were just getting to the fun part”~

Oh. Shit. This is NOT happening.

Somehow I successfully clock him with my free hand. The second he goes to yell at me, I’m (drunkenly) kicking him right in his crotch.

Try to bully a girl for that now.

He second he lets go I stumble to the door, and into the bar. I’m sure I look crazy, but it’s a bar and no one questions it. Except for one person. He looks at me, where I was coming from, and starts over to me.

“Where are you going, doll?”

Fuck.

I step away, but he grabs my wrist in an iron grip.

“Oh no, we weren’t done yet.”

Shitshitshitshitshi—

“JESSICA! Oh my gosh, I’ve been looking EVERYWHERE for you!”

We both turn to see the guy I saw walking up to us and hug me. Before I know it he’s let go again, but he whispered to me a little hint incase I was too drunk/stupid:

“Play along, I’ll get you out of this.”

He leans back, but makes sure to keep his hands on my shoulders. I play innocent.

“I know—that’s how engagement works: you always find me”

I flirt at him, and both men are taken aback.

Boom. Thank you theatre class, now I can even act while drunk.

My ‘savior’ seems to regain his senses.

“Well, I’ve found you, and we need to get to your sister’s house for dinner.”

The idiot holding my wrist still hasn’t let go, an I turn to him and say, “Could you let go? I kind of need to leave.”

He immediately releases me and I all but jump onto my rescuer and we haul ass outta there as smoothly as possible.

Once we’re a block away, I stop and turn to him.

“Okay—who are you, how did you know I needed help and are you going to try the same thing as him because I’ll defend myself again even if you did help me o—“

He clamps a hand over my mouth. his smile showing he finds my drunken rambling not intimidating but funny.

Oh my god, what is it with us and guys tonight?!

I have no idea, tell me when you figure it out.

He takes his hand away once he’s satisfied I’ve stopped talking and says almost clinically:

“He’s a jerk who loves to look for drunks to have fun with. Every other weekend, he’ll come in and sit in the back watching everyone drink until he finds someone who is drinking to forget something, and he’ll pop on over, maybe he’ll put something extra if he doesn’t think they’ll get through enough for him to be satisfied that they’ll be pliable, and then he’ll, well, you can guess.”

I squint at him suspiciously.

“You seem to know a lot about what his plans are.”

He looks off to the side and...is he blushing?

Oh my god you don’t think he’s—

I’m going to stop you there subconscious and not ask any assuming questions anymore.

“...He doesn’t just target girls...”

Oh...OH. ...shit.

“Oh...Did he...did you...?”

I let the question hang in the air for him to take. I feel like I’ve gone too far until he quietly replies:

“...almost.”

We’re gonna get that guy once we’re sober.

Agreed.

~To be Continued (maybe)~

[prompts-for-me]

She pushed the box. It creaked open slowly. The lid fell backward heavily. The room echoed when the tile was hit. She held her breath as she waited for anyone to enter. Nobody came.

She peered into the box. Bile rose in her throat. Inside lay a human body. Not just any body, his body. The missing boy. The one claimed to have raped and killed all those school children.

She rose from her knees above the box. Only the head was visible. Blood dripped from the empty eye sockets. He hasn't been dead long.

She pulled back the cover and choked back vomit. Blood stained the entire base of the box. Blood poured out of various holes.

The body wasn't natural. If it had been a wild animal, it would've been torn to shreds or missing large pieces of flesh. Instead, the entire body was in that box.

The arms lay next to each other. The legs are neatly laid together as well. The hands and feet were set in a nice diamond shape. Blood pooled out of each severed location.

The body appeared to have been surgically cut at each joint. The shoulders, the knees, the elbows, the hips, and the ankles and wrists. This was done by a person.

Small steps echoes behind her. She froze as the sound came closer. She peeked over her shoulder. The thing stood still just in front of the door. Its beady eyes bore into her soul.

She turned back toward the body. The eyes sat clutched in each hand. They were pale and soaked in blood. Small footsteps approached her.

The thing that had entered the room was small. About a child's height. It had smooth skin with blackened joints. It looked like a baby doll. It reminded her of that popular game at the mall.

The baby looked up at her, its lip cut open a little to reveal small teeth. A smile played on its lips.

"Those children deserved justice," the baby spoke in a tinny voice.

She nodded because what else was she supposed to do? This thing could kill her if it wanted. Also, she's heard stories of this thing. It only goes after people who've hurt children. This guy is actually guilty. Well, was.

"You should go home. You wouldn't wanna get in trouble," Baby spoke.

She nodded and whispered "Bye" before leaving, closing the door behind her.