#treats their staff horribly (at least at the one i worked at)

[conspicuous-clown-car]

considering how fnaf was based off of chuck e cheese, them doing this sly 'fnaf but not legally fnaf' cash grab just proves my point of how spot on scott cawthon was with making fazbear entertainment a shitty company. CEC Entertainment really is that bad

[artificial-transmutations]

Finally Together

When Jerry called, I could immediately tell something was very wrong. He was holding an ice pack up to his face and looked deranged overall.

"Jerry? What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, hey. Yeah. This." he pointed at his face. "That's a long story."

"Let me see!" I demanded. You see, Jerry was, most definitely, my bff - my very best, very gay friend. And he had a talent for getting into trouble, sadly.

He slowly lowered the ice pack and I gasped. His right eye was swollen shut, and his face was covered in bruises.

"How..."

"Well, there was this guy. He was kinda hot, and totally my type, but, you know, straight as an arrow. At least *now* I know that." Even despite his bruises, Jerry raised his eyebrows in the cutest way possible - one of the traits I admired about them.

Yes, I should mention, I kiiiind of had a tiny little crush on Jerry. Or perhaps a gigantic one. You always want the ones you can't have, right? In my case, I was a woman - which was enough to disqualify myself rather finally.

"...and? Did he hit you?" I asked, even though I already suspected the answer.

"Yeah. I was just talking to him, trying to subtly find out his orientation. You know how it goes. Apparently, I wasn't too subtle about it, though, and he kind of escalated all over my face. It's no big deal, now I know."

Jerry smiled, but I could clearly see that it caused him pain to do so. It nearly broke my heart.

"It is a big deal." I answered. "That's horrible. You are worth so much more than this. Where did it happen? Did you call the police?"

"It was in the gym. Keith - that's the guy - works there, so, I guess, I need a new gym." Jerry joked. "And no, I didn't call the police, it's just... it's alright, okay Mathilda?"

I was not convinced but decided to let it go. Jerry was just a so sweet and innocent guy, he wouldn't even cause someone trouble if that someone punched in his face. I, on the other hand, was fuming. That was not a way to treat my bff! I would have really liked to kick that Keith's ass right now.

I chatted a bit more with Jerry before he had to go and promised him to come over that evening.

To be quite honest, I didn't plan to do anything, but when I was walking to Jerry's apartment in the afternoon, I passed his gym. I didn't even know it was on the way, because I honestly never paid attention to it much. But now that I saw it on the way, I couldn't help it. I would go in there and just tell the manager that one of their employees was a homophobic asshole. Just a little push in the right direction.

I entered the gym. It looked quite standard, but I couldn't see any manager or anyone else to talk to, for that matter, so I just went in there. It was quite empty, which was not surprising at this time of the day. There was, however, a young, muscular man doing push-ups. It was quite disgusting, actually, with all the sweat dripping down his body and a musky, penetrant smell was filling the room.

He stood up and greeted me.

"Hi, there. You're not a member, are you?"

"I'm not." I said. I felt like adding a "sorry" or something but decided against it. Instead, I clutched my handbag tighter.

"So, what can I do for you, ma'am?" He had that smug grin of an urge driven man who seemed to undress me with his gaze. I shuddered in disgust, but still, I straightened my back.

"Well, actually, I'm here to make a complaint."

"A complaint? About what?"

"Your staff."

"Oh? Do you have an issue with someone working here?"

"Well, yes. I just learned that one of your trainers, Keith was the name, I think, assaulted a customer. That is a terrible way to treat people, and I will not stand for it."

The guy laughed and flashed me a superior grin while he nonchalantly readjusted his groin. Free balling of course. Ugh. Can you spell 'toxic masculinity'?

"Look, honey. Whoever told you that, they lied to you. Keith would never hit a girl, especially not a pretty one."

I felt my face reddening from anger.

"First off, I'm not your honey, and secondly, it wasn't a girl but a guy."

The guy raised his eyebrows. "Really? A guy, huh?"

"Yes. He is my very good friend, and it's not funny at all."

"Hmm. Yeah, I think I remember the guy, some fruity fag who needed to be told a lesson."

Then it dawned on me. The disgusting guy in front of me was the man that had hurt Jerry.

"You're the one who did it! How dare you!" I exclaimed and tried to slap his face.

Before I could land a hit, though, he grabbed my wrist with an iron grip and grinned like a predator.

"Ah, ah. I wouldn't try that, if I were you. Would be a shame, if something were to happen to your pretty face, too."

I withdrew my hand and trembled from disgust.

"Ugh. You're just such a disgusting... jock."

In hindsight, I had no idea what happened, but perhaps some benevolent spirit or sprite was listening. In any case, Keith all of a sudden got a really strange expression on his face and looked really pale for a moment. And then... he suddenly looked even paler, like white paper or cloth. I will never be able to forget the expression of surprise on his face, as his body kind of... collapsed in on himself. His muscular torso diminished, and his arms and legs twisted and fused into thin rubber strips. But his face... His face contorted into a white fabric pouch that was completely devoid of any features within seconds. It had only taken a few moments, but Keith had disappeared.

I looked around first, but nobody else was in the gym right now. I carefully stepped closer and inspected what was left of Keith. Inside his black, damp gym shorts that was lying on the ground, I could see a pair of men's underwear, I believe it was called a jockstrap: A large fabric pouch held by rubber bands - designed to just cover the genitals, although, judging by the size of the pouch, rather large genitals. Now, as Keith had demonstrated quite clearly just a few moments ago, he had certainly not be wearing any underwear - and I had seen what had happened to his face.

With pointed fingers, careful not to touch the damp gym shorts and almost gagging from the strong smell, I picked up the piece of underwear. I had almost thrown it away again, when I noticed that it, too, was covered in sweat and stink. However, the piece of underwear that had once been a man held a strange fascination to me. I lifted it up to my face, to have a closer look, but didn't consider the consequences. When I breathed in, my nose was filled with the overwhelmingly strong and manly smell of sweaty, unwashed genitals, and it triggered something inside of me. All of a sudden, I felt tingly all over and groaned. My body felt weird all of a sudden. It was like that disgusting smell was all around me, enveloping me, pushing me to... change, somehow.

In horror, I felt my feet swelling up in my shoes. It wasn't painful, but it felt like I had been wearing boots that were way too small. The pressure was quickly getting unbearable and painful until my canvas shoes and thin socks couldn't take it anymore. First on the left and then, shortly after, on the right side, the toes of massive feet burst out from the footwear. The pressure subsided, and it felt fine again.

The changes didn't stop, though. Now that my feet had broken free from their restraints, my legs were the next to follow. A ripping sound heralded the death of my tights, as my legs gained mass and muscles. It looked almost comically how the threads of my tights were ripped apart, strand for strand. At the same time, I watched, as my hands grew larger. Gone were my delicate fingers, replaced by thick sausage-like appendages. Those new finger weren't carefully manicured but instead, I was now sporting short, ugly nails that would have been fitting for a lumberjack, rather than a girl.

While my legs were still growing, and I was getting visibly taller, my arms were next to follow. My blouse didn't even stand a chance as the arms did not only grew longer but most importantly, stronger. My biceps swelled like I visited the gym every day and, to my horror, I saw a tattoo forming on my right arm that reminded me a lot of the one Keith had had. I didn't have much time to think about it, though, as a new force practically ripped my blouse apart: My torso was pushing outward in all directions. My shoulders widened considerably, and my bra snapped from the strain. At first, I thought my boobs were growing, but it was quite the opposite. They were receding into my body, being replaced by even more massive and decidedly male pecs. Below them, a ripple went through my stomach, leaving behind the cobblestone road of abs.

The changes had met up at my midsection now and I was afraid of what was going to happen next. Sure enough, my skin-tight summer trousers bulged forward as something pressed against them from the inside.

"No..." I groaned, with a lower voice than I was used to, and tried to push whatever was appearing back into my midsection, but it was no use. With another ripping sound, a penis emerged from between my legs, quickly followed by a pair of testicles that pushed the ruined trousers down and settled in between my tree trunk-like thighs.

My head started swimming. That was wrong, that was so wrong. But the changes just went on. An Adam's apple formed in my throat, further lowering my voice, and my face reformed. It became squarer, and my jawbones became more pronounced. At the same time, my beautiful long hair receded into a short masculine cut. However, as hair disappeared on top of my head, it grew elsewhere. Or, should I say everywhere. Disgusting, wiry body hair grew in on my arms and legs and even on top of my enormous feet and the back of my hands. My chest was coated by a layer of short and coarse hair, and a treasure trail led down my midsection, where it disappeared into a thick pubic bush.

Speaking of bushes, two more formed in the large area of my armpits. Ugh. I was hairy like a fucking monkey. The only well-groomed bit of body hair was on my face, in the short beard that I could see in the gym mirror.

I could hardly believe my eyes. Staring back at me from the reflection was no one else but Keith. *I* was a splitting image of Keith now, only naked aside from the tatters of my clothes. I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a low grunt.

Okay, Mathilda, no reason for panic, I told myself. I would just... Go see a doctor. Yes. There had to be an explanation. This could be treated.

I took a step towards the exit and stumbled over the remains of my coughing. Oh, right, I was still naked.

The only piece of clothing was Keith's gym shorts. Well, his gym shorts and Keith himself, who was a piece of underwear now. I looked between the shorts and the underwear. On the one hand, I really didn't want to wear what had just been Keith, but on the other hand... I certainly wasn't going without any underwear. Everyone would be able to see the outline of my current genitals. Yuck.

So, lacking other options, I pulled on the white piece of underwear. It was, unsurprisingly, very sweaty, and it clung to my junk. I grimaced, but it was better than the alternative. My ass was still largely uncovered, but that was not as bad as the front side. I had to admit that my new equipment filled out the pouch pretty well.

I quickly shook my head and pulled on the gym shorts as well. It felt weird not to cover my chest, but that was probably acceptable in my current state.

Perhaps I could ask Jerry if I could borrow some men's clothing from him.

Oh my, Jerry. He was probably waiting for me. I grabbed my handbag and fled the gym.

Walking felt weird. Of course, regardless of my looks, I was still a woman, so I took small steps and refused to spread my legs too much while walking. It was very awkward. The sun was shining down and although it wasn't all *that* hot, I found myself starting to sweat. How disgusting was that? It was like those stupid mountains of muscle were producing so much heat that my skin was soon glistening with sweat and my armpits started to smell. I tested it by lifting an arm and taking a whiff. Ugh. I needed a shower, badly. I probably would be able to use Jerry's.

Jerry... I saw his face right in front of me in my mind. The cute smile, the adorable brown eyes, the cute little dimples on his cheeks when he grinned.

A strange feeling came over me from my groin area. What was going on down there? When I looked down, the ample bulge of my cock had become even bigger, probably tenting out the pouch that had been Keith's face. I groaned. Men were so primitive. All it took was one sexy thought and bam, erection.

Still, I couldn't deny that it felt pretty good. I checked it anyone on the street was looking before I felt the outline of the cock through the layers of clothing with my big hand. The touch made me moan, and I felt my member throb.

That's when I experienced the weirdest feeling. As the sweat from my groin mixed with the fluids seeping out of the cock head and were absorbed by the jockstrap, all of a sudden, I felt the presence of Keith - the real Keith. It was like a strong mental attack, to get his body back, but I fought back. It was not *his* body, it was mine, even though it may have looked like Keith right now.

It was the strangest experience. I could practically *feel* his thoughts and emotions. The humiliation from being wrapped around, well, *my* cock and balls, I could even taste and smell an echo of what he was tasting and smelling, including the weird taste of precum that had mixed into the face-pouch recently.

It wasn't easy, but I repelled Keith's mind and kind of stuffed it back into the underwear. When I continued my walk, I didn't even notice that I know walked like a man: With long, powerful strides and enough room for my balls.

Luckily, my cock had calmed down a bit by now, and I ran the rest of the way, just to make sure. I was glistening with more sweat when I finally arrived at Jerry's apartment and rang the bell. Ugh. That musk was so bad, I just hoped I could hop under the shower right away.

However, when Jerry opened the door, we were both stunned for a moment. I because Jerry looked even better in reality than when I imagined him. Foreign hormones flooded my system, coming from my balls and I just stood there for a moment. Of course, I had a crush on Jerry before, but right now, in this moment, I realized for the first time that now, Jerry wasn't quite as unreachable as before.

Jerry, on the other hand, backed away, an expression of fear on his face.

"Keith, what... Is this some kind of joke?"

I was taken aback by his reaction.

"No! It's not... It's me, Mathilda!"

"Who?"

"Mathilda, your best friend."

Jerry stared at me, confusion on his face.

"What are you talking about Keith? Wasn't it enough for you to bash my face in? Do you want to humiliate me now?"

"No, please. Listen, Jerry, you're my friend, and I would never hurt you."

He scoffed. "Oh really? My black eye says otherwise."

I could feel myself getting upset from all the testosterone and took a deep breath.

"I can explain. Please, Jerry, hear me out."

He looked at me skeptically.

"Fine. I'll listen."

With that, he let me into his apartment.

"Okay, first of all, can I take off these gym shorts? They are really really disgusting and sweaty, and they are clinging to my legs. Yuck!"

"Uh, oookay." Jerry looked even more confused but allowed it.

Gladly, I got rid of the stinking shorts and threw them at the ground, far away from me. Jerry frowned but was apparently more captured by my now only jockstrap-clad body that I sat down on his couch. I admit I wanted to get rid of the jockstrap, too, but then I would have been completely naked in my friend's living room.

The thought was oddly exciting, and I felt my cock raise in reaction.

I just hoped that Jerry wouldn't notice my state of arousal, even though there wasn't much fabric left to hide it, but I quickly spoke.

"So, Jerry, it's really me. Remember the time when we watched Star Trek: Voyager and had a pillow fight, and you beat me easily, even though I am taller and stronger?"

"How would you know about that, Keith?" Jerry crossed his arms. He had obviously noticed my midsection problem, which was throbbing now, leading to another wet spot on the piece of underwear.

"I'm telling you, I am Ma..."

Suddenly, I grabbed my head. There it was again. Keith had reacted to my arousal and was fighting for control of *my* body again. It was weaker this time, though, and although it took me a few moments, I pushed him back between my legs, where he belonged.

Finally, I spread my legs, man-spreading without even thinking about it and giving the whole world in general and Jerry in particular a good view of my massive groin. A smirk formed on my face. Having such a big cock was something to be proud of.

"...Mathilda." I finished my sentence, although I found the name rather unfitting for a stud like me. "I just kind of... transformed into Keith's body, but it's still the same old man as always. Woman, I mean."

"Uh... what?"

I smiled and stood up, slowly, so he could see all the muscles I had gained. I was taller, too, taller than Jerry even.

"But tell me, do you like what you see?" My cock was throbbing like mad now. God, I needed to have this man!

"Uuuh... uhm... yes? Yes."

I chuckled. "Well, Jerry. I don't know how to get back to my original body yet, but do you want to... touch this one?" I gently took his hand and placed it on my chest.

Jerry didn't react at first, but then he started caressing my chest. It felt great, and he moaned, too.

Another small spurt of precum spilled into my underwear and again, Keith acted up. It was even weaker this time, and I had no trouble staying in control. I did notice something else though. Apparently, Keith was enjoying this a lot, way more than a straight man should. He was almost addicted to my cock fluids by now, and he mentally lapped at my organ submissively. And he exhibited a longing for Jerry that appeared to be too deep-rooted to have developed recently. Well, good for him, because as my jockstrap, he would have a front row seat in what happened next.

"Mathilda, is it really... okay?" Jerry asked, barely being able to restrain himself.

"Yes Jerry." I said while looking into his eyes. "It's more than okay. It's perfect. And it's Matthew from now on, okay?"

I took a deep breath, breathing in my wonderful musky smell, and I watched Jerry do the same. And when I kissed him, I couldn't wait to tear his clothes off and plow his cute little ass with my mighty cock while my lucky jockstrap was watching.

[hannahbarberra162]

Sir Crocodile and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

18+ MDNI

As picked by readers! Ace nonnies, I see you. I'll write the childhood friend reader x Ace story too.

On Ao3 in French

One shot, Reader x Sir Crocodile, fluffy

Word count: ~6k

Synopsis: Crocodile dreads the one day a year you take off of work, your birthday. As his incredible personal assistant, he depends on you for almost everything. Like every year, a day without you is a complete disaster. But maybe there is something he can salvage from the wreckage. Something - or someone - he's wanted for a very long time.

Sir Crocodile tapped the flat of his hook against the date circled on his desk calendar. Tomorrow was his absolute least favorite day of the entire year. You took off only one day annually, your birthday. Sure, you nominally had weekends off as well. But something always came up and you spent at least half a day dealing with his business or personal matters every weekend.

He didn’t begrudge you having your birthday to yourself - you were incredibly diligent and deserved it. But without you around, everything seemed to fall to shambles within minutes. You were by far the best personal assistant he’d ever had. Maybe even the best employee he’d ever had, even among his cohort of Devil Fruit powered henchmen who killed for him indiscriminately. Of course, he knew that if he called you on your baby den den mushi, you’d answer and do whatever he needed. But he would feel guilty for disturbing you . And guilt was an emotion Crocodile had only felt once and never wanted to again. No, he’d make due without you tomorrow and let you enjoy your day off. 

Though he was not kind to - or even close to - his Baroque Works crew, Crocodile was considered a top tier employer in Rainbase Lake. Once he found someone who was good at their profession, he tried his best to keep them in his employ. He treated his personal staff with respect, paid very well, and had set guidelines for employees to follow. Henchmen could be replaced, bloodthirsty pirates were a dime a dozen. Reliable and high quality housekeepers, chefs, and assistants? Priceless. 

And you were the most reliable, most organized, most level headed, most meticulous, and most industrious employee he’d ever had. At first, he suspected you of being a devil fruit user. That would explain how you managed to get everything done correctly, on time, and make it seem easy. However, he quickly realized that you were just that good . But you weren’t single mindedly following his orders all the time, like some of his stooges. You didn’t wait for him to tell you things he needed or tasks he wanted done, you thought for yourself and anticipated his needs. You weren’t a yes man, you would voice your opinion if he asked for it. He valued your insight and operations driven mind. In fact, during the years you’d been working for Crocodile, you’d only ever argued once. And it wasn’t even an argument, really. Crocodile had started growing a mustache, he thought it added some regality to his face. You hated it and told him that it didn’t suit his features. You were right, of course. He’d allowed you to shave it off yourself, much to your delight.

Even without it being your day off, Crocodile always remembered your birthday. Yours was the only one, besides his own, that he had ever bothered to recall. He had many lovers who assumed the thoughtful and romantic gifts they received on their birthdays, anniversaries, and “just because” came from him. But the truth was that all his lovers were in a relationship with you. You remembered all the small details and arranged everything to his lover’s tastes. Crocodile didn’t even try to remember their names, calling them all “Doll” to save himself the hassle. He even thought of them that way - interchangeable, easily replaced, silly but ultimately worthless playthings. But you could tell him their favorite flowers, preferred gemstones, clothing style, shoe size, and any other tidbit of information he’d ever want. You had sent hundreds of gifts on his behalf and had never gotten anything wrong. As a result, Crocodile had a reputation for being a true romantic, someone who listened when his paramours told him personal details. He couldn’t care less. 

He stopped over at your desk as you finished out your day, bringing a small gift bag with him hanging off his hook. 

“Happy birthday,” he said in his low tone, handing you the present.

“What a pleasant surprise, Sir,” you said, removing it and opening it immediately. It was a potted white rhino agave succulent that he had bought without your assistance. It was expensive and rare, but you were worth every penny he ever spent on you.

“Oh, how thoughtful! Thank you so much, Sir!” You beamed at him. To some, it would have looked like a poor gift, but Crocodile knew you well. You didn’t care for cut flowers or most trinkets. You were passionate about cacti and succulents, spending some of your time away from him caring for the plants. You had an impressive collection, one that Crocodile added to as the occasion arose. You got up from behind your desk, walked around to him, and stood on your tiptoes. Crocodile brought himself down to your height and you kissed his cheek in gratitude. 

“What a wonderful send off, Sir. I will see you the day after tomorrow. Please, if there is an emergency, do not hesitate to call.” Crocodile smiled at you and leaned against your desk. Crocodile knew you meant nothing untoward by the kiss, it was platonic affection. But he enjoyed the feeling nonetheless. He looked forward to it annually.

“Enjoy your day off.” He wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

“Thank you, Sir.” With that, you carefully carried your plant and left the office. Crocodile watched you leave then scowled once you’d left. It would be a long 24 hours without you.

~~~

The next morning began poorly right from the start. Crocodile awoke late, his alarm clock hadn’t gone off. He blasted it with sand, destroying it completely. He was annoyed already. Normally you woke him gently before his alarm clock did, but you weren’t here today. He found waking to your soft voice and calm face a soothing way to start his day. Crocodile rose from his bed and went to his clothes valet, only to find it empty. He wanted to destroy that as well, but he decided he shouldn’t demolish everything that irritated him today. He’d have nothing left and besides, it would be more work for you to replace everything. You usually hung his clothes for him after pressing them yourself, and he rarely saw the need to adjust your choices. You knew what he liked and how he liked to present himself down to the cufflinks on his shirt sleeves. Crocodile stalked to his large walk in closet and looked through the well organized racks of clothing. It had been one year since he’d had to do this himself and he hadn’t missed the chore. 

He selected an outfit and looked at himself in the mirror. The outfit lacked a certain elegance that you were able to assemble effortlessly. He adjusted his hook - it looked dull. You always polished it for him until it gleamed.  It would have to do, he was already late for a meeting he had called. He left his bedroom for the dining room, looking for his cafe corto. There was a carafe of drip coffee waiting on the table, but no espresso. There was also an impressive tray of sweet pastries. You knew Crocodile wanted a cafe corto first, then drip coffee, cigar, no food. Was it so hard to replicate everything you did for just one day? Could no amount of staff compete with one small woman? Crocodile rang for a servant and asked for the espresso. He was brought an Americano. He sighed and rubbed his temples with his hand. 

The day went downhill from there. You had prepared for your absence during the day, leaving notes and organizing what you could anticipate. Crocodile had another staff member on the den den, fielding calls you’d normally take. But even with your absent help, it was a complete disaster. Crocodile was used to you taking notes for him during meetings, he had forgotten to bring a pen and paper to the board room. By the end of the meeting, he’d forgotten half of the numbers from the quarterly presentation. Everything seemed to need your touch, your help, your forethought to run smoothly. 

Things went from bad to worse. Meetings went off topic, reports had incorrect data, enemies were left untortured, and he’d forgotten to feed the bananawanis on time. Word spread quickly that Crocodile was in a bad mood. Everyone knew the reason why, but no one dared to breathe a word about it. Despite his earlier wishful thinking, the boardroom table now had several hook sized holes in it and his office was covered in sand. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep pull on his cigar. You would have already had everything arranged to soothe his anger.

It wasn’t even all the small matters during the business day that you arranged. You were adept at anticipating his needs before he even realized he wanted something, and arranging his life to one befitting someone of his station. You understood him better than perhaps anyone else. Yes, Miss All Sunday managed Rain Dinners, but you managed Crocodile. 

He sat and recalled one of the times when he’d called you in the middle of the night. He did try not to disturb your rest, but sometimes it needed to be done. One such occasion was when he’d invited Dracule Mihawk to his residence. They had been talking - and drinking - late into the night. In the early hours of the morning he rang you to ask for some food to accompany their wine. 

“Hello Sir, how may I assist you?” your voice had been sleepy, he saw his snail answering bleary eyed but still with a smile.

“I apologize for the late night call. I’d like some refreshments.”

“Of course sir,” the snail looked over at something. “It is now 2:50 AM. I had your favored refreshments scheduled to be delivered at 3:00 AM. Would you prefer to wait ten minutes or would you rather I bring you something immediately?” You weren’t being facetious, Crocodile knew if he asked, you’d have food for him by 2:59 come hell or highwater. 

“3:00 is fine, thank you.”

“I hope you can forgive my impertinence, Sir - I also included some refreshments that may be more to your guest’s liking.” Mihawk raised a single eyebrow. 

“Very thoughtful. Good night.”

“Good night, Sir.”

And sure enough, at 3:00 AM on the dot, a tray of Crocodile’s favorite foods to pair with heavy drinking were delivered by a tired looking waiter. Crocodile served himself some fresh dumplings and offered the tray to Mihawk. Mihawk declined, as he was sampling the gambas al ajillo and jamon.

“Quite the assistant you have,” Mihawk said, a glimmer of intrigue ghosting over his face. “The dishes are excellent, send her my thanks.” Mihawk inclined his head to Crocodile. Crocodile smirked, you had made him proud. 

Breaking his walk down memory lane, he heard the den den mushi ring for what felt like the millionth time that day. Miss Merry Christmas picked up the receiver. He could hear half of the conversation.

“Hello? No, she’s not in today, it’s her birthday. I don’t think you’ll want to - are you sure - let me see,” Miss Merry Christmas looked at Crocodile in his office and yelled through the open door “it’s Doflamingo, do you want to take it?”

Crocodile wanted to kill her on the spot. His sand was already swirling behind him. She had told Doflamingo of all people that it was your birthday. After Crocodile had started taking you to Warlord meetings, the flashy fool had been trying to get you to move to Dressrosa and work for him. Crocodile wasn’t worried about you leaving him for another employer. The thought just sat heavily in his mind and caused him immense anger when he imagined you spending time with Doflamingo. But that wasn’t the same as jealousy. Crocodile would never be jealous over an employee. Even one as smart and lucious as yourself.

Furthermore, Miss About To Be Impaled had asked if he wanted to take the call. Now Doffy knew he was there and had to take the call or else risk a tantrum from the spoiled King. He stalked over to the snail, who was looking quite smug.

“What.”

“So it’s her birthday today, mmh? I’ll have to send something nice, maybe some lingerie…would you like some as well? Fufufufufufufu.” Crocodile hoped Vegapunk would soon invent a way to kill someone through a den den mushi. He’d deal with Doflamingo later, he was in no mood for the Dressrosa King’s idiotic love quests. He hung up softly, gently patting the snail on the back with his flesh hand. The snail survived because he’d killed one once in anger after such a call and it had upset you. Crocodile didn’t like when you were upset. You’d even cried over the snail and Crocodile had felt guilty. He had liked that even less. 

He needed a drink.

~~~

Crocodile left his office for the restaurant portion of Rain Dinners. He had a splitting headache and nearly called out your name to ask for your assistance. Every year your birthday made him realize how heavily he depended on you, so every year he increased your salary the following day. He made a mental note to do the same again tomorrow. 

Crocodile sat in his favorite booth, smoked his cigar, and drank his whiskey neat. The bartenders here were competent and didn’t need to be told what he wanted to drink. He was thinking over some of the reports brought to him by his minions when he spotted you, alone, drinking a glass of wine at the bar. Crocodile was surprised - drinking alone, on your big day? Crocodile knew you had a romantic relationship that predated your employment to him. Crocodile had never liked your partner, but you seemed happy enough. He didn’t understand why someone of your caliber, of your intelligence and beauty was with such a loser, but for your sake he hadn’t killed him. 

Crocodile gathered himself and headed straight to you at the bar. The crowd parted for him easily, with many trying to capture his attention. Some of his Dolls tried to touch his arm or talk to him but he didn’t even spare them a glance. Coming up to your side, you looked up at him and smiled weakly. 

“Good evening, Sir.” You looked absolutely ravishing, just as gorgeous as the day he met you. Normally you wore simple but well tailored clothing to work. It hadn’t stopped his imagination from running wild when you wore your pencil skirts or your slightly lower cut tops. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d wanted to free your hair from its style and run his fingers through it. Or the times he’d wanted to rip through your skirt and pound into you when you leaned over his desk. He’d entertained the thought of seducing you many times, but ultimately he respected you too much to do so. He didn’t want to interfere if you were already in a relationship, as pathetic as your choice was. Besides, he didn’t know what he would do without you if his interest was unreciprocated and you left. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility.

Today you were more dressed up fancier than usual, your striking figure in an elegant black dress that bared your back provocatively. He stifled his impulse to run his hook down your spine to see if it made you shiver. Pulling his thoughts back to you, he noticed your eyes were slightly red and puffy. He put his large hand on your shoulder.

“What happened to that… person …you usually spend time with?” He couldn’t call that boy a man, let alone a boyfriend. He was lucky Crocodile remembered his existence. And continued to allow it.

“We aren’t together anymore, Sir.” Your eyes watered. Crocodile sat in the seat next to yours.

“Did you break up tonight?” Crocodile spoke softly, not wanting to embarrass you or upset you further.

“Yes, Sir.” You looked down at your glass of wine, swirling the drink gently.

“Would you like him killed?” Crocodile could have sworn his hook was twitching. He could think of no better ending to the evening. Maybe that would save this terrible day.

“No thank you, Sir.” You didn’t have the same penchant for violence and bloodlust that he did. Crocodile didn’t mind. He didn’t care for succulents all that much. You could have different hobbies and still work well with one another. “You don’t have to waste your time consoling me, Sir. I would like you to enjoy your evening. A few of your lovers are here, if you’d like me to remind you of their names.”

Crocodile scoffed. “As you know, I am always doing what I want to be doing.” You nodded. As if he would forgo time with you for some nameless woman.

“Where did he work again?” Crocodile was going to have him tracked down, just for….fun. 

“He’s the general manager of ‘Fantasia,” you replied, your mouth dipping into a frown. It was a rival casino, though not even in the top three in Rainbase Lake. “He said I am too involved with my career, that I didn’t spend enough time away from work. That my life revolves around yours.” You looked up, repentant already. “I apologize, Sir. You didn’t ask for details.” Crocodile waved your concerns away. He enjoyed it when you shared your feelings and opinions. Crocodile took the flat of his hook and put it under your chin, raising your face to look at his own. A tear tracked down your face.

“Some people do not understand dedication. Loyalty. Duty. Passion.” 

“Passion, Sir?” Your face slightly flushed from the wine - or perhaps the intimate contact. Crocodile belatedly realized his misstep. He hadn’t meant to reveal his desire, especially when you were already upset. He reluctantly removed his hook from beneath your pretty face. 

“Would you like me to escort you home?” Crocodile changed the conversation in case you’d been uncomfortable. 

“Yes, thank you Sir” you looked surprised at his offer and that you yourself had taken him up on it. Naturally he wanted to ensure his favorite employee was home safely. He had never done this for anyone else but that didn’t mean anything. It certainly had nothing to do with your sadness and vulnerability.  He offered you his hand and you gingerly stepped down from your bar stool. Crocodile guided you to the door with his hook on your bare back. He looked closely and found himself right, you had gotten goosebumps.

The two of you walked through the darkened town in silence, enjoying the pleasant weather. That was something else Crocodile appreciated about you - you didn’t feel the need to fill a stillness with meaningless chatter. The longer the walk took, the less pleased Crocodile became. He paid you very well, why weren’t you living in the luxurious part of the town? You turned street corners until you ended at a shabby looking apartment building and stood in the doorway. Crocodile would rather have burned it to the ground before he set foot in it. 

“This is where I live Sir, thank you for accompanying me.” Crocodile looked at the crumbling brick building once again. 

“Why?” Crocodile bit out. He had nearly chomped his cigar in half.

“I beg your pardon, Sir?” you looked confused at his question.

“Why do you live here? I pay you well, I know you can afford better living conditions.” Your face flushed. 

“You need not concern yourself, Sir. The situation has resolved itself.” Crocodile narrowed his eyes. So it was related to the boy. Had you been paying off some of his gambling debt? He had that look about him. Crocodile knew it well, he owned a casino and had seen that type of fool thousands of times. That wouldn’t do and neither would your current living situation. 

“Indeed. You’ll be moving into my mansion.” Crocodile was pleased with this outcome. He hadn’t liked you living so far from him. He always had a security detail following you when you weren’t with him, but it never felt like enough. With the level of intimate knowledge you had about Crocodile and his businesses, he was always concerned that you’d be kidnapped or tortured. Truthfully, if he admitted it to himself, he worried. Another feeling he didn’t like. No, this would work out perfectly. He wouldn’t have to be distracted by thoughts of your well being and you’d be closer to him at all times. 

“Sir, that is…not appropriate,” you demurred. He hadn’t thought of the implication of moving you in, but in this case he wasn’t thinking with his lower head.

“Nonsense. You’ll have the entire East Wing to yourself. Decorate it as you see fit, I’ll provide you a housing stipend. I will wait here for five minutes. Gather what you will need for the night. Daz will collect the rest of your belongings tomorrow.”

“Sir, is this really -” you had crossed your arms across your lovely chest.

“The countdown has begun.” His will was set in stone, not even your annoyance could sway him. You sighed, rolled your eyes, and walked into the building briskly. Perhaps one good thing had come from this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

~~~

Crocodile was immensely happy with the outcome of his decision. He felt at rest knowing he could protect you and keep you safe from those who would seek to gain power over him. Or worse yet, other magnates trying to scout your services for their own. He’d caught Mihawk speaking to you quietly after the last Warlord meeting, and you laughed at something he’d said. He wouldn’t stop you from having conversation with the Swordsman, but he didn’t like it. He knew even Sengoku had tried his hand at recruiting you for the Marines. You turned down every offer and stayed with Crocodile. He wasn’t worried about your loyalty, but Crocodile didn’t like the attention you received from others. You were his personal assistant and Crocodile had never shared well. 

He did try to give you your space and allow you your own personal life within the mansion. He didn’t want to control you, he knew you were your own woman. But since you now shared the same (gigantic) mansion, he did occasionally see you outside of your working hours. He saw you strolling in the gardens, tending to your plants, watching the stars from the balcony. When you weren’t working, you dressed more casually, allowing Crocodile to see more of your body. It did not help that you only referred to him as “Sir,” even outside of work. He had long fantasized about your sultry voice saying “yes, sir” and “no, sir,” in a more intimate setting. He’d tried it with many of his Dolls, but none of them could get it right. Only your “yes, sir,” got his blood pumping. 

~~~

The longer you lived in his mansion, the more suspicious Crocodile became of the nature of your feelings towards him. Crocodile wasn’t one to directly ask, but you seemed to have some feelings that crept out every now and again. Once, he’d asked you to help a Doll leave the morning after a stay in his bedroom and you outright refused. It was the first time that you’d ever refused a task he’d asked of you. And you hadn’t backed down. You said it was outside the scope of your duties, but that you’d send a housekeeper. If Crocodile had to put an emotion to your tone, it would have been jealousy. Other times, he had caught you staring at him, and blushing and averting your gaze when caught. You’d worked together for years, but with the closer proximity and your newly single status, perhaps your feelings were changing. Crocodile wanted to test his theory. One day, when your pencil skirt was particularly tight, he called you into his home office. He was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigar as usual, papers on his desk. 

“Yes, sir?” you stood at the entrance to the office.

“Come in, I don’t bite.” You immediately moved closer to his desk, slight confusion on your face. Normally he tried to speak to you as professionally as possible, and you immediately noted the change in his language. “Take a look at the latest figures from Rain Dinners. I know the calculations are correct, but something is missing.” You came over to his side of the desk and bent over to read, like you’d done so many times before. But this time, he rested his hand on the small of your back. You didn’t say anything, but he heard you suck in a breath. Interesting. You spent a moment flipping back and forth between the pages.

“I see the issue, Sir,” you said, still bent over. Crocodile stood up and bent over next to you, caging you in with one arm. “I apologize. You are missing a page of the report,” you were blushing furiously but continued “I will g-get you a better copy.” You were flustered.  

“Thank you, that’s all,” Crocodile breathed into the shell of your ear. You shuddered from the close contact. Crocodile sat back in his chair, releasing you. You practically ran from the room, face as red as if you’d spent it in the Alabastan desert. Very interesting.

~~~

Crocodile wanted to set clear boundaries and to have affirmative consent from you before he did anything. He respected you as a person and if you were to turn him down, he would still want to keep you as an employee. He called for you one late evening. You arrived promptly, though in more casual clothing since it was outside of your business hours. You were wearing a mid length sundress with a blue flower pattern. It accentuated everything Crocodile liked about your figure. Perfection.

“How may I help you, Sir?” Polite as always. 

“Come here,” Crocodile beckoned you with one extended finger. You stood in front of him expectantly. He carefully wound his hook around your waist and pulled you closer, directly in front of his seated form. “Better.” He removed his hook. 

“Do you enjoy working for me?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Of course, Sir. This is the best job I’ve ever had.”

“Do you remember the day that I hired you?” Crocodile was dragging on his cigar, allowing the smoke to billow out of his mouth. Simultaneously, he was polishing his hook with a cloth. He knew he struck an imposing figure.

“Yes, Sir.” You were transfixed by the sight of the golden hook, gleaming in the dimming light. 

“Do you remember our conversation about the bananawanis?” You tore your eyes away from his hook.

“Yes, Sir. One of the conditions of employment was being comfortable with bananawanis. You asked if I had any concerns in caring for them.” You were getting nervous, unsure of what the purpose of the conversation was.

“Do you remember what you told me?” Crocodile grinned his unnerving smile.

“Yes, Sir. That they are apex predators, they need to be treated with care and respect. If you accept your place beneath them, they can be affectionate and sweet. And that,” you looked him in the eyes, “I doubted they were the most dangerous creatures on the premises.”

“Do you still believe that to be true?” Crocodile rose to his full height, towering over you. You looked up at him. You looked on edge but not scared.

“Yes, Sir.” 

“And what might you say about a more dangerous creature?” He spoke low, looking down at your reddening face. He wound his hook slowly around the back of your neck, giving you time to move away. You didn’t move except to shiver.

“Ah, likely the same Sir. That if I were to accept my position as subservient, I think most strong, ahm, creatures would be receptive.” Crocodile pulled on his hook gently, baring your neck to him. He bent down to your height, ghosting his lips on the exposed column of your neck.

“Speak now with your objections.” He was being truthful, any hesitation on your part and he would stop immediately. He was interested in willing submission, nothing else.

“Sir, I…admit I am so inclined but I worry about mixing business and passion .” Crocodile grinned at your statement, echoing his words from your birthday. So you’d been affected as well.

“If anything unpleasant happens between us, now or after, I assure you we will go back to our previous arrangement. You will not be fired nor face retribution. Do you find that acceptable?” He would rather lose his other hand than you. You nodded. 

“Yes, Sir.” You were looking at him with stars in your eyes.

“If I do something and you wish to end the experience, say ‘no.’ If you say ‘stop,’ I won’t. If you say ‘please,’ it will not move me, nor will any tears. If you say ‘no,’ I will immediately cease my actions. Do you understand?” You gulped.

“Yes, Sir.”

“What word will end anything that you do not wish to happen?” 

“If I say ‘no’ to you, Sir.”

“Very good. Take off your dress.” You looked nervous but your lips quirked up at the corners with his slight praise. He knew that you did your best when given approval. He sat back down in his chair and admired your elegance. You slowly brought down the straps to your dress, then removed your arms from within them. You weren’t wearing a bra, you’d deemed the dress sufficient. He had seen many strip teases from his Dolls, all perfectly crafted and practiced to make a man inflamed with want. Yours had no artifice, no guile, nothing calculated. And yet he found your performance much more sensual and alluring. He felt his cock stiffening more with each passing second. When your arms were free, you let your dress pool at your feet and stepped out of it. You stood still, awaiting his judgment.

“Absolutely stunning.” He stood up again, circling you slowly, letting the metal of his hook glide across your bared skin. He trailed it over your back, across the backs of your arms, across your collar bones as he went around you. Anywhere he dragged it raised goosebumps on your flesh. “You look even better than I have ever imagined.” You preened at his words. He continued to tease you with his hook. “Does it make you nervous when I stare at your beauty?”

“No, Sir.”

He finished drinking you in and sat down once again, only to spread his legs. “Come sit,” he said, voice smooth as silk. You unhesitatingly went over to him, breasts bouncing gently as you walked. You perched yourself sideways gracefully on his powerful thigh, waiting for his next command. You always did so well following his orders, after all. He put down his cigar and put it on your side, bringing you closer to him.

“Exquisite beyond compare.” Bringing his face down to yours, he twined his hand into the hair at the back of your head. He pulled, slanting your face upwards. You were panting softly. He searched your face for any hint of lingering doubt, but he only saw raw desire. He brought his lips to yours ever so slowly, creeping inch by inch, not yet kissing but oh so close. You tried to reach up for him with your mouth but his hand kept you from doing so. “No need to rush, I’m not going anywhere,” he said and bit the lobe of your ear gently. Crocodile didn’t have it in him to wait any longer to kiss you. He brought his lips to yours, opening his mouth. You gave him entry as his tongue explored your own. He kissed you at his leisurely pace, showing you who was in control. He was demanding and dominating and you were loving every moment. 

“Tell me, if I felt between your legs right now, would you be wet for me?” he asked as he kissed down your jaw. You flushed crimson but his hand in your hair prevented you from avoiding his gaze.

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Show me.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You spread your shaking thighs for him, revealing your soaked panties. He untangled his hand from your hair and walked a finger down your arm, down your stomach, down to your thighs. He reached around you and shredded the sides, destroying them and revealing your gleaming pussy. You gasped but didn’t move. He trailed a finger down your slit, not parting your lower lips but fingers still coming back glistening. 

“Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” you said, biting back a moan. 

“Would you like more?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.” Oh, you’d never added that little plea before. Crocodile felt himself getting even harder than he was before. Maybe one day he’d make you beg. But not today. 

“Ride my thigh, that’s how you’re getting off tonight.” He wanted to watch your face and enjoy the mess you made on his slacks. There’d be plenty of time for other fun. He shifted you so you were straddling his thigh.

“Yes, Sir,” he was pleased that you didn’t hesitate, that you were as interested in following as he was in ordering. You started gyrating on his huge thigh, making small whimpers, your hands on his shoulder for stability. He took the opportunity to cup your breast, kneading the mound between his fingers. Occasionally, he missed having two hands. This was one of those times, he wished he could feel both of your breasts at the same time. Instead, he raised his thigh so you were closer to him and dipped his head to lick and tease at your nipples. Your whimpers only increased. He kissed you all over your chest and neck, making sure to leave a few marks. Your head was thrown back, your eyes glazed as you sought your pleasure. Your whines were increasing in tempo and pitch, you were close. 

“Ask me for permission to come,” Crocodile drawled.

“Please, Sir, may I come?” you answered quickly, not stopping your movements. He wanted to reward you tonight. 

“Yes, you may.” You keened and bucked faster against his thigh, rocking your hips in small circles. He could tell the moment you came undone, he could feel your pussy spasm through his pants. He watched you ride out the high, face contorted in pleasure. He was close himself, but tonight was not for him. After finishing you needed a moment’s rest. You leaned your forehead against his chest, breathing heavily. A moment later, he picked you up and situated you on his other thigh.

“Good girl, how well you’ve done. Look at the mess you’ve made on me,” he said, motioning to the wet spot on his slacks. You reddened but still smiled at him as he enveloped you in his arms. He wrapped you in a nearby blanket off his couch, allowing you to collapse against his broad chest. He relit his cigar and sat peacefully smoking. His rock hard cock would wait for later.

“Thank you, Sir. May I ask you one question?”

“Of course.”

“Can we…do this again sometime?” You seemed unsure of yourself, but Crocodile smiled kindly at you.

“My dear, clear your schedule for the night. And the next. And for the foreseeable future. After all, I am nothing if not an affectionate and sweet creature.” 

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 9: No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban host her parents for dinner.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art from @emy-san

“My mother will pry into everything,” Ban mumbled quietly, “including why we haven’t had any children yet. My father will probably ask about our assets - income, investments, connections, all that drivel.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing them at all, tonight looming large in her mind, but she knew this would be it - one last time, for closure, and then never again.

They were roaming the grounds; Ban needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the palace as the staff readied it for guests. It was nowhere near as involved as even their smallest ball - a very small soirée, by comparison; she wasn’t sure if it could even be considered a soirée with only five people in attendance. Regardless, it didn’t require much in the way of preparation, and she knew their staff were capable and well practiced. This was the most nervous she’d been for any event they’d held, however, quadruple-checking every single thing until Astarion had finally dragged her out.

“Gods. Don’t they sound delightful,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Connections? Is it not enough to have the artisan guilds, including his own, in our pocket? Under our very roof?” He paused, rubbing his chin. “On second thought, Roderich would not necessarily be aware of that. He seemed to have rather woefully failed to keep abreast of current events.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The shop.” He looked at her, thoughtful. “It was worn, dusty and quite unlike how I’d expect someone of his proclivities to treat their ‘pride and joy’.”

This much was true. She’d seen the dilapidated exterior, the dinginess inside, neither of which would’ve been tolerated before she’d left.

“And what of your brother? Any snide remarks I should expect from him?” Astarion huffed a little, glancing up at the sky; it looked rather dull for midday, an unfortunate sign of possible rain.

“He’s likely to hate me for leaving the family,” Ban remarked, “more accurately, he’ll be jealous that I left and he didn’t, but you won’t hear him say that in front of Roderich and Arlette. He’s never had the strength to defy them.”

There would be little snark from her brother; he’d always been the least horrible member of their family. Adrien, her parents’ favorite, who could do no wrong, who was fated for more, to inherit and marry and pass down the most esteemed Glasscraft name. But he’d also been her only friend in the family, the only one compassionate enough to help her treat her wounds, to comfort her, whenever her father was done with whatever method of punishment he’d chosen that day. She wished he could have done more, could have stood up to their parents alongside her, but that was where their paths had diverged.

Astarion snorted. “I will do my utmost to be the picture-perfect rich, powerful, aristocratic husband they so desired you to have. However, if my patience fails me, and their necks come a little too close…”

“Try not to, will you?” Ban said, a sigh escaping her lips. “Be good - for me. I just need tonight to go well and then… with any luck we’ll never have to see them ever again.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who instigated all this in the first place…” Astarion exhaled, “I’m inclined to let you have it your way.” He held his hands up, playful. “No biting, I promise. Well, maybe a little, but…”

“Fangs to yourself, handsome.”

A dramatic, long-suffering sigh preceded the playful smirk on his face. “Of course, love.”

Ban couldn’t help the small smile that crept up at the sight of that. “Look. We cleared today for this. No meetings with the patriars, no haggling with Nine-Fingers - wouldn’t you consider that a win?”

“It would be, were I able to…” His hands rose, resting on either side of her waist, pulling her close for a quick, heated kiss. “… do certain things; alas we both know you are too preoccupied.” When they separated his eyes were tender, but the heat in them was unmistakable.

“Astarion,” she began, a little guiltily, “I’m sorry. My mind just isn’t on-”

“But of course! Besides, the staff are still at work. They’ve insisted on cleaning every room - there’s little privacy to be had today.” A mock sigh, and he let her go.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to remember it being your idea to host them.”

He snorted, but didn’t deign to answer.

“It’ll rain soon,” Astarion mused awhile later, glancing up at the sky again. “We ought to head inside. I’m aware it’s not the most comfortable place for you to be right now, but…” he shrugged. They were both dressed comfortably, but he’d very much rather not get his new loafers dirty on rain-wet soil.

She faced him, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the dull sunlight, nodding. “I mean, of course. I can get back to work with the caterers, pick out plating for tonight and the table napkins and-”

“Ban,” He tangled his fingers in hers, leading her back into the house. “A suggestion from your husband, if you’ll indulge me. Let’s head to bed - I can hold you, knead out all those knots in your back - nothing more, of course.” It would be good for her to unwind, he knew; the looming dinner had caused her no small amount of stress. She’d barely slept in days.

She followed him to their bedroom and Astarion sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, patting the spot beside him. The moment she was there he pushed away her ponytail, pressing a kiss to her neck, wrapping an arm around her. He laid down, pulling her down with him.

He purposefully shifted his tone lower, softer, seeking to soothe. “You’re alright; it will all be fine, and if it isn’t, say the word and I will make it fine. I’ve got you.”

She was silent for a few moments, then leaned on him, her head tucked in his warm neck, nuzzling between jaw and collarbone. She mumbled something against his skin; it was spoken so softly that it took him a few moments to completely understand it.

“It’s not just that I didn’t trust you,” she said.

His hand paused and he peered down at her. “Are you saying there’s more you’ve yet to tell me, or…”

She shook her head. “What I’ve said is about the sum of it. There were specific instances, of course, which I will tell you when we have time, but what I mean is… not telling you wasn’t only because of our issues.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m surprised,” Astarion mused; Ban’s eyes snapped up to his, evidently not expecting this response. He huffed out a sad laugh. “Love. I ate whatever little pride I had left to tell you all of what I am, where I came from. What I went through.” He saw shame in her eyes and aimed to soothe. “No need to be ashamed, love. It merely slipped your mind.”

“It shouldn’t have,” she countered, “I should have known; of course you’d understand. But it isn’t the only thing, or even the main thing. I…” she hesitated a moment, then continued. “I did not relish you knowing I’m weak. That I could, and did, allow those things to happen to me. That I gave in and let it happen, when I’d always been the one to help you, the one helping everyone. I want to be your rock, not your burden.”

A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead; Astarion huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t think myself capable of seeing you or loving you any less, no matter the circumstances, and neither is your strength the reason for that love.” He turned somber, holding her tighter, as if doing so would fully convey the depth of his affection. “Grant me the privilege of being where your heart finds peace, Ban. I would love nothing more.”

Tears filled her eyes and she gave him a small nod. “That I can do. Will do.” She looked away, huddling against his chest. “But then… they made me what I am, for better or for worse. Talking about it also feels like acknowledging they did do something right, at some point.”

“No.” That he wouldn’t abide. He placed an elegant finger under her chin, tilting it so she’d meet his eyes again. “Do not ever say that, because it isn’t true, and by no means will it ever be.”

“But they-”

“They what? Shaped you? You are you in spite of what they’ve done to you, not because of it.” His voice had risen, insistent on driving the thought away from her mind. He saw her open her mouth, about to argue, and he immediately interrupted her again.

“Before you say anything else, do you think what Cazador did made me who I am?”

“In some ways,” Ban said, and he found a measure of joy in the fact that she did so seemingly without fear of his anger.

Astarion nodded. “I don’t disagree. But I am also more than that - more than what he made me. And so are you. You, Ban…” He took a breath, trying to find the words to fully express himself and falling utterly short.

“You are strong. You are kind, compassionate. You tried, when trying was only for the foolish and the brave. You gave me a chance. You loved me when that was - and is - an objectively stupid thing to do. You held onto yourself and onto me when I was unable to, chose our love and-”

He heard her whimper as she hid herself against his chest yet again. He gently rocked her, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and shield her from everything. Her trust was intoxicating, so new and yet so achingly familiar; a haunting reminder of what he had almost lost forever. She kept her head tucked against his heart, her breathing slowly matching his as she melted against his body.

“Are you listening?” he asked, and at her nod he made it a point to take slower breaths, slowing his pulse down so that it soothed her further. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Only for you,” he reminded her, staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t any reply, but there needn’t be. The silence stretched, and Astarion closed his eyes.

“This is really nice,” Ban eventually murmured, her eyes half-closed. It occurred to Astarion that she was utterly exhausted; the fact that she hadn’t complained about them wearing their clothes to bed should have clued him in immediately. He decided not to remind her about the massage and stayed mostly unmoving, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He considered speaking, to say candy-sweet words, but he knew they were unnecessary; they’d long moved past those early days, when his voice was all he could offer her. Instead he closed his own eyes, fingers idly tracing patterns on her head.

Sleep, love.

When she finally stirred, Astarion was still in trance. Soft, light snores wafted down to her from somewhere above her head. Ban gingerly moved his hand from her head, then carefully sat up. The sun told her it was almost sunset. A small wince crossed her features at the realization; she was a little surprised the noise of the preparations hadn’t interrupted their rest. They’d have to prepare themselves soon, but she didn’t want to wake him just yet, figuring she could bathe before he awakened.

She turned to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - unneeded, but habitual, comforting. His hand closed, then opened again, as if searching for something; his eyes moved beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She planted a soft kiss against his brow, received a soft mm of contentment in reply, then left the bed, steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb him.

The bath was warm and fragrant and Ban sank into it, eyes closing despite her rising anxiety. Seeing her father was one thing, but her mother was different; there was little doubt she would pry into every aspect of their lives and ask Ban about everything that had transpired since the last time they’d seen her. She wondered what they’d heard of the group who’d fought the Netherbrain, but her parents rarely bothered with events that did not concern the business, and the fight had left the area around the shop mostly unscathed. It was unlikely they knew anything more than what the broadsheets had reported in the days after the city was saved.

Then there were also Astarion’s remarks about Roderich, and the state of the shop. What could have caused her father to let it fall into such disrepair?

“Love.”

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion standing by the tub, nude, a small smile ghosting across his lips. He stepped over the rim of the tub to sink into the water opposite her. The moment he was in he reached for the scented soap and the sponge. “You didn’t wake me,” he complained impishly, working the soap into a lather and starting to scrub himself. “Worse, I wasn’t invited to this bath. I’m hurt.”

She sighed. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I figured you’d need the rest.”

A wry chuckle answered her as he took her arm, bathing her as well. “I’m not the one waking up in the middle of the night.” He didn’t shy from her sharp glare, meeting it head-on. “And what of it? You can’t sleep. You think of them and dream of them - I can hear it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ban.”

Astarion paused his ministrations, the sponge stilling against her collarbone. “You have to let me in,” he finally said, the sponge pressed down against her as the hand emphasized his point. “You are trying and making great strides, but you have to realize this isn’t… embarrassing, or weak. And even if it is, what of it?”

“I don’t think it’s…” she began, the lie forming automatically; Astarion merely fixed her with a pointed look and she sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I understand what you’ve said, but it isn’t that easy to overcome years of thinking that way. My mother prided herself on being a strong, stoic woman. She insisted that being emotional, needing comfort was… frivolous, unneeded, and for the weak; that she did not need anyone else other than herself.”

“An obvious lie, considering she wasn’t even strong enough to stand up for her own children.” The sponge resumed its path, scrubbing Ban’s chest and neck, traveling to the other arm.

She scooted closer, allowing him better reach. “She thought the strong thing to do was to let her husband do what he pleased, to require nothing of him.” She paused briefly to rinse off some of the soap. “They were betrothed at a young age, as is the custom. She loved him, at least at first. He… saw her as a broodmare, to birth his heirs. They had trouble getting pregnant, and she prayed to all the gods for a child, to give him what he so wished for. To give him what he’d begun looking for outside the marriage; without her permission, of course.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered, gesturing for Ban to turn around so he could scrub her back, “to step outside the marriage for heirs is one of the oldest and least imaginative excuses I could think of.”

“I doubt he cared.” The feel of the sponge against her skin, of Astarion’s hand grasping her shoulder, was soothing. Facing away from him provided her with a little more privacy, allowing her more ease in opening up. “My mother knew, much as he tried to hide it, yet she wouldn’t leave because she thought herself stronger than that. Because that’s what good wives do - listen to their husbands and give them children.”

Astarion’s hand stilled yet again and she heard a pinched, aborted grunt. “Again. Like I did you,” he said, tone acerbic. “And you stayed, like your mother did.”

“I left,” Ban reminded, and to her surprise she heard a relieved exhale.

“I am ever so glad you did, Ban,” he murmured.

Her head whipped around to look at him. Her hair splattered water everywhere, Astarion blinked away the droplets that landed on his eyelashes. He draped her hair over her shoulder to continue soaping the smooth expanse of her back, meeting her gaze.

“You thought I was incapable of reflection?” he teased, “Had you not left, we wouldn’t be here, I think.” The silence stretched as he continued working down her back. “I needed that push, and push you did. I can only be grateful.”

“I thought I broke your heart.”

He finished scrubbing and she leaned against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, fingers interlacing on her belly. He exhaled, thinking, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I prefer to think I broke my own heart.” Astarion wondered if he should say more, if more apologies would be required; loath as he was to do it, he would willingly prostrate himself before her if she required it.

“That time, perhaps; however I do feel like I’ve been breaking it again recently,” she admitted.

Astarion stiffened, realizing what she meant. “You have. You give a little, luring me in with a baited hook, and when I’ve bitten, you simply…” Dexterous fingers moved, miming a yanking motion, inspecting a fish, and discarding it. “...pull me in, only to push me away the moment I do something unpleasant or something that reminds you of Roderich or of my past behavior.” It’s not fair, he thought.

“I punish and reward, is what you’re saying,” she clarified, looking up at him. He could see guilt swimming in those eyes.

“Yes and no - I can appreciate that a lot of it comes from your family, and some of it comes from me,” Astarion began; he could feel her tensing and his hands slid to her shoulders to massage them. “However at times you make me feel like your feelings for me are contingent on how well I behave, and it’s…”

…just like Cazador. A comparison that he was loath to make, but one that was true nevertheless. He recognized the way her wavering affection made him feel - the shame, the fear, the pain - and he couldn’t continue shying away from it. Acknowledging it himself, however, was nowhere near the same as articulating it to her, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread.

He searched instead for the right word, and settled on “...painful.”

“I know you need time, and you deserve time,” Astarion finally said, “But please don’t withhold affection from me. Don’t leave me out in the cold, with silence my only company.”

Gods. She rubbed her face, frustrated. Of course she’d been hurting him; in her focus on not risking herself again she’d been too unwilling to trust his progress, too cautious - to the extent that he thought her love conditional.

“I’m so sorry,” Ban choked out, fighting back tears, “I’ve been doing to you what my parents did to me. I know. I… I’ll do better, I swear. This isn’t an excuse, love, but it’s hard; after having all this drilled in by them, and then… well, shielding myself from you - it’s not easy to unlearn.”

“Don’t you think that I, of all people, would know that, my love?” Astarion sighed, but he was mostly filled with relief and elation. That she acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was - unkind, unfair - and swore to change… it was enough for now, especially in light of the past tenday.

“Apology accepted,” he allowed, adding a little pompousness to color his voice, hoping it would lighten the mood, “I’m nothing if not gracious, after all.” But he also reached to her with his mind, suffusing her with his feelings - his gratitude, acceptance, and understanding.

She laughed a little; it came out broken, an odd mix of sadness and relief. “Too gracious,” she choked out.

“No such thing,” came his answer, quick and reassuring. “Just as you’ve forgiven me, so have I you. There’s little need to measure who did what, as long as we both…” he gestured, unsure of the specific verbiage he needed, “as long as we’re both happy, I suppose.”

She couldn’t contest that, turning to kiss a trail from his jawbone down his neck. Her lips ghosted over the old bite marks, setting off a wave of pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Then we are in agreement?” he asked, simply to ensure the air was clear.

Ban made a small mhm of assent but didn’t say more. He was relieved, but found himself wanting to introduce more levity. He shifted, untangling his fingers to playfully cup a breast. “Much as forgiveness has been dispensed, darling, my heart still feels broken,” he drawled, “A kiss would be most welcome in soothing it.”

“You’re sure you only want a kiss?” she said, and he huffed out a small laugh.

“Most definitely not. Still, a kiss would be very welcome.” He played with her breast, pinching the nipple between index finger and thumb. Scooting back, she pressed against his cock. He bit his lip, appreciating her teasing, but forced his hips to keep still.

Tilting her head back, Astarion met her lips with his own, a soft caress without urgency. He nibbled at her lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Hands reached for his head, grasping still-dry curls to pull him closer. He allowed it, but he felt her fingers begin to move towards his ear; he quickly pulled her hand away.

“There isn’t enough time, you’re preoccupied, and as much as I’d like to take the edge off,” he scolded, “there are far more pressing matters we ought to attend to. I would prefer to make love when you’re wholly here, and not plagued by the spectre of your family.”

“So you’re saying you’re not hard right now? What do I feel back there, then?” she teased, hand sinking beneath the water.

Astarion tried to snatch the hand before it reached him, but she wasn’t really making a play for his cock; he was easily able to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss before sinking his fangs in, drinking languidly.

“That’s for being a tease and for being too godsdamned attractive for your own good,” he murmured, licking the last rivulets of blood before they fell.

Ban laughed, rolling her hips back, rubbing against him lightly. “You are hard.”

“Painfully so,” came the reply, huffed in exasperation.

“I doubt drinking helped you any,” she added, very much amused.

He groaned as she rubbed her ass on him again. “No,” he admitted, “but I needed something.” Astarion was mere seconds away from lifting her and sitting her on his cock, but she thankfully - regretfully, if he was being honest - pulled away.

He grumbled, glaring at her; he felt around the tub for the sponge he’d dropped when he’d reached for her hand. Instead he found a muscled thigh and pinched, just enough to elicit a yelp and a little jump; she splashed his face.

“Ass!”

Astarion chuckled, “And yet you love me.” He’d never said it with such lightness of heart, he thought; it was far too fraught, too sensitive a topic for him until recently. There was a certainty there now, of her love for him, that he was grateful for. However he couldn’t fully suppress the lingering question, the question that plagued him even in these calm, happy moments:

Will she ever love me as deeply and completely as I do her?

A question that shouldn’t haunt him; there was no tangible way to measure love, after all. To attempt to do so would likely only end in heartache, but he couldn’t seem to prevent it from cropping up each time.

His silence as he contemplated this train of thought did not go unnoticed.

“Astarion?”

Her hand touched his cheek, and he blinked twice as he refocused on her. She’d turned to face him while he was lost in his reverie. He saw concern writ large on her features.

“I didn’t mean to taunt you; I wasn’t actually going to grab you, if that’s…” she trailed off, “I’m sorry.”

Realization dawned on him and he vehemently shook his head. “Ban, no. It was perfectly fine; welcomed, even. I was merely lost in some tangent of thought - one of little import.”

True - not the whole of it, but now was not the right time for it.

“Then do you want to…?” Ban ventured; he quickly shook his head.

“Tempting, as you always are, but no. I’d rather focus on tonight’s events; there’s little doubt that it will be complicated, at the very least. You will need all your energy for it.”

Ban nodded. “A very good point.” She turned to face away again, leaning forwards in a silent request; Astarion wistfully raked his eyes over her back before he began to soap it again.

Astarion watched Ban fidget in front of him, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

“This does fit well, right?” Her voice was tentative, anxious as she spun around for his assessment. He’d been her mirror since she’d lost the ability to see her reflection. Sometimes he helped her see herself with the mental link, but right now he merely pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he managed to say. The way it clung to her ass was delightfully distracting and he considered saying so, but he could tell she was nervous. Instead he walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “You look beautiful; you always do, but especially so tonight.”

“Thank you, but are you sure the hem’s not too short? Fath- I mean, Roderich would no doubt comment on it, he would complain and say ‘have you no modesty?’ and-”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and placed himself in front of her. “Look at me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; if he so much as utters one word that offends you - that even irritates you - you merely have to say the word and he’s out.” His throat tightened as he spoke. How much had Roderich hurt her, in the small span of years a human child had, for her to be such a stuttering mess right now?

Ban took a few gulping breaths, nodding at him. “Yes, of course. You… thank you.” Another sharp breath took her and she rushed him, burying her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her gently in his embrace.

“I shall go ahead to greet them,” he offered, “You can meet us in the dining room whenever you wish.” He slowly began to pull away, but she gripped the lapels of his suit coat.

“Stay with me,” she begged, unwilling to lift her head from where it was pressed against him. “Please. A little longer.”

Wordlessly he nodded, enveloping her in his arms yet again.

He could only hope it helped.

Astarion lounged on the throne as he waited. He heard the front doors opening, the thump of footsteps, the muffled voice of their chamberlain wafting through to him. He stayed in place, watching as the ballroom doors opened and figures began to enter. He’d carefully arranged himself, legs crossed and head resting on his hand, the picture of insolence and lordly power, exuding what he hoped was an aura of indifference.

He let them approach, making no move to rise or greet them; he counted four - no, three - figures. Their chamberlain, Roderich, and a woman.

Where’s the brother?

“My lord,” the chamberlain began, “Master Glasscraft and his missus are here.” Astarion didn’t deign to rise, eyes raking coldly over Ban’s mother. He could sense her deference to her husband; she hadn’t even looked up yet. A short, plump woman, she all but hid behind Roderich as the man prepared to greet Astarion.

Roderich cleared his throat and at that, Arlette’s eyes rose, raking over Astarion, traveling from the top of his curls to the bottom of his shoes. Her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction of an inch. He knew that look all too well, remembered seeing it on countless faces, every single time Cazador loaned him out. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich began, hesitating for a moment. “Astarion.” The Glasscrafts bowed, obviously rather nervous and unsure.

Astarion fought the urge to snap; that he dared address him so informally without permission rankled. He let it pass, however, sitting up, elbows on his knees. “Roderich,” he nodded. He then turned to Arlette, and also gave her a small nod. “You must be Arlette. Ban has told me so much about you both.”

He finally stood, hands casually smoothening his trousers as he did, relishing the look of discomfort on their faces at his words. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he still towered over the pair, something he found immensely satisfying. “Pleased to have you here. How did you find the grounds, Arlette?”

She tittered. “It’s nice, I suppose. Roses were never something I desired for our garden; they’re thorny.”

“They require care and loving attention. Not things everyone is capable of giving.”

Satisfied with the raised eyebrows his comment caused, he decided to take them to the dining room; at least then he could have some wine to take the edge off their blathering. He descended the dais, gesturing for them to follow him. Before he could summon the chamberlain, however, Ban’s mother decided to get started on her prying.

“If you don’t mind me asking - how long have you and Ban been together?” Arlette’s voice made him turn and he crossed his arms, considering the question.

“A year and a half, if not slightly more,” he answered, mind flicking back to the day they first met. He noticed her frown; she opened her mouth as if to ask something more, but her husband gave her a curt shake of the head, ending her interrogation.

Interesting, Astarion thought to himself. He waved a hand at the chamberlain. “Please tell my wife that her family has arrived. She is free to join us at her leisure.” As he did, he led Ban’s parents out of the ballroom.

Roderich cleared his throat. “Astarion-” he began, wincing when Astarion fixed him with a glare over his shoulder. “You would really let Ban… your wife… hole up in her room while you have guests?”

The moment the words were out, Astarion rounded on him, rage written all over his face. His crimson eyes glittered dangerously, lip curling in a sneer. “I do not presume to tell Ban what to do, Roderich. Do you truly have the gall to attempt to command my wife under our roof?”

The smaller man spluttered, a sound Astarion relished. “I- my lord- I do not! I merely say it as fatherly advice. Ban is-”

“Is what?” he interjected, crossing his arms. He saw Arlette open her mouth as if to speak, but she first looked to her husband for permission. As Roderich nodded, she began.

“My lord, forgive me. In fact, may I call you Astarion? You are, after all, my daughter’s… husband… although I notice you do not wear rings.” Arlette straightened up, bracing herself. “What Roderich means to say is that our daughter can be willful. She is prone to behaviors that are unbecoming of a wife, behaviors especially unbecoming of her stature as your spouse, of a lady.”

“Unbecoming-” Astarion bit back the curse forming on his lips, scoffing instead. “For one, no. I am to be addressed as Lord Ancunín, not Astarion. If I hear that one more time from either of your lips’…” The pair before him recoiled, his words obviously effective.

He let the threat hang, satisfied at their reaction, and pushed on. “Ban is willful. She does things that are unbecoming of your idea of a lady, yes.” Those were in fact the things that made him love her so, but he considered that truth something Roderich and Arlette did not deserve to know. “Those are the things that make her her, and you will not disparage my wife in front of me. Is that understood?”

Small, hurried murmurs of assent answered him. Satisfied, he turned away from them. “Let’s head to the dining room before we all reconsider this reunion, shall we?”

The doors were held open for Ban as she entered the dining room. She did not see Adrien, only Roderich and Arlette, seated in stony, awkward silence across from Astarion. She noticed her mother’s eyes, the way they drifted down to her belly, as expected. Sorry mother, no grandchildren here. She quickly scanned the rest of the room - there was no sign of her brother - then landed on her husband. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, but he placed them flat on the table as he turned to her. His eyes flicked to her and for a moment she saw the steely anger in them, but it quickly melted into tenderness. He rose, crossing the room to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, low enough that her parents did not hear. He kept her hand in his as he led her to her seat, only releasing her to pull her chair out. As she sat, so too did he, shooting one last warning glare at Roderich and Arlette before he waved a servant over to request dinner be served.

Ban looked Astarion over, noting the furrowed brows and tense shoulders, feeling a surge of relief that he was here. She reached out, snaking her hand around his, holding it in a tight grip. He made no outward sign he’d registered her touch, but his hand squeezed hers back. Satisfied, she turned to her parents.

Arlette was the first to speak, evidently unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. “Ban!” she exclaimed, “I know the last time we saw each other wasn’t… the best, but your father and I are so glad to see you again. You seem to have done well enough, haven’t you?” she asked, shooting Astarion an appreciative glance, “And I’m very proud. We taught you everything you needed to know, and look how far you’ve gone!”

Ban sighed. “I… I have done well for myself.”

She glanced over at her husband and saw his face harden further. Concerned, she reached into his mind. Not yet, love. I need to talk to them. He visibly swallowed down his pique, jaw reluctantly unclenching.

That they’re alive at all, Ban, is merely because you wish it.

She couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her. Keeping their bond open, she continued addressing her mother. “Done well, but not because of you, or what you two have taught me. Where’s Adrien?”

Arlette took this in stride, smiling to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth that still occasionally haunted Ban’s nightmares. “We shouldn’t argue about that. Have you forgotten? It’s uncouth to be arguing at the table.” She paused, and her gaze slipped away from Ban, settling on the empty plate before her. “Your brother had a prior commitment, and we thought it rude to ask your husband to postpone.”

Ban watched her mother rake her eyes over her belly yet again. “Any plans for children, Ban? You’re not getting any younger. I’m sure your husband wants an heir,” Arlette pressed.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her father interjected. “A little darling boy, Ban, would be a wonderful gift. For you two, and for us as well. He would be a treasure to us all.” He nodded at Arlette.

Ban sighed. “Do you harass Adrien for grandchildren as well, or is this reserved solely for your female child…?”

“Besides,” Astarion chimed in, a devilish grin on his face, “I must confess we have been trying as often and as enthusiastically as possible, but alas…”

Before he could continue, the servant returned with soup, halting any further prying for a few moments. Astarion automatically opened his mind further, sharing his sense of taste with her.

As they began to eat, Roderich spoke up. “As your mother mentioned little beauty, it is indeed uncouth to argue, or discuss such… marital activities, at the table, just as it is uncouth to leave your guests waiting.”

Ban could feel Astarion bristle, a vision flitting to her unwittingly: fangs, glittering in the light of the chandelier, sinking into that repulsive neck so that he’d never call her that again.

“It’s also uncouth to beat your children, as I understand it,” she snipped, and was rewarded by the blush that crept up her father’s face. Astarion barked out a laugh beside her but said nothing, his thoughts conveying amusement and warm affection.

“That, I did for your wellbeing,” Roderich protested, although his voice was weak. “So you’d end up somewhere in life. Successful. As you indeed became.” Ban saw her mother nod vehemently at these words.

Astarion could no longer help himself. “She is not successful because of your frankly atrocious parenting, she is successful in spite of you,” he growled, “And did I not warn you not to disparage my wife?”

Ban saw his lip curling again and hurried to interject before fangs were bared. To Astarion she sent a small plea, asking him to wait and let her get what she needed before he did anything rash. He blinked at her, the curled lip trembling in fury before it lowered.

“Be glad she bids me to be merciful and stay my hand,” he drawled, turning to them, “Else you would be in far more unpleasant circumstances than this.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Mother. Father. It… doesn’t matter what you think. What you did to me and Adrien is unforgivable, and if you think this success was because of you, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not be?” Arlette interjected. “You married someone so attractive. Someone rich. Someone powerful. All these things I taught you how to navigate. How to be a good wife. A good woman. How to know your place, to be strong and to honor your husband. Don’t you see? You married a hero, from wh-”

Her words died off as Astarion slammed a fist down onto the table, absolutely livid. “A hero?”

Roderich attempted to explain, “We asked around, my lord. We heard of your rise to power, of your efforts in saving the city from the Netherbrain.”

“Me. You think I’m the hero of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion laughed, a deep, full laugh filled with levity - but also incredulity. Ban sampled the flavor of his emotions as they flooded through their connection; there was genuine amusement, but there were also much heavier emotions - his profound admiration for her, and his love. More than anything else, that.

It took him a long moment to recover, his features shifting from mirth to a deep, seething rage. He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table, leering at them. “Ban is the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was the best of us - and nowhere were any of those insipid ‘lessons’ you subjected her to of any use. She picked us up, one by one, led us through the wilderness, all the way to the city. She burdened herself with every decision and every sacrifice that had to be made. She helped each and every one of us wretched fools,” he growled, his hands tightening on the table until it creaked, “and somehow still managed to save your sorry hides along with everyone else in this godsforsaken city.” He glanced at her, his expression softened briefly, the last part of his tirade saved for her and her alone.

You gave me everything, saved me from slavery and death alike. Loved me.

She offered him a soft smile before he turned back to Roderich and Arlette, the anger firmly back in his features. “You have pushed my patience far beyond the point I’d normally tolerate. The only thing keeping you alive is her - I strongly encourage you to quit while you’re ahead.”

This final warning, with Astarion looming angrily towards them, sufficed to convince the pair to back off. His tirade may have inadvertently revealed his fangs, Ban realized; she was tempted to ask him to back off again, worried.

The thought passed to him and he turned to her, wanting to tell her to let him handle it, when he realized. He leveled his gaze back onto her parents, brushing at his suit coat before sitting back down.

“What prior commitment was so important that Adrien would choose it over being reunited with his long-lost sister?” The cold tone had crept back into his voice, his wrath receding behind an icy veneer. Astarion fingered the stem of his wineglass, the other hand idly tapping the table. “Rather rude, when I invited everyone. Does he not miss his sister?”

That is what you wanted to know, is it not?

He’d read the thought as soon as it came into her mind. She’d felt Adrien would be guaranteed to show up; for one he would have wanted to see Ban. The other reason was purely pragmatic - Roderich would have wanted to introduce him to his powerful brother-in-law, establish connections early. His absence was perplexing.

“How is he, anyway?” Ban interjected before Astarion felt compelled to push further. Adrien was the only one she had a smidgen of concern about, the only one she thought she’d have an honest conversation with tonight; and yet he wasn’t here. Did he resent her? Had he run away, just as she had done?

She noticed Roderich’s jaw clench at the mention of her brother. Curious.

“Adrien, well… he had other commitments, as your mother said,'' Roderich stammered out, eyes darting from Ban to Astarion nervously. It was a lie, Ban was sure, but she couldn’t exactly place why. In her mind Astarion whispered his agreement.

She shook her head. “He didn’t, father. Don’t lie. You never were good at it. Does he not want to see me?”

Arlette let out a loud tch of disdain. “Of course he doesn’t want to see his ungrateful sister. I birthed you. We raised you. Loved you. And what do you do, the first moment we need you to do something in return? You run. You selfish, ungrateful child. After you left, your brother’s betrothal became much more difficult for us to secure. ‘Little beauty’,” she scoffed, “You aren’t even beautiful. All you have is what I taught you, no matter what your poncey husband here says. You know that.”

Ban tried not to let those words seep into her heart, but they hit their mark anyway. She felt herself tremble, felt tears threatening to form. No. Don’t. She’s just riling you up, Ban. Don’t.

It didn’t work. Her eyes blurred as her tears welled up, her breathing became fast and began to hitch. She gripped the edges of her chair, trying to ground herself because no, they can’t see me cry again, they can’t win-

“OUT!”

Astarion’s thunderous voice broke through to her, strong and brave and so, so needed. Her home and her salvation. She watched as he stood, index finger pointed towards the door.

“Out. Before I end your miserable, worthless lives. Get. Out.”

Ban wanted to tell him she hadn’t gotten the truth yet, but she was in no condition to. Astarion snapped a finger, summoning the chamberlain.

“Get them out of my palace, and they are not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

The chamberlain hurried to Roderich’s side and gestured politely towards the door. Roderich shot out of his chair and shoved the chamberlain away, glaring at Astarion.

“You may be the man of the house here, but mark my words: you are nothing. I do not know what you are, but I know enough to know you are unholy. A monster,” he spat out.

Astarion laughed at this, gleefully baring his fangs. They glinted in the candlelight; Roderich and Arlette flinched and went pale.

“Then you know how easily I can kill you, drain all your putrid blood and bathe in your innards,” he hissed. “And who would believe you? I walk in the sun. My heart beats. I am warm. I am a patron of the arts. I am well-respected throughout the entire city. I am a lord. And you? A sniveling, washed-out guildsman, bitter over some argument over a commissioned mirror. Any more attempts to approach my wife, to even speak to her without her express permission, and I will crush your reputation.” Astarion smiled, all teeth and danger, the predator on full display. “And if I ever hear any whispers about what lives in this palace, I will assume it has come from you. I will find you where you sleep and I will kill you - and I need no invitation to enter your home, trust me.”

Arlette, finally making the connection, took in her daughter’s features. “No. You…”

Ban smiled with feigned shyness, a smile she’d been taught to perform in polite company. But she let her lips stretch further, baring her own fangs. There was a low thrum of satisfaction in her belly as she watched her parents recoil in horror.

“Go on,” Ban said. “My husband has told you to get out. Be polite and do as my lord bids, hm?”

They seemed to hesitate, and Astarion released another hiss for good measure. Roderich finally conceded, his shoulders sagging slightly. He fixed Astarion with one last, terrified glare, then led Arlette out, the chamberlain guiding them out of the palace.

“That didn’t quite go the way I’d hoped,” she said, turning to Astarion. To her surprise he was right next to her, arms already halfway encircling her. He gave her a long, tight embrace, his nose pressed tightly against her temple, breathing in her scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The rancor was gone, and so was the smooth veneer in his voice. All that remained were his worry and his concern, her wellbeing his primary focus.

Ban held him just as tightly, hands fisting into his suit coat. It crumpled within her grasp, the smooth silk and the embroidery providing a texture she found comforting.

“I’m fine, I think. Perhaps I won’t be in a little bit, but right now I’m more concerned about Adrien.”

Astarion peered at her, studying her for a moment. Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t lying, he nodded.

“We’ll have to reconsider our approach, but I agree with you.”

“So you saw it too.” She stood, but her husband was always a step ahead; the chair was pulled out, his hands wrapping around hers before she could even reach for him.

It’s as if you can read my mind, she jested.

There was tender amusement there, mixed in with the clouds of still-roiling anger and worry. He tugged at her arm.

We can discuss everything another time. For now I would like you to rest.

She acquiesced, allowing him to lead her to their room.

That night she fell asleep, body enveloped in his arms, her mind embraced by his.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @@vinegarjello @the0ldman @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[fancyfeathers]

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

(Yandere!Albert James Moriarty x Cinderella!Reader)

(Tw//mental abuse, physical abuse, death/murder) A/N- I like this, but I feel like I could have done better, like I did not want it to drag on but I feel like it could have been better with a wedding at the end but that would have been too long with the world limit I set for myself since I have other projects I need to work on)

Once upon a time there was a girl, and she saw the world not always as it was but perhaps how it could be with just a little bit of magic. To her mother and father she was a princess, true she had no title like that of the ones her parents held, nor crown, nor castle, but she was the ruler of her own little kingdom whose borders were the houses and land her family had lived in for generations. 

Her father was a Baron and diplomat for the British Crown who went abroad and brought all sorts of treasures back from all sorts of countries for his little girl. (Name) missed him terribly when he was away but she knew he would always return. 

All was just as it should be, they knew themselves as one of the happiest families to live as they did and love each other so, but sorrow can come to any kingdom, no matter how happy and so it came to (Name’s) home. 

(Name) remembers the day her father took into the room as her mother lay there dying, and she will never forget how her mother took her hands in her own and spoke to her those last words…

“I want to tell you a secret, a great secret that will see you through all the trials that life can offer. You must always remember this, have courage and be kind. You have more kindness in your little finger than most people do in their whole body, and it has power, more than you know, and magic. Have courage and be kind, my darling. Will you promise me?”

“I promise.”

Time passed and pain turned to memory. In her heart (Name) stayed the same, for she remembered her promise to her mother, have courage and be kind. Her father however was much changed but he hoped for the better times. He had a good heart and when one of his colleagues had passed on, he took pity upon the window and her daughter and took her as his wife, giving his daughter a step mother and two step sisters. 

Her stepmother-to-be was a woman of keen feeling and refined taste. And she, too, had known grief, but she wore it wonderfully well. Her stepmother, high-spirited lady that she was, set out to restore life and laughter to the house. (Name)’s great comfort were the letters that Father would send from his travels. The weeks away lengthened to months, but every day would bring his thoughts from some distant part. Until late one afternoon when her father’s secretary returned but not her father, and he bore news of the loss of the one person (Name) cherished more than anyone, her father had caught an illness while in Madrid and had passed on in the night. 

Her stepmother and stepsisters ever abused her. And by and by they considered (Name) less a sister than a servant. And so (Name) was left to do all the work, this was a good thing, for it distracted her from her grief, at least that was what her stepmother said, and she and her two daughters were more than happy to provide (Name) with lots and lots of distraction. In their defense, they did share with her the very food they ate, or rather, the scraps from their table. She had little in the way of friends, well, her friends were very little, being the few maids and housekeeping staff they kept along with the mice who shared her bedroom, and by bedroom it was the attic, (Name) had her room forcibly given to her stepsisters. The room was cold with a draft that would be horrible in the winter, the floorboards were old and the gaps between them were practically dangerous and they threatened to break under any more weight. But those friends she had, she treated with an open heart and an open hand. Sometimes, by the end of the day, the drafty attic was too cold to spend the night in, so she lay by the dying embers of the hearth to keep warm.

Now her stepmother did not always deny her stepdaughter her noble birth, for she certainly tried to marry her off as soon as possible so that she is out of sight and out of mind, not even caring if her suitors are kind or not, her stepmother really only caring about how deep their pockets are to secure their dwindling wealth in the death of (Name’s) father. But no suitor wanted to marry a girl who was rarely allowed to leave the house, she was a stranger to society and would always be one as long as she lived the life of a servant.

And of a sudden, it seemed to her that her stepmother and stepsisters had indeed transformed her into merely a creature of ash and toil.

“Miss (Name) dear, would you be able to help me with brewing the tea?” Adelaide, the housekeeper of the estate asked you across the kitchen as you finished washing down the plates from breakfast, she was your mother’s lady’s maid before her passing. Adelaide was a very kind and charitable woman, sometimes it felt as if you did not deserve her, especially when the staff were the only ones who still addressed you as if you were actually a lady of the house like you once were. She had beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes that complemented the forget-me-nots that the gardener, Seraphina, grew out back in the garden that your mother insisted upon before her passing. “Or perhaps would you like to accompany Seraphina to the market?”

“Truly? But my stepmother-“

“To hell with what she thinks, go and have a bit of fun.” Adelaide waved you off with a smile and held her hand out to you as you slipped off your apron to toss to her which she caught and threw onto the hooks where the servants coats and aprons hung upon, along with your own. “I will deal with that wench, now get before one of them spots you.”

“Thank you.”

“Hush, now go.”

Without needing to be told another word you ran out the back door that the servants took to come in every day and rushed down the garden path was always kept in fine order by Seraphina, she was also a quite beautiful young lady like yourself, long brown hair and eyes and her skin was covered in speckles of freckles. You reached the back gates just in time as Seraphina was opening the gate, getting ready to leave as you rushed down the garden path in order to catch up to her.

“Seraphina, wait for me!” you called out to her which caught the gardener’s attention and her expression turned from an expression with a tad bit of confusion at her name being called to a smile when she spotted that it was you calling her name and chasing after her.she stood in the gateway, holding it open for you as you rushed to reach her side, only closing it as you resumed walking by one another’s side, her linking her arm with your own.

“Good to see that you get out of that house at last, my lady.” She spoke as you came to rest your head on her shoulder, not realizing that ash and cinders still lingered there from when you slept on the kitchen ground by the fire the night prior inorder to stay warm. “I believe the last time you left was…”

“When my stepmother and stepsisters took their leave to our country home.” You responded to her, finishing her statement, taking the words right from her mouth. Seraphina scoffed at the mention of such a thing, rolling her eyes and pulling you tighter to her side. "Now why are you upset with them this time?”

“It is your country home, my lady. I know your late father would wish for you to have it.” You began to make your way into the London high society streets with one another, but not a person recognized you as the late baron’s daughter for much of the aristocracy have not seen you much as a lady since his passing as you were dressed as a servant and not a lady. “They go up there and act as if it was theirs when I remember you as a little girl playing in the garden and meadows with me when I was just a girl and learning my mother’s trade as a gardener-”

“And what a fine gardener you make, you grow the most beautiful peonies anyone has ever seen-”

“My lady, please do not change the topic- but thank you nonetheless.” You smiled as she cut herself off just to thank you. She sighed as you picked your head up off her shoulder, both of you turning to look at one another in the eyes which drew small laughs from the both of you. “I hope you know that the only reason any of us stay and work for that witch you call your stepmother is because of you, it would be cruel to leave someone as pure as you with someone as wicked as her. Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing if the Lord of Crime but an end to the dowager baroness, she does not deserve that title like your mother did.”

“My father and mother would not wish ill on anyone and you know that, so please do not do that either.” You scolded her and a regretful look came across her face as you spoke. You knew of the so called Lord of Crime and his deads of ending the corrupt nobles of the British Empire, you honestly felt bad for whomever it is, to have so much hate and rage in their heart to end the lives of others, no matter the reason you could not stand it, change could come about through many means and death did not have to be one them. “I am sure that one day something will touch their hearts and change them and if they do not… Well then I will keep my promise to my mother.”

“Have courage and be kind?” She responded with a small and breathy laugh which faded into a sigh. “You already have done so much to keep that promise and have received nothing in return.”

“That is not quite true, after all I have you along with the others, Adelaide and Edmund.” Carriages rolled past you as you reached the crowded streets, finer shops that catered more to the higher classes, tailors and fabric shops, watchmakers, jewelers, expensive fruits and produce stalls line the sidewalks that separate the carriages from the people who chose to walk. Now Edmund was your late father’s secretary who also acted as your tutor as a child and he was just a young man who had just graduated university. His lessons were perhaps a bit unorthodox, teaching you about the world's cycle of life by taking you horseback riding through the meadow and creek stomping in the forest in your family’s country home. He now acted as the manager of your family’s finances, but you often slipped into his office to avoid your stepmother and stepsisters. “You certainly are my family, and that is what truly matters to me.”

“Yes but you need to have a future, you certainly cannot be a servant forever.” You stood at the corner of the street and she took your hands in her own, the basket that hung on her arm slipped down to where your hands met. She looked you dead in the eye as she spoke to you, exactly how your mother did. “You are the daughter of a baron and ambassador, you are a true blue blood and when I say that I mean you actually deserve everything that comes with it, the title, the land, the money, because you have a good heart and know how to do the job properly that most of them neglect, you would be a perfect lady of the house just like your mother was.”

“Most people I knew as a child think I either died with my father or am off at some finishing school in… where did my stepmother tell the Duke of York I was?”

“Marseille, a city in southern France.” she sighed as she answered your question. “I nearly stabbed her eyes out with a spoon when she told him that at tea.”

“Leave her be, besides no one would care if I was there in Marseille no more than they would care if I was a servant girl living here in London.” 

“I am sure some would.”

—————————

You both returned to the house from your errands, and as soon as you stepped into the back door into the kitchen you both spotted Adelaide pacing the floor as if she was about to have a nervous breakdown. When she spotted you two she let out a loud sigh of relief as you set down the basket full of the groceries.

“What is the matter, Adelaide-”

“Your stepmother, she needs to speak to you.” your heart sank when you heard those words, normally she never wanted to speak to you, rather she would demand things of you, the last time she actually spoke to you was when your father died and there would be a few changes to the house. Adelaide strutted up to you and pulled out her handkerchief and whipped the ash and cinders that lingered on your cheek, trying to make you look somewhat presentable.”Best run along now, she does not like to be kept waiting, my lady.”

“Thank you.” You stepped past her and you glanced back at Adelaide and Seraphina where they stood and forced a smile before turning back to walk to the drawing room where you knew your stepmother would be waiting for you.

You indeed spotted her there, sitting in your father’s old armchair that is right next to your mother’s old chair and you remembered when you would sit on the carpet next to them while your mother read to you every night before bed as a child. She sat there with a glass of red wine in her left hand and a letter in her right. She glanced at you when she heard your footsteps and forced an almost out of character, kind, smile, it was rather unsettling to see. She set the glass of wine down on the side table between the old chairs, and patted the footstool next to the chair she sat on, gesturing for you to sit next to her as if you were actually her child. “Come, sit with me darling, I have wonderful news.”

Without any ground to stand on or refuse her, so you did so, hesitantly sitting on the footstool, facing her. You watched as she set the letter down on the side table as well and picked up a hair brush that rested there and she reached out a hand to take locks of your hair in her grasp and began brushing through them which somehow made you feel even more tense.

“What is it, stepmother?” You asked her, side eying where the brush made contact with your collarbone as it combed through your hair. She hummed as she continued to smile down at you, brushing through your hair.

“You are coming of age and I think it is about high time you enter society, there is a ball tonight and we have received an invitation, you shall attend with us.” Your heart skipped a beat when your stepmother said those words, a ball, you have only attended ball your father and mother had thrown when you were a child, but of course you were just a girl then and were suppose to be in bed but your father could not help but spoiling you with a dance and pastries from the desert table while he showed you off, his precious little princess, to his and your mother’s friends. But of course with your stepmother you should never expect the good.”After all I am sure we will be able to find you a husband there, an arrangement should be made with a gentleman there within the week.”

You wanted to speak up and say something but you should not, frightened to break the very promise you made to your mother. Your stepmother saw the hesitation in your eyes and with her free hand, she reached under your chin to tilt your head up to look at her. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

“No stepmother.”

“Good girl, you will make a fine bride with that poilite mouth of yours.” She smiled at you and set the brush aside and shooed you stand up with her other hand. You stood up as your left hand came up to trace the scratches that the brush left upon your collarbone. “Now run along, I suppose you have to get ready.”

“But…”

“Speak up, my dear.” You flinched at your stepmother’s harsh words, scared she would hit you for stuttering and muttering like so.

“I have nothing to wear.” It was true, your clothing was nothing but that of a servant’s dress, nothing fit for that of a ball. “I-” “I am sure you could wear those old things in storage, those will work fine for now.” You knew exactly what she was speaking of, the dresses that were tucked away in a closet that belonged to your mother and grandmother, you remembered when they wore them at many parties when they were alive and you were a mere girl. Your stepmother picked up her wine glass and took a rather large gulp of the red wine within before resuming her words to you. “Your future husband can provide you with a new wardrobe to his tastes once you marry him. Now run along.”

“Yes, stepmother.”

—————————

You watch as Edmund pulled the large truck from the closet attic with a heavy heave, yanking from where it sat for years collecting dust. Edmund was a smart looking man, not looking much different than he did when he was a younger man the only difference being that he was now in his late thirties, almost forty, dark brown hair, with blue eyes and glasses that hung on the bridge of his nose. You all were gathered around the trunk, Adelaide, Seraphina, and you all longing to see what was inside as Edmund pulled the lid up from the trunk. Inside it was indeed only dressed but with age comes a certain state of disrepair, you would be mocked and ridiculed for wearing such things in public. Seraphina was the first to set up the trunk, pulling out a royal blue dress, a long and flowing skirt and it was quite lovely if the sleeves did not need to be replaced as the stitches were ripping. You remember your mother wearing it at a ball once, it was when you were around seven and you remembered how incredibly charming she looked in it and you remember her works echoing in your mind…

“One day this dress will belong to you, my little love.”

It was just a shame that it had fallen into this state.

You watched as Seraphina took the dress and rushed up behind you, her chest pressing up against your back as she rested her chin on your shoulder and swept her arms around your body to hold the dress up to you in order to get a picture of how you look when you actually wear it tonight. You could feel her smile behind you as Adelaide and Edmund looked you over. “What do you two think, I think it would look rather lovely on her with a few repairs.”

“She will look exactly like her mother.” Edmund spoke in response to the youngest member of the staff. He glanced at Adelaide and then back at Seraphina and you before pulling a notepad and pen from his coat pocket, scribbling down a thing or two to make a short list while addressing the other two staff members. “I will need you two to pick a few things up while I begin work on fitting and repairing this for tonight, I have a few pounds in my office you may use-”

“Edmund, I could not possibly ask you to use your own money on me-”

“My lady, you do not have to ask, this is my gift to you.” As Seraphina slipped the dress away from you and laid it across the old bedframe and mattress that you called your bed, Edmund came forward and rested his hands on your arms, just below your shoulders and leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead like he always had done since you were a child. He pulled back to look at you with a melancholy just adoring expression. “I intend to repay the debt to your parents from when they took me in by always taking care of you, this is the least I can do after everything you and your parents have done for me.”

“You are far too kind, Edmund.”

“Only because I learned from you.” he reached out and patted your cheek like a doting parent would before spinning about and shooing off Seraphina and Adelaide. “Off you pop, we have much to do and very little time in order to make this diamond shine.”

You watched as the other two ladies scurried out of the room much like little mice would when being chased by a housecat. As the door to the attic closed behind them your gazed turned from where they were to where Edmund was, picking up the dress with one hand and waving you over with the other.

“I asked them to fetch proper undergarments for a ball gown such as this, but for a fitting what you are wearing now will do just fine.” Edmund slipped over the ballgown over your head, pulling it down your body as you slipped your arms through the sleeves which were in a desperate need of repair. It really did fit quite nicely, only really needing to be brought in at the back and the sleeves needed to be replaced but it was nothing Edmund could not fix. “I have been mending gowns for those two stepsisters of yours for far too long a time that this is certainly a fine change in pace.”

Edmund grabbed the old leather case that acted as his sewing kit, a gift from his own father and mother. He clicked it open after he set it on your bed and honestly you feared that it may fall apart any night that you fell asleep upon it. He took a pair of scissors out from the box before walking over to you, slippin his finger underneath the fabric to act as a barrier so that he does not accidentally nick your skin while cutting away the sleeves of the dress in order to replace them. “I remember when I first met your father, I was no older than seventeen and working in my father’s shop as an apprentice tailor. Your father came in to have his suit fitted and he told my father after I was finished that he had never seen such a mind as mine, and then within the week he sponsored my education so I could attend university as long as I would visit him from time to time so he could see my progress. Your father saw the best in everyone, they merely needed a push to reach their full potential.”

“You knew my father quite well Edmund, do you know how my father and mother met?” The question was genuine, you did not know how your parents met. When you would ask your mother as a little girl she would merely smile and pat your head and tell you that their meeting was like that of a fairytale come true, just like how all little girls dream. “Surely you must since they wed when you were in school.”

“I do, I was there in fact.” He spoke to you as he continued to snip away at the fabric of the sleeves ever so carefully. As he worked and spoke you noticed his glasses slipping down his nose so you reached out your hand to carefully push the frame back up his face which made him let out a breathy laugh from him. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Now would you please tell me.” you pleaded with him and he sighed and finally nodded at your request.

“Your mother wished to tell you when you had made a match yourself, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. Your mother was no lady as one would guess, she was a servant girl, her parents had borrowed money in order to take care of her, but when they died she fell into the debt that they had and she was an indentured servant to a dowager countess and her family since she was a child. In her time working for the family she had become friends with the daughter of the dowager and one day the daughter dressed up her friend and brought her along to a ball, just like how your father brought me along to that same ball.” The story Edmund told rang loudly in your ears, every single word. You had no idea of your mother’s humble beginnings, she always seemed like a true lady of the nobility, but you supposed that it washer destiny to become a lady one day. “Your father did not know who she was but he knew he loved her the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew that she was her soulmate and I believe your mother knew the same. They danced the night away, but your mother had to leave before the dowager knew she was gone, but as she ran she lost one of her slippers and that is how your father found her. He went to every house to find her, with only that one shoe to go off of and he eventually did find her, he paid off your mother’s debt and took her as his wife and then they had you.”

You truly did not know what to say in response to Edmund’s tale, your lips fell agape and you could only stare off as all the thoughts and words of such a tale echoed in your mind. You wanted to say something, anything really, but no lips left your mouth when you tried to speak, but instead there was a rather loud shrieking voice coming from downstairs that was addressing you.

“(Name)!”

You sighed when you heard the voice of one of your stepsisters yelling your name in her rather unpleasant voice. Your stepmother tried to dress her daughters in eye-catching and trending fashions, but nothing would be able to hide or take away from their sneers. You saw Edmund roll his eyes as he knew you would always be at their beck and call.

“I will be right back, Edmund.” You slipped off the dress and handed it back to Edmund before running to deal with whatever your sisters may need. You rushed downstairs from the attic and down to their bedroom which used to be your own, the first door on the right. You pushed open the door and you saw them both in their undergarments, clearly getting ready for the festivities this evening. The elder of the two, Beatrice, was standing in front of the mirror and she was no doubt the one who called you judging by the unlaced corset she had on. She snapped her fingers at seeing your reflection in the mirror behind her, silently telling you to get to work. You did not waste another moment, coming up right behind her and grabbing the corset ribbon on the iron bed frame. Your fingers made quick work of lacing the ribbon through the hoops of the corset, you gave it a firm tug to keep everything in place…

“Tighter.”

You carefully gave it another pull…

“Tighter.”

You pulled the ribbon even tighter…

“Tighter.”

This cannot be comfortable…

“Tighter.”

You pulled it one last time with a harsh tug and your stepsister, Beatrice, gave a harsh gasp. Before you could even process anything, she spun around and struck you across the face, turning your head about from the force. You could feel the tears pricking up in the corners of your eyes as the red imprint of a hand formed on your cheek

“Not that tight, clod.” There was a long moment of silence before you heard both of your stepsisters cackling like witches. You could only pick yourself off of the ground as your stepsister waved you off. 

You forced your legs to walk upstairs, pushing the door to your attic and your bedroom open once again and there you spotted Edmun sitting on your bed, dress in hand. His eyes shot up to you who stood in the doorway, his face filled with pity at the sight of your red and crying face. You just merely made it to his side when you fell into his arms, a crying mess.

“You never deserved this.” —————————

You had other chores to tend to in the day, having to leave the care of your mother’s dress to Edmund. Seraphina and Adelaide had returned, bringing Edmund what he requested, though you did not see the fabric and other little trinkets and baubles they had bought with Edmund’s coin. You had helped your stepmother and stepsisters get ready after Beatrice’s outburst at you, but you had not gotten ready yourself for you had not have the time and Edmund was not ready with the dress, and whenever you tried to take a peek into your bedroom where he was working he would shoo you away and lock you out of your own bedroom. 

So now you find yourself in the drawing room, cleaning up after the tea your stepmother and stepsisters had. You stacked up the empty tea cups and plates that were covered in crumbs from the sweets. You could spot your stepsister and stepmother in the entryway, all ready to leave but you were still in your stained dress that you had been wearing all day. 

“(Name), you cannot possibly think of wearing that to the ball.”

“What a joke.”

“There is no way any man would wish to marry her.”

You heard the snickers of your stepsisters as you stood up, carrying the tray that is full of empty dishes. As you walked into the front entryway to drop off the dishes in the kitchen, your stepmother grabbed you by the arm, stopping you from walking any further. You looked up at her and she looked down at you with a cruel look in her eye.

“It is time for us to be off, I suppose you will have to stay here.” your stepmother’s words made your heart sink and felt as if the only thing you had looking forward to had been snatched away from you, well that is exactly what has happened. “I am sure I will manage to make a proper arrangement for a marriage for you.”

“Yes… stepmother.” You could only manage those two simple words as she let go of your arms, letting you walk off back to the kitchen. You could merely watch from the corner of your eye as your stepmother and stepsisters slipped out the front door which closed behind them with a loud slam. You wandered back to the kitchen, setting the tray down on the table before closing your eyes and bracing yourself against the wooden surface to calm yourself and take deep breaths.

You nearly screamed as you felt Seraphina’s hands come to rest on your shoulders all of the sudden. You spun around in shock to look at her, seeing her smiling face made you smile ever so slightly despite your pain and anguish. You could not get a word out before your smiling gardener friend took your hands in her own and began to pull you away from the kitchen and lead you away upstairs, climbing the stairs that lead up your attic despite your protests that it was pointless now…

But your protests were silenced when the door was opened and you saw Edmund holding your mother’s now restored ball gown. It was a stunning creation. The dress had a royal blue color with layers of delicate tulle and satin that flowed gracefully, giving it an ethereal look. The bodice is fitted with intricate embroidery of butterflies in gold and a sweetheart neckline. The skirt is voluminous, made up of layers of petticoats. It was like it was brand new.

“Come now, you best be getting ready now.” Seraphina spoke while you stood in a state of shock but you merely shook your head at her words. She was taken aback by your hesitation, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “Well why not?”

“My stepmother and stepsisters have already left-”

“And do you think that will stop us from getting you there?” Edmund spoke in response to your hesitation, cutting you off before you could finish your objection. “Now get ready and leave the rest to us.” 

Edmund laid the dress out on your bed where a few other accessories laid on the fabric surface for you. He walked past you, briefly patting your shoulder before pulling Seraphina out of the room to let you get ready. You could nearly cry from joy at the kindness your friends had shown you. You looked down at the items on the bed and you nearly began sobbing from joy, the dress was perfect and slippers of white and blue lace laid beside it. 

Perhaps this evening would be a fairytale come true.

Edmund, Seraphina, and Adelaide awaited you at the foot of the stairs and you could see the overjoyed look in their eyes when you finally descended the stairs into the main entryway in your mother’s gown. You could see the tears building up in the eyes of Seraphina and Adelaide and the smile upon Edmund’s face as he reached out his hand to help you down the rest of the stairs. 

“Come, let’s get you to that ball.” Edmund led you by the hand, out the front door of the house. At the foot of the stone stairs stood one of the horses from your house’s stables, a riding horse, not one that would be suitable for pulling a carriage. Edmund gave you a hand, helping you mount the horse and giving you the reins of the horse. “I am friends with the groundskeeper of the Rockwell Estate, I sent him a telegram, he is expecting you, you may leave the horse in their stables. Now go.”

“Thank you, all of you.”

“Yes, that is all very kind, now go.” Edmund waved you off, and you took the horse’s reins and off you went. 

—————————

You reached the Rockwell Estate as the night settled over the city and like Edmund said the groundskeeper was indeed expecting you. You stored away the horse away in the stable and the groundskeeper pointed you in the direction of the garden doors that would lead you into the ballroom. The garden was beautiful and you could see the reflection of dancing candlelight from the ballroom reflected on the brushes and beds of flowers. Just like the gardener said, there was a balcony in the garden with large sets of glass doors which would lead into the ballroom, you could see the dancing figures within and you hesitated when you reached the balcony, it had been such a long time since you had been at a party like this, perhaps it would have been better for you to stay home like your stepmother told you to.

“Miss, are you alright?” When you heard a voice address you out of the blue, you jumped in shock and spun around to see a gentleman standing there, who no doubt had just stepped away from the party. He was a young man dressed in his evening dress, brown hair, and the most stunning green eyes. “You look lost.”

“Oh no… I just have not been here- or rather any ball in a long time, not since I was a girl.” You stared at the people behind the glass rather than looking at the man who was standing before you. “I have not been anywhere like this since my father died.”

“Ah… my condolences for your loss.” He gave you a look of pity before he himself looked back into the windows of the doors that led into the ballroom and sighed. “I do not doubt that many people there are looking for me, but I will say I do not really wish to go back into there.”

“And why not?”

“There is a dowager baroness who has been trying to get me to dance with her daughters all evening, I have no doubt that she is trying to get me to marry one of them.” he laughed at the thought but you only sighed when you realized that who he spoke of was certainly your stepmother. The man raised his eyebrow at the sight of your awkward expression when he mentioned the dowager baroness. “I am to take it that you know her?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” You shook your head at that thought of your stepmother and stepsisters and exhaled a heavy sigh before giving him a smile. “But I promise you I truly do not wish to do anything she does… I… I just wished to have a little fun before my stepmother tries to marry me off to a man I have never even met.”

“Well then, may I have your first dance?” you watched the man extend his hand to you, silently hoping that you would take it. You had a feeling of dread building in your gut but it was something you had held in you for most of your life since you had met your stepmother and stepsisters, so truly this is nothing now. You reached out and took his gloved hand with your own and you let him pull you forward, leading towards the ballroom doors, but you stopped before the doors and he turned back to look at you and your hesitation. “Is something wrong?”

“I am frightened… I have never… this…” Your hand began to slip away from the man’s grasp, as you attempted to step back as a feeling of regret builded up in your stomach, but the man held tight to your hand as he looked back at you. You looked down at your dress, all the layers of satin and tulle could not hide the act that you did not belong here. It is only earlier today, this morning, that Seraphina told you those words that echoed in your mind…

“Because you have a good heart and know how to do the job properly that most of them neglect, you would be a perfect lady of the house just like your mother was.”

In this world people with good hearts get trampled on, and that is what you have been subjected to since the death of your father, you have no place in this world, so why were you here? You did not belong here, you could not pretend to be who you were not. “This is not me, I… I should go.”

“Go? Why-”

“I am just a servant girl since my father died, I do not belong there. I should have never come tonight, I am sorry you had to be seen with me.” You tried to pull your hand back once again but instead he squeezed your hand even tighter than before, you looked into his eyes to see the glint of a serious concern forming on his face, his eyes narrowing at you and your terrified expression as you bordered tears. “Sir, please let go of me.”

“What has happened to you? Why are you so afraid?” You felt your form begin to tremble as he looked down at you, truly something felt horribly wrong about this night you have been awaiting for. While his words felt kind and genuine, worried for you, you could not shake the feeling of something, some sort of foreboding feeling inside of you. “Please, I am able help you-”

“Please sir, just go back to the party and forget about me.” with one final tug you broke your hand away from his grasp, making him stagger back a few feet. You did not waste a single second, you picked up the skirt of your dress and ran back through the garden from where you came. You tripped a bit as you reached where the pavement turned into dirt, but you did not even look back even as one of your slippers slipped off your foot. You reached the stables and they had not even put your horse away yet, so you merely waved the stable boy away and mounted your horse, throwing one of your legs over the torso of the steed as you grabbed the leather reins tightly and with a heavy flick of them you were off like the wind.

You did not even notice that the nobleman had attempted to follow you, but stopped when he spotted your lost slipper on the ground. He knelt down to pick up the slipper of blue and white lace, looking it over in his hand.

“Albert!” 

The eldest Moriarty brother turned his head about when he heard William calling his name from the balcony where he was just with you a moment ago before you ran off before even stepping foot in the ballroom. He stood up from the ground, holding the slipper in hand as he began to make his way back from where he just came. Albert spotted William standing at the edge of the balcony, looking down at his elder brother as Albert made his way up the stone stairs to where his younger brother stood. 

“Is that from the woman I just saw you case after?”

“Ah, so you saw that.”

“Indeed.” William leaned against the stone gating that surrounded the balcony as Albert came to stand beside his brother with your slipper in hand to which William was just referring to. “I suppose this is an affair in need of our services?”

“It appears so.” Albert spoke in reply as he came to lean against the stone as well, gazing up at the night sky. “Though we need to find her first.”

“I am sure we will manage.”

—————————

“Nothing?” Seraphina asked Adelaide  as she returned from your room once again after trying to get you out for the third time today with the temptation of food, lunch this time. Adelaide shook her head as she set your very much full plate of food back on the counter. “She has not spoken a word since she returned last night, what happened?”

“I do not know, but that does not matter right now.” Adelaide grabbed her apron from the counter and put it back on, reaching her hands back to tie the strings in a neat bow. “We are to have guests for tea, the Moriarty brothers. Apparently that wench had made an agreement with the eldest to marry (Name) off to him.”

“That is horrible-”

“I do not think it is so bad, the Moriarty boys are good young men, apparently the people living on their land up in Durham pay practically nothing and they are certainly attractive young men.” Adelaide interrupted her younger coworker with her thought but everything she was saying just made Seraphina tilt her head in confusion.

“With how miserable she had made (Name) all these years, this seems far too kind to be true-”

“She only accepted because he refused to be paid a dowry.”

“That makes sense now I suppose.” Seraphina sighed at Adelaide’s explanation before she glanced up at the clock. The young gardener pushed herself to stand up from the kitchen stool she sat on, grabbing her hat from where it hung on the racks by the back door. “I should be off, I promised Edmund I would run to the store to purchase more parchment for his financial records.”

“Alright, do not wander about though.”

“I will not.” 

With that Seraphina pushed open the back door and made her way through the back garden to the back gate, but when she opened it she certainly did not expect to see a man standing there. She staggered back at the sight of the blond stranger, red eyes and thin wire glasses.

“Miss Seraphina, I presume?”

“How the hell do you know who I am-”

“I was hoping to speak to you about the late baron’s daughter.”

“What?”

“Last night my brother met a girl at a party whose father had died.” The young man gestured to a carriage that stood right at the edge of the narrow alleyway that the garden gate led to, and within the carriage she could just barely make out the outline of two other men. “If you would allow us, we may be able to help her.”

—————————

Your stepmother and stepsisters sat in the drawing room, awaiting their guests to arrive when Seraphina came in with the tea from the kitchen which she had prepared so that Adelaide may have a break. While your stepsisters laughed and spoke in their high pitched and cracking voices, probably thinking tea is to talk about matches their mother was trying to make for them. Seraphina poured three cups for your stepsisters and stepmother and she watched as one by one they brought the fine china cups of tea up to their lips, taking sips before the taste made them cringe.

“Why is it so bitter?” The younger of the two stepsister, Eleanor, questioned the gardener as she swallowed the hot and bitter substance down her throat. “Do you not know how to make a simple cup of tea?”

“Manners, my dears. Our guests are to arrive any moment.” As if like clockwork, as soon as the lady of the house spoke those words there was a knock upon the front door. Your stepmother stood up from the couch as Edmund let their three guests into the house, opening the door for them and taking their coats and hats. She welcomed them with arms outstretched as she laid eyes upon the three Moriarty brothers, William, Louis, and Albert. “Welcome, it is so lovely to see you at last.”

“We could say the same, my lady.” Albert was the first to respond, fitting as the tea was to discuss the engagement of you to the young nobleman. He glanced about the room, seeing your stepsisters and the familiar face of Seraphina, but you were not in sight.

“Come, my maid will bring out-”

“Where is she?” The question cut off your stepmother, making her head turn back to the brother while she was attempting to lead them into the drawing room to sit. Albert greeted her confusion with a smile which certainly eased any tension that had formed within the room. “I would just like to see Miss (Name), since she is to be my wife and it is only fair that she is here when we discuss such things.”

“Ah, well she is upstairs in her room, it is best not to bother her-”

“She is in the attic, my lord.” Seraphina cut off her mistress which earned her a harsh glare from the woman but for the first time Seraphina did not cave in under the pressure of potentially losing her job. “I could show you to her, my lord.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Before your stepmother could even protest, Albert was already following the gardener upstairs which left the dowager and her daughters with William and Louis. 

Earlier today you could hear from your stepsister’s loud and irritating voices that your stepmother was to be having guests over for tea today, not like it concerned you anyway, you had never been allowed to sit at the same table they did. So instead you locked yourself away in your room, besides no one would want to see a wretched servant girl about the house when company was over. You sat on your bed, a small journal in hand, it was a gift from Adelaide  for your birthday, and you were writing a letter, not to anyone alive but to your parents. You were apologizing to them, telling your mother that you were sorry that you could not keep your promise to her, you did not have courage, how could you after everything? Honestly you thought yourself lucky to still even be alive.

The sound of your door opening caught your attention, you set the book aside as you looked up to see Seraphina opening the door and you were just about to ask her to leave until you saw the man standing walking in behind her, it was the same man you had met on the balcony last night. You watched his expression turn into disgust as he looked around your room, the attic was cold with a draft would be horrible in the winter, the floorboards were old and the gaps between them were practically dangerous and they get threatened to break under any more weight, and there you sat, beautiful but practically in rags.

“My lord-”

“Albert.” 

“Excuse me?”

 “Call me Albert, my name is Albert James Moriarty.” he stepped towards you, the floorboards creaking under his weight ever so slightly and you watched as he got down on his knee before you, taking one of your hands in his own like he did the night prior. “And if you would allow me, I would like to marry you.”

“H-how did you…” You glanced up at your friend who stood in the doorway and you saw Seraphina’s face with a guilty expression that you could read with ease. “You told him?”

“I am sorry, I just could not stand the idea of you having to be here any longer.” Seraphina bit back a sob in her throat and her gaze fell to the ground, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “I meant what I said yesterday, you deserve the world, my lady, and those three wenches should burn in hell-” “Seraphina do not say such things!”

“But you must think of them, my lady!”

“No, because I made a promise to my mother.” You glanced back at Albert who still kneeled before you on the old floorboards and you merely shook your head as tears welled up in your eyes. “I am sorry, this was a mistake for you to get involved as you did… I-I… please excuse me.”

You stood up from your bed, running out of the room and down the stairs as Albert stood up after you to follow you downstairs. You did not know where you were going but honestly you did not care, everything had never felt more overwhelming than it did in this moment. You ran down both sets of stairs, the attic stairs that led down to the second floor, and the second floor stairs that led down to the entryway, but the scream you let out at the sight you saw in the drawing room made the whole world fall silent to you. On the couches and lounge chairs you spotted your stepmother and stepsisters collapsed and judging by the reactions of panic that Edmund and Adelaide had as they tried to see if the unresponsive bodies were breathing while the brothers of Albert stood aside, they were dead. You collapsed to your knees as you began to cry uncontrollably, the shock of everything taking over, not a single coherent thought being able to form in your mind as Albert caught up to you. Instead of going to tend to the situation he knelt down beside you, taking you in his arms and stroking your hair as he soothed and hushed your cries, telling you that it would be alright.

You did not remember much else from that day, only bits and pieces…

The bodies being carried out by Scotland Yard officers…

Seraphina and Adelaide packing a bag of whatever dresses you had into a suitcase…

Albert helping you dawn your slippers…

Edmund giving you a hug as he and Adelaide said goodbye…

Then you will never forget when you were walking out the door of your old home, the sight of the small bottle of cyanide peeking out from the pocket of Seraphina’s skirt.

My dearest reader, this story is not a fairytale like that of her parents, there was no dance, no true prince charming, no forgiveness, and certainly no happily ever after. No, this story is a reminder how cruel the world truly can be, despite the fact that you can have courage and be kind that you will fail when life gives you it’s trials and when some people only wish to help they only end up inflicting even more harm upon those they seek to help.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

This one time I went to my favorite Japanese place on Valentine's Day, waitress was having an absolutely HORRIBLE time with a few of her other tables because it was Valentine's Day and busy af, AND they were understaffed because they had a couple people call out on short notice.

Then a bad storm rolled in, and the power went out, and everyone was acting like it was the wait staff's fault. They were still getting their food because the kitchen was primarily gas appliances. Everyone got candles at their tables. Literal candlelight dinner on Valentine's Day and half of these self-entitled jackasses were still demanding to have their meals comped and treating the staff like shit. Because the power was out. Because of a storm.

Our waitress was nearly in tears and we kinda encouraged her to hang out by our table because sooooo many people were being absolute DICKS and weren't tipping her anyway, even though she was the nicest person EVER and working her ass off to try to keep them happy. We left our girl at least an eighty percent tip, and she actually did cry. She said she was thinking about walking out on the job entirely before we came in. Whenever we came in after she'd just about fight her coworkers to get our table whether it was in her section or not.

We also ended up getting invited to stay after closing and hang out with the front of house and kitchen staff and owners at the big tatami table. Got to sample all of their mochi ice cream and quite a few of their wines and sake. They straight up gave us a bottle of peach sake to take home as thanks for being chill about everything. Every time we came in after, we'd always end up with a free appetizer and/or dessert or sushi roll.

Moral of the story, just be fucking nice to people. It will almost always make both their day and your day better, and that's enough of a reward in itself.

Especially people in the service industry, especially in America, where most of the wait staff is making well below minimum wage and forced to rely solely on tips as their primary source of income. I promise, you'll have a much better experience in all walks of life if you're not an uptight jerk toward others every time one little thing goes wrong.

[yanderemommabean]

A Neat Little Drabble

“Enjoying the smoke break?” 

A huffed laugh passes his lips as he looks over his shoulder “Yeah, but I know you. You’re about to lecture me about it. I get it doc, smokings killing me, but hey, it’s on my terms, that has to count for something” 

Lee sighs, leaning his elbows on the railing as he faces the building behind them, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Actually Zeke, I was going to tell you to indulge, as a treat, seeing as this new patient is a nightmare and a half” 

Zeke flicks his cigarette, humming in content. Doctor wasn’t wrong, todays been one giant heart palpitation. They’re lucky they know how to handle such a case otherwise some more blood might’ve been shed. “Oh? I get permission to have a bad habit now?” 

“Watch it. I'm still your superior here” Lee chides, turning to lean on the rail facing the same way as his coworker. “A little indulging will help you relax and lengthen your lifespan however, so another break would be fine with me. I myself need another thirty just to soak in everything about this one. Something is just so off, I can’t place my finger on it” 

Zeke flicks the butt of the cigarette to the ground, much to the ire of the doctor who shot him a look of disdain. “So- '' the second doctor begins, “We can agree he’s horrifying. He’s so easy to let your guard down around, at least for some, and that in of itself should be a worry, but honestly what sets me off about him is this look he gets in his eyes. That look that says he’ll risk everything because he has nothing to lose, you know?” 

“Yeah, but Jasper has that look all the time just from me telling him to leave the needle box alone. The eyes bother me too but not from that look. If I’d have to say, I’d say its a look I used to align with myself when I was younger”. 

Zeke cocks his head, intrigued. “What do you mean? I know you’re a bit stern but as far as I know you only raise your voice at that idiot redhead and drink tea to piss Dexter off. Those eyes are that of a killer and an unhinged beast…You’re nothing like that”. 

Lee wants to laugh at that. Poor thing has no idea how close to a monster he really is. But he likes this relationship, it’s normal and mutual, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. “That's sweet of you to say. It's rather odd hearing a compliment from you” he joked, facing down the buildings and roads beneath them from the balcony. No, the look in this patient's eyes was definitely a look he has had himself. A look that said he was going to kill, maim, maul and murder just to get what he desired. But not because he had nothing left to lose. 

It was because he had found what he had been searching for. Once a man like him has found his soulmate, he’s bound to do horrible things to keep them. Today when he was brought in, he was like a completely demonic being. Slipping out of the cuffs, hiding in plain sight, attacking when you least expected it. He wasn’t human, he couldn’t be. 

And if he is, it’s all the more unfathomable and terrifying. 

“I'm always nice to you” Zeke scoffs, nudging Lee playfully “We don't have to worry about much. We’re trained and capable of handling him. Hell, I’m sure it’ll be a breeze once the rest of the staff stops getting in the way and panicking. Most of those cuts and attacks were because they couldn’t quit screaming and losing their shit”. 

“Mind you that you weren’t helping by egging him on. I'd rather not see you get your knife out. I know you’re fond, but this is work, we come here to help, not to antagonize” Lee scolds, eyes turned to slits in annoyance. “You’re a great student and a great friend. I watched you at graduation. I don’t want to lose you because you too can’t keep urges at bay. That's the line that keeps us from becoming one of these patients” 

“That and half of them aren’t exactly human” 

“Yes, Jasper is an enigma” 

The two share a chuckle, Zeke flicking his lighter as he sighs. “Well, what do we call this newcomer? Didn’t exactly get the info since the pages were spattered in blood”. 

Ah, he seems to remember that the screaming wasn’t exactly that of the patient's identity. Just slashing, cackling, and terrified cries for help or aid. One would think the name of such a person would be similar to that of a beast of legend or Lucifer himself. 

Lee tilts his head up to better feel the wind on his face, shoulders hunched as he speaks bitterly. 

“Elias”. 

(Hi! I hope you beans enjoyed this little short! I might make more, but it depends on how my brain looks at the new character lol -Mommabean )

[cupidsstudio]

💌Zac the Sunrise x GN!Reader💌

prompt: “everyone adores you, at least i did” vs “everyone adores you, at least i do” category and warnings: angst, zac is prideful and a horrible boyfriend, may be ooc, heartbreak, you break up with him you love your boyfriend zac, you really do... but recently, it feels like he loves his fans and fame more than you.

You smile as your boyfriend leaves his dressing room after another amazing concert, approaching him. “Hey Star, you did amazing today, as always,” you tell him. He notices you there and smiles back.

“Thank you, Moonlight,” he replies, ruffling your hair affectionately. You laugh and swat his hand away playfully, hoping that your relationship can stay like this as the two of you head to your apartment to hang out, his fans swooning at the sight of him.

You can't help but feel proud, knowing that at least half of those fans wish they were in your position. Oh, how you loved Zac. You wouldn't trade your relationship with him for anything in the world.

But it seems fate has different plans.

A month later, Zac finishes yet another concert, strutting confidently out of his dressing room, like he always does. You immediately go and congratulate him. “Star, you put on yet another amazing concert today!” you grin. He pats your head affectionately, thanking you as you continue speaking.

“Y'know today, while I was heading to your dressing room, I overheard some staff members talking about how you were beginning to fall out of love with me, how our relationship wouldn't last long. But that's not true, right? You'd never leave me!” you tell him with a smile, not noticing the hint of hesitation in his eyes as he smiles back.

“Of course, Moonlight. I love you, forever and always. And nothing will ever change that,” he tells you. It feels... strangely off. His words are no different from his usual loving words, yet something in your mind bugs at you, telling you something's wrong.

You choose to ignore it however, be it because you're listening to your heart or simply because you want to continue deluding yourself, believing in your relationship for as long as you need to.

Another month passes and... And you and Zac grow distant. You approach him after every concert, congratulate him on another stunning performance, shower him in praise and affection.

But the mutuality seems to be fading. Instead of returning your affections, he begins brushing you off, treating your words like another starstruck fan's.

It's the end of another concert. Zac sashays out his dressing room, his confidence now replaced with pride. “My Star, you were wonderful! I was speechless throughout the whole performance,” you tell him with a warm smile.

But instead of smiling lovingly back, he grins, his ego growing. “Well of course I did great! My performances are nothing but the best!”

You have no words. He doesn't thank you, he doesn't treat you with any affection, in fact... In fact, you feel like just another one of his fans.

“Hey, Zac... You love me, right?” you ask him, your voice filled with doubt.

“Of course I do! I love all my adoring fans!” he replies cheerfully with a wide smile.

Your heart shatters. “Adoring fans?” No “Moonlight”? It hurts. You can see it clearly now. Behind those eyes, there isn't a hint of love anymore. But you smile awkwardly in return, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Another month passes. Zac is walking in circles around his dressing room anxiously. Recently, a young rapper around his age, Akira Yamatoga, has been rapidly advancing up the charts. There have been articles, so, so many articles, talking about how the pinkette is fated to surpass Zac next.

Zac is scared. He's worked hard to get where he is, to build a large fanbase, secure his spot as number one on the charts. So why? Why is it all crumbling down now?

You enter his dressing room, your usual excitement and joy replaced with a sense of dread and sadness.

“Oh, good, you're here!” Zac exclaims, approaching you with a grin. “You love me, right? You know I'm going to put on yet another stunning concert right? You know that pink-haired rapping upstart will never be as good as me, right?” He looks to you for reassurance. But in this moment, you simply can't provide it.

“Everyone adores you, Zac,” you say bitterly, and his expression lights up for a moment, not catching your tone. “At least I did,” you finish coldly, and his smile drops.

“W... What..? Moonlight..?” He asks you worriedly, reaching out to you, but you flinch and step away.

“I'm sorry, Zac. But I'm not your "Moonlight" anymore. And unless you realise the difference between significant other and loving fan, I won't be your "Moonlight", ever again,” You say sadly, before turning on your heel and leaving the dressing room, a heartbroken and devastated popstar left on his knees in your wake.

Cupid's notes: i ♡ angst. will post second part of the prompt in a few hours/tomorrow!!

— Cupid's Studio 💘

[ahoppingmagician]

Yo another Helluva Boss Rant, Part Five thousand.

People are really out here saying we can't watch Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel as if they are some holy artefact. This may sound harsh but fuck off with that bullshit. Any show, movie, comic, and artist can be criticised for anything, yes some criticism is unhelpful I'll give you that, but at the end of the day, people can give their opinion on anything. Also, hate watching is a thing, a great example would be watching a bad movie because you love how horrible it is for example The Room, The Twilight movies, The 50 Shades of Grey Movies, or Any Disney Live Action Remake. All of these are absolute trash heaps but most people watch them over and over again because it's something to laugh at for a good while.

Vivzipop is a horrible person.

I might be harassed for a while but it needs to be said Viv is a horrible employer and person. She pays her animation staff dirt for all the hours they slave away on her intricate character designs, the fast paced action scenes, the more "heartfelt" scenes only to get low pay. Also her stopping her employees from finding better work like Lackadaisy, as we seen with the discord chat where an animator was explained to that Viv called them words like manic, insane, crazy just so they could find no other opportunities forcing them to stay with her. That isn't how you treat anyone, and if you think differently then I'm sorry to break it to you you're a bad person.

Of course the ableism, look as someone who has been called the R word multiple times in my life, I'm not offended by it being used in an adult show but only if you make it clear that it is a harmful word, unlike Viv who constantly teases the word as if it's funny to say, but like the coward she is never says it. JUST SAY IT AND BE DONE WITH IT. Yes I'll bust your balls about it but atleast it proves to me that you have some gumption.

I'm not a POC I'm far from it but I feel like this show can give people the wrong idea about women of colour. For Example, Millie is a bloodthirsty and adoring wife, but that's it she doesn't appear unless her husband is around or even does anything without Moxxie's approval. Also, it paints her as aggressive which is a common stereotype of black women. Verosika is a bitter ex of Blitzo and nothing more, wait I forgot a woman who enjoys sex. Now there is nothing wrong with sex or sex workers but again at this time that is all she is in the show and of course a discussion can be held about the objectification of POC in a sexual manner. Also Barbie....who is a fucking groomer and addict. These are three Canon Women of Colour and that's what we got, in my opinion not a good enough representation, because all these female characters are one note and objectively horrible people, also all are painted as angry and all of them have had at least two comments about their sex lives.

If these don't prove that Vivien M is not atleast a a ignorant person or at worst a awful human being then I can't explain to you anything, because your just choosing to be blind to reality.

As always you look great today/ tonight. l, have a wonderful day/night, and praise the frog lord.

[kurczeno]

ok so a little rant about DA:V, because I feel like it needs to be said. First a disclaimer: if you are hyped, thats good for you, really. Enjoying the final product is absolutely fine. However, I've seen SO MANY people, especially here on tumblr, but also on tiktok and reddit acting as if any criticism of the game is just people being mean haters or homophobic.

And don't get me wrong - there are probably people taking things too far, just for the sake of it. There are also people mad about the wokeness - though as a person that is very interested in the topic, I've seen only one? discussion about this matter and it wasn't even made by people that like the series, they just wanted to complain about wokeness in games, etc.. But I'm not saying these people don't exist, because I haven't seen them.

However I am seeing so many valid criticism of the game being discredited for no reason and I feel like there is at least one thing that needs to be said.

I played Origins over 20 times. DA2 and DA:I - also more than once, but I didn't count it. I loved all of them - even the Inquisition, despite its many flaws. But it's not a post about them - the thing is, I am a fan of a series. I've been since I was little and later I got that stupid hyperfixation. I was extremely excited about the game, despite SO MANY red flags - I'd say it's still Dragon Age and I'm sure it won't be that bad.

But at this point even I can't cope that hard.

First of all - it's barely Dragon Age at this point. I just want you to remmeber that most of the staff that was working on the first three games got fired or resigned themselves. The LEAD WRITER himself, David Gaider (he's incredible btw, go follow him on twitter and play stray gods!!!) has been trashing Bioware on TT for years and he's been there for 12 years. He tried to highlight just how badly the company treats its workers - and it's not only Bioware, it's gamedev in general. I have many friends that work in gamedev and whenever we talk about situations like this their reaction is "yeah, but thats what happens in gamedev every half a year". You know, it's so bad, we just treat it as a standard. Why am I bringing all this up? Because I think that countering every argument with "you haven't played the game yet" or, even worse "people are only complaining because woke" is just buying into their narrative, taking the responsibility from them. When the truth is that every single teaser looks, to say the least, outdated. The graphics are very, very bad, the designs are mid at best (I'd single out Neve and technically? Emmerich, but he looks horrible because of the graphics, so...), the reps show that they know little about Dragon Age (I'm in love with that one recording in which they collectively barely remember Zevran. The companion in the most beloved game. The guy that is basically the only source of info we get about the Crows. The Crows that are a fraction in their game???), they have already stated that your choices don't matter. I can elaborate on each of these, but the post is already to long and my point is different - don't excuse Bioware. And I'm sorry, but "play the game first" shouldn't be the argument here, because the things that should be good, regardless of the game itself fail - I'm sorry, but this isn't an indie game. It's made by a huge company, with loads of money after two commercial flops. I know some of you (including me!) are nostalgic towards Bioware, because of their games and what they meant back in the day, really. But at the end of the day, the games were made by people and Bioware is just a company. A big corporation, that just wants to make money, has a long history of mistreating their employees and has delivered the worst teasers I've seen in a long time.

TLDR: I'm not trying to tell you, you are wrong to be excited. I'm just kindly asking you to stop coming to Bioware's defense at all costs, because they don't deserve it.

(also I know David himself has reacted to the teasers and reviewed them in a positive way but I am talking mostly about the things that I blame on higherups. However I personally think that Gaider, as someone who's worked in the industry knows that there are many people there that ARE actually passionate about the product. Not the reps, please, they are embarassing, but the animators, writers, etc. And trashing their work as a lead writer of the first games would be a little too much, even if the final thing is not their fault. They don't need any more shit)

[bluelolblue]

Hiiiiii!! 💙 So!

Tell me about annoyed Santino. We all know he’s moody and irritable sometimes. What are some of the things that annoy him? Things at work, things that John does, just general pet peeves? And how does he like to be treated when he’s annoyed?

Hiiii!! :D

Oooh annoyed Santino >:), always happy to make him like that in my fics, so easily irritable and moody, so he's like those spicy cats that spit and hiss 😭

Alright! Santino can get annoyed at anything, really.

The thing that annoys him the most and he literally can't stand it is, when something he planned doesn't go as planned. It's over then. He's just pissed off the whole day, snapping at anyone who tries to talk to him and maybe figure something else out. Even at John. John would try to find a solution for whatever went wrong, maybe they can fix it, make a slight change in the schedule, but he often gets cursed at in Italian. And later on Santino feels bad about it. John just tried to help him and he snapped at him.

However, there are moments when John succeeds at calming him down with that and they make a new schedule. Then Santino's feeling better, at least he's not in that horrible mood.

Something changes in his schedule, everyone get away from him. If you're his staff, don't even bother, just walk away.

One more thing that really annoys him. When he's doing something, writing some papers or whatever, and someone interrupts him. Nope. Just walk away before he completely snaps. When John does that, he's not really THAT pissed off, but he still is. "I have to finish this." He HAS to finish his work, meaning being sat down for hours, without food or drink. And that's why John "interrupts" him. To bring him food and something to drink because this man ignores all that and just locks into his work. We talked about this before, but it fits into this :P

"You have to eat and drink. Your health matters the most." John would tell him. So, that either annoys him even more or Santino realizes that he's actually hungry and dehydrated. And he actually enjoys John's company then.

Other than that, if he's overall not in a good mood and John tries to be affectionate, snuggling against him when they're relaxing in bed and he's just not in that mood, he'd kinda snap at him, just a little. Yet, most of the times he ends up blushing. He's annoyed but one part of him likes it when John is like that.

"Stop it, I'm really not in the mood for that now." But when John catches his blushing, "Then why are you blushing?" Yeah, he blushes even more. John gives him space then, he knows Santino would snuggle against him when he feels like it. And yes, most of the times, moody Santino ends up cuddling him. It's John. He can't be annoyed with him. At least not for too long.

Sometimes when he's in that horrible mood, he needs John. Needs him close against himself, and to tell him that everything's gonna be okay and that it's okay to feel the way he feels. Sure, there are times when Santino wants to be alone in that mood, but there are times when he really just wants to be with John and needs his comfort.

John would hug him and tell that they will figure out everything together. That he's not alone in this. Sometimes it's easier to calm him down, sometimes it's harder. Especially when Santino gets overwhelmed and just is completely lost in his head. Even if he pushes John away, he would often regret it, apologize and tell him that he wants his help.

So yeah, Santino wants everything to be like he planned it, and if it isn't, he gets extremely annoyed. But then again, it's Santino, he's moody, he's irritable, it's the way he is. And John accepted that about him. And I feel like most of us did, too, since we all agree he's like that sometimes :)

Thank you so much for the ask!! 💙🖤

[infriga]

What's interesting about House of Usher is that Flannigan usually has likeable protagonists, at least in my experience. Granted I haven't seen all of his works, but I've seen several (Bly Manor, Hill House, Midnight Mass, and I've heard summaries of others) and most of them are generally pretty sympathetic from my understanding, even the ones with more blood on their hands, so to speak.

In House of Usher however, almost none of the main characters are good or likeable people to much, if any, degree. Their spouses/partners are decent people, for the most part (dunno how the siblings landed such nice SOs despite being so nasty), and the granddaughter seems alright (I'm only on episode 5 btw so idk if anything happens regarding her or the other non-siblings, no spoilers pls), and Auguste seems like a decent person (maybe not the best family man, but he at has his heart in the right place especially compared to the Ushers), but all the siblings, and Roderick and Madeline themselves, are pretty horrible people.

But like, they're not one dimensional bad people, they're complex, they feel emotions, they care about people in their lives even if they don't tend to treat those people well, they have fears and insecurities and passions and hangups just like regular people do. So while usually I dislike when the protagonists of a show like this are unlikable, in this show it's actually quite fascinating because like I can't say I hate them either, they feel like they could be good people if they really wanted to be. Especially if they had better influences and were taught better lessons by their father and aunt. They feel human, not evil, but I'm also not rooting for them either. I don't know who to root for tbh, except maybe people like Julius, Tammy's husband, and the granddaughter, who are all side characters lol. Idk who the weird supernatural lady is (death? The devil? God? A witch? No idea) so I don't know her motivations or what kinda person she is, she seems to be collecting on some sort of debt but that's the best I've got on her. I do think it's interesting how she tried to spare Morrie from the acid by telling her to go like she did with the wait staff, but she didn't do anything to help Ali later when she was killed, so was it strategic or does this lady have some sort of code of morals? Does she care about whether people are innocent or not? Why spare the wait staff from death by acid shower but not the other party goers? Is sparing Morrie more about the potential role she'll play in Freddy's death? I guess I'll find out.

But I do think it's interesting that we start off the show knowing who's going to die already, since usually stakes in this genre come from wanting characters to survive (hence why I usually prefer likable protags in horror/suspense media), but it makes sense that since none of these people are very likable, the suspense needs to mostly come from something else on that front, such as wondering how they're going to die or which innocent people they might take with them in the process, as well as wanting to know what caused all this.

Roderick, ironically, is probably the most sympathetic member of the family aside from his granddaughter, which doesn't mean much but I mean, I wouldn't begrudge anyone going through what he witnessed in episode 5. Like gaddamn that's fucked up. He seems like someone who deep down has the potential and even the buried desire or instinct to be a good person, but was too much of a coward to put in the work it would take to be good and stay good in a harsh world when he wants so badly to be someone big and successful and important just like, well, his father. But ultimately he does obviously love his children so I do sympathize with him in that regard.

But the show is making the unlikable protagonists thing work for it, somehow. I don't like most of these people, but I am fascinated by them and what's going down and how they got here. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion.

[bestworstcase]

I think this has been discussed to death before but it’s still an interesting idea, would ironwoods plan have worked? At least in the short term?

Like, if he had succeeded in lifting atlas out of salems reach, would atlas have survived the plan? Like, even ignoring the MANY long term ramifications of mantle being destroyed that would eventually lead the kingdom to ruin, would it even keep them safe in the short term?

the short answer is no and the discussion is old news but that’s okay i because love beating dead horses

to preface: the common arguments for or against ironwood’s plan tend to turn on ideological or tactical points, i.e. it is mostly a discussion of whether atlas itself is a valuable enough asset to be worth sacrificing mantle to save it, and by extension who is more ideologically and morally correct. at best, folks in the “against” camp might point out the obvious tactical flaws in ironwood’s plan, that being the known presence of at least one of salem’s agents in atlas and the likelihood that using the staff to do this would go Poorly, but generally speaking this gets treated like primarily an ideological disagreement over what kind of tactics are acceptable in the war against salem.

but i’m not interested in the ideological debate (bc obviously the girls are right). what interests me is whether ironwood’s plan was sound at any level of planning. so let’s talk basics of military theory!

in simple terms, there are three layers of military analysis to consider. in order of greatest to least importance, these are strategy (high-level long-term planning; the “why” and “to what end”), operational (concerning the movement and supply of military units; the “how”), and lastly tactics (the methods used to—ideally—win battles).

note that by the time salem is on ironwood’s doorstep, there has already been a massive failure at every level; ironwood knew well in advance that an attack on atlas in the indeterminate future was quite likely and notionally recalled his troops home to prepare for it, but salem is nevertheless able to catch them entirely by surprise because watts de-activated the coastal proximity sensors. in other words, there were no units deployed to the coast, no redundancy, and no active monitoring of the system atlas relied upon as its singular line of defense against siege. for a military that has only existed for eighty years and never won a war in that time, this abject incompetence is hardly surprising, but i want to stress that ironwood’s plan in 7.11 coincides with the revelation of a grievous failure of the atlas military to mount an adequate defense—frankly, any defense at all—to prevent salem from delivering the siege. ironwood is not yet aware of just how bad his position is when he commits to retreat, but he gets enough of a glimpse to make him panic and that informs his desperation and haste to a significant degree; raising atlas is in the essentials an attempt to recover lost ground.

with that in mind, let’s consider the question of strategy. what is the purpose of the war against salem? what is gained from fighting her? this is a difficult question to answer because salem is not an opponent who can meaningfully be beaten; she cannot die and if hundreds of millions of years of suffering haven’t broken her resolve, then nobody mortal has a chance in hell of beating her on morale—she can, and will, outlast them. thus the effective goal of war with salem is to achieve a perpetual stalemate, which in practice means mounting a strong enough defense to push her back; ozma’s insistence that she isn’t a force of nature is, i think, misguided because in a very real way she is, and on balance i think acknowledging that is better for morale than not. people do not feel crushing existential despair about the inevitability of serious earthquakes, hurricanes, or volcanic eruptions, for example, even though these are horrible calamities that can cause tremendous destruction and loss of life. conceiving of salem as a natural danger that cannot be eliminated but can be prepared for, withstood, and recovered from goes a long way to ameliorating the damage her immortality and implacability does to morale.

the salient point here is that war against salem is both unavoidable (so the strategic question of “should we go to war?” is irrelevant) and unwinnable (so the strategic question of “what must we do to win the war?” likewise), leaving ironwood with the question of “what must we do to prolong the stalemate without succumbing to despair?” because that is for all intents and purposes his “win” condition.

so the first question we should consider in our evaluation of ironwood’s plan to raise atlas is whether doing so serves the strategic goals of the war. i think it is safe to say that it does not: the vast majority of the kingdom’s population lives in mantle and, contrary to popular fanon, most of the people living in atlas do in fact give a damn about mantle—even after ironwood withdraws his troops from mantle, reporters from atlesian news networks stay on the ground in mantle to cover the siege, councilman sleet is outraged by ironwood’s unilateral decision to halt the evacuation (and ironwood murders him for it), and we see atlesian civilians listening with absolute horror to ironwood’s ultimatum. abandoning most of the kingdom’s people to die in order to save the capital would have a profoundly negative impact on both civilian and military morale and inflame popular opinion against ironwood’s leadership, sowing social and political unrest and leading immediately to a military coup and establishment of an authoritarian dictatorship—again note that even just halting the evacuation of mantle necessitated a military coup—thus weakening atlas internally and reinforcing the perception of salem as an adversary who cannot be survived, let alone defeated. winning a battle by inflicting ruinous harm on your strategic objectives is a failure, so in a sense it doesn’t matter whether ironwood’s plan would have worked as intended or not; this is a textbook example of winning the battle by losing the war.

moving down to the operational layer, in effect ironwood’s plan is to maneuver atlas itself into a new position where (he believes) salem will not be able to reach them. there are several unknown variables here—whether this can be done safely given the nature of the staff and whether atlas can remain habitable at an altitude salem cannot get to chief among them, and cinder’s presence on atlas and infiltration of the military’s headquarters is only slightly less of a concern. but those things have been talked about plenty, so what i’m going to focus on is the question of logistics. let’s presume for the moment that everything goes according to plan and cinder is apprehended quickly after atlas is raised, and let’s also presume that salem does not just turn around and go home to sulk about it (because why would she).

there are two possibilities in the immediate aftermath: either salem sacks mantle and slaughters its entire population, or she captures it and holds its entire population hostage. given that she chooses to ignore mantle in canon i think the latter option is likelier by far, so we’ll assume for the moment that mantle does in fact survive being abandoned because salem captures it rather than razing it.

now, something like one third of atlas appears to be farmland, and the citadel’s population is relatively small; food supply is unlikely to become an immediate problem as long as the atmospheric controls hold, although over the long term you might run into nutritional deficiencies depending upon the variety of crops available and crop failures are going to become a very serious threat. taking a post-industrial society like atlas and forcing it to rely indefinitely on subsistence agriculture is, to put it kindly, unwise, and in the event that ironwood did this there is not the slightest chance that salem would let atlas come back down except as a condition of surrender, because salem has, you know, a brain.

the more immediate concern is industrial production, because the vast majority of that seems to occur in mantle. raising atlas cuts the citadel off from its supplier of resources like dust, concrete, steel, textiles, electronic components, vehicles, medicine, munitions—anything made in a factory is most likely made in mantle, all of those production centers are now under salem’s control, and even if they were not mantle has no incentive to continue supplying the citadel that abandoned them to the grimm. in combination with the atlesian infatuation with the cutting edge and consequent tendency to operate with slim or nonexistent margins for error and no redundancies, this is a recipe for disaster. cut off from mantle, atlas lives on borrowed time—it is only a matter of time before clinics begin to run out of medicine, infrastructure begins to crumble, stockpiles of ammunition and weapons are depleted, and the citadel’s dust reserves run dry, leading to failures of the hard light shields and atmospheric controls. and salem, because she has a brain, is not going to let atlas re-establish the supply lines between itself and mantle. setting up trade routes with other kingdoms is equally if not more difficult; even if salem cannot get high enough to reach atlas herself, her magical abilities are certainly adequate to shoot down any ships leaving or approaching atlas, and on top of that atlas has spent the past year and a half or so burning its bridges with its allies, diminishing their political will to provide assistance—particularly since atlas no longer has anything of value it can meaningfully offer in return. far from escaping salem’s siege, raising atlas has the effect of amplifying the pressure she is able to exert on the citadel while also handing her a powerful bargaining chip by surrendering mantle.

so operationally raising atlas is a catastrophic failure that at best provides a very short-term temporary reprieve from the pressure of the siege. moving atlas laterally—flying south to regroup above argus or mistral, perhaps—is somewhat better, but given that salem flies her army from the western coast to atlas in a matter of hours, it’s unlikely that the citadel could outpace her, making southward retreat in practice not a significant improvement. and this is the best case scenario, one that assumes the dust-based atmospheric controls are still functional at altitudes higher than salem can fly and that cinder is successfully apprehended, neither of which are certain.

what about tactics, then? broadly speaking, the defender wins a siege by breaking the will of the attacker to continue the siege, thus forcing a retreat; the core problem for ironwood is that salem has functionally infinite willpower and infinite forces at her command. the opponent’s cohesion and morale are irrelevant when the opponent is a horde of grimm, because grimm do not retreat generally and these grimm are driven forward by salem’s will.

therefore, tactically speaking, retreat IS the best option. however, tactics are the least important layer of planning and must be subordinate to both operations and strategy; if the tactics do not serve the operational and strategic objectives they are bad tactics, period. in this situation, retreat is the best option, but it must be done in a manner that is operationally and strategically sound. this is the part where arguments for ironwood’s plan tend to break down—they correctly identify the necessity of retreat but fail to consider the operational and strategic consequences of retreating in this specific way.

so, what objectives does retreat need to accomplish in order to be sound at every layer of planning?

first, mantle cannot be left behind. the emotional, social, and political consequences of abandoning its people to die are too severe and the surrender of mantle to salem amounts to placing a lever in her hands and giving her a rock-solid place to stand. the evacuation of mantle has to be completed to the greatest extent possible before the retreat is initiated.

second, the retreat needs to go somewhere. “higher” accomplishes nothing but increasing the amount of pressure salem is able to exert on the citadel for the simple reason that atlas is not self-sustaining—this becomes especially true once you’ve increased the citadel’s population by an order of magnitude by evacuating the population of mantle into it. it is essential that atlas be moved south, preferably to a location that can be better defended.

third, in order to accomplish the first two objectives, salem needs to be delayed as much as possible before she delivers the siege; most of the opportunity to do this has been lost by the time she gives ironwood the terms of her siege, but with the entire atlesian fleet arrayed in readiness around the citadel, there is still time to buy more time by sallying her forces. doing so has the additional benefit of increasing visibility, giving ironwood (and theoretically his advisors) more information to work with as they plan out the retreat.

fourth, amity tower should be launched as immediately as possible and with as many civilians as possible on board. restoring global communications will make retreating with atlas exponentially easier operationally, and amity itself is capable of directional flight—the original colosseum was designed to fly itself between kingdoms—meaning you can use the presence of the relics on atlas to draw salem in one direction while sending tens of thousands of civilians to safety aboard amity in another. using amity to evacuate also allows for the refugees to be spread out across multiple population centers, easing the logistical burden on the cities that receive them and therefore improving outcomes for the refugees themselves.

fifth, retreat cannot be the final objective, because salem is obviously going to just follow atlas around until she captures the relics. the tactical purpose of retreat is instead to trade distance for time. by moving the citadel away and forcing salem to follow, you rob her of the opportunity to set up whatever siege weapons she might have brought along (<- grimm geysers are not something ironwood could have predicted necessarily, but functionally they are identical to any other siege weapon in that moving the besieged city away effectively neutralizes them, and if an immortal witch shows up with a massive army of monsters to deliver a siege it’s probably best to assume that she’s brought along siege weaponry of some kind) and give yourself time to figure out offensive tactics (<- like the whale nuke; no, salem’s immortality does not make destroying the whale pointless, the whale is her base of operations; destroying it significantly diminishes the effectiveness of her siege and might even end it depending on how difficult it would be for her to replace the whale.)

now, some of this tactical thinking relies on information that ironwood did not have access to at the time of his initial decision to raise atlas, and his mental and emotional state was also badly compromised by months of accumulated stress, physical exhaustion, and acute paranoia, so he was not equipped to be thinking at all rationally whatsoever. but this is why, ideally, he should have people around him responsible for different layers of planning—in the real world, ‘strategist’ and ‘tactician’ are discrete responsibilities assigned to different people for exactly this reason. there are a lot of complicated and overlapping considerations that one person cannot possibly be expected to handle alone. this is what battle councils are for. ultimately the fact that ironwood is able to make and execute this plan unilaterally within a matter of minutes is the greatest flaw of the plan itself; the general of an army should not have that much power.

…narratively, though, the most crucial piece of this is that the ideal way the react to salem’s siege is to combine ironwood’s plan with team rwby’s; that is, to stand ground and fight until the evacuation is finished and amity launched, then use the staff to retreat. notice how closely this mirrors the nature of the rnbp-vs-joyr conflict in V8, and how that conflict is resolved by doing both plans simultaneously whereas the conflict with ironwood escalated because he is unwilling to be flexible and uninterested in compromise! the question of who made the right call in 7.11 is largely a question of who was willing to compromise, because neither side could come up with the best answer except by incorporating the good ideas offered by the other side. that’s why the answer to “who was right?” is unequivocally “team rwby,” because they drew an ideologically and strategically correct line in the sand (abandoning mantle is off the table) before trying to get ironwood to work with them. had ironwood agreed to resume the evacuation while maintaining the necessity of eventual retreat, team rwby would have been open to that for the same reason they were open to dropping atlas in order to evacuate the kingdom—retreating from a lot of empty buildings is very different from deliberately leaving tens of thousands of people to die—and it is therefore ironwood’s stubbornness, his refusal to consider alternatives to the tactics he’s chosen, that makes him the one who’s wrong. as with every other time rwby sets up a dichotomous disagreement, the right answer falls somewhere in the middle.

[i-luvsang]

hi marimoon ^^ saw your post from four days ago, and i hooe i'm not too late for this? ateez req incoming.

in honor of october (based off smth that happened this friday for me), teacher/employee reader and the guys preparing for kindergartners up til third graders going trick or treating tomorrow!! they probably planned matching outfits, some of them. hwa as toothless and somebody as light fury, for example. surprisingly i cant think of a specific member to pair this with? i just think its cute,,

just imagine these guys playing bits of the characters they're dressed up as,, aughh

pls take care of yourself!! missing u lots, marimoon

; 🌂

HELLOOOO you are absolutely not too late, though i am late to the whole october and halloween thing here lmao. was struggling with this request and i thought maybe my thoughts would flow better if i wasn't thinking of it as a formal request and just blabbed about it right here. but i adore this concept so i still wanted to write something about it and get something to you even if it's messy and possibly ends up incoherent :))

nonetheless, i hope you enjoy my word vomit because i truly do love this idea and you for planting it in my head <3 (only cw is alcohol mention, which has nothing to do with the children i promise lmao)

first of all i love this idea of this au where they're all teachers. given the kindergarten through third graders it's kinda perfect because each grade can have two teachers and they're like teacher pairs and it's cute and fun. and to add reader into this i thought it would be super cute if reader was like the school librarian and gets to interact with all the teachers and their classes. i was thinking about san and woo as the kindergarten teachers just because of how well they played with little arin and ayun. and then yeosang and jjong with the first graders just cuz i think they'd be so cute with younger kids but first graders are slightly less insane than kindergartners maybe ?? plus i think they'd be the funniest pair of teachers like i just adore they're dynamic and i'm just thinking about jongho turning all the children against yeosang and they just relentlessly tease him forever <3333 next up in second grade i put yunho and mingi and idk this is such a horrible idea like they would never get anywhere that classroom is just screaming and more screaming and the quiet kids are just like save us please :D and last but not least, we have seongjoong as the third grade teachers because i think they'd be the only one's who can discipline older kids and that hongjoong might die if the kids were even less mature that the third graders already are.

and then yeah, you are the school librarian (or some other staff member that frequently works with the classes but i'm just saying librarian bc i work at my school's library and what's fanfic without it being a self insert <3). and yeah you get to be besties with all of them because they're a whole big squad that kinda scares the other teachers but they kidnapped you into their group because you're just so cool and awesome and they love you and the things you do for their students <3

what they also love about you is that you love halloween and always help them prepare for taking the students trick or treating. i like the idea that all the pairs of teachers have a tradition of matching their costumes. and this year, it goes (mostly) great for (almost) all of them. the night before the event, the nine of you have a halloween party amongst yourselves, a tradition that started a few years ago. obviously, you all show up to seonghwa's apartment in costume.

this year, san and wooyoung have defaulted on onesie costumes, explaining that before, they had attempted to diy complicated anime character costumes. it was going well (or so they say) until yesterday when they realized they had neither the skills or time to finish the costumes. they are very pleased when you tell them you're a big fan of their matching kuromi and my melody onesies, and that you think the kids will also enjoy these far more than whatever elaborate plan they had before. jongho, on the other hand, is having a blast making fun of them.

and while woosan are stunning in their hello kitty costumes, yeosang and jongho are really vying for your favorite pair this year. though, it looks like yeosang’s thick biceps are struggling against the sleeves of his snow white dress despite his lovely features being complimented by the femininity of the outfit. jongho looks as charming (completely unfunny pun intended) as always in his prince charming outfit, ready to unknowingly continue stealing the hearts of all of his student’s parents.

yet, these costumes, along with yunho and mingi's, are causing a lot of noise because the tall pair of best friends showed up as a princess and his knight in shining armor. jongho is indignant, convinced that he and yeosang's costumes are far better. yeosang is drowning a bit in the shouting, but doing his best to defend himself when he gets the chance. wooyoung has told yeosang that he's a costume repeater because he played snow white in a play in middle school, but san thinks it looks cooler this time because of yeo's far bigger muscles. mingi says he looks prettier because his dress his pink and yunho won't really defend him on it, but insists that the costumes are different enough because he's a knight, not a prince (and that he's cooler for that same reason).

this time, seonghwa has chosen neither to be a part of the chaos nor to attempt to stop it, and is instead happily perched on the couch with a glass of wine because he is finally satisfied with his costume this year.

time and time again, seonghwa insists on dressing as toothless, convinced that it's the perfect costume for him. and time and time again, he begs hongjoong to be a matching light fury with him. and, you know it... time and time again, hongjoong has refused. he's offered to dress as hiccup, and maybe a different dragon, but he refuses to complete seonghwa's request. secretly, you think it's just hongjoong's way of getting back at seonghwa for the printer incident. but finally, seonghwa found a solution to make his dreams come true and just completely ditched hongjoong as his costume partner.

that is where you come in, sitting next to seonghwa in a matching light fury costume. hongjoong is actually still a part of this costume, dressed as hiccup so that the kids don't question him, but his part in this plan a bit irrelevant to seonghwa. he's just so happy to finally have completed this costume, and will not stop bragging about it to everyone in the room. he's told you that he won't allow you to be anywhere but at his side tomorrow so that he can show off your costumes, and you just nod along despite knowing that your job and large groups of children will certainly take you else where.

but aside from the fighting regarding jongsang and yungi's costumes, the night was lots of fun in which you all exercising your very special crafty skills that come with being elementary school workers. so there are so very adorable decorations that you'll set up in the morning tomorrow and another lovely set of halloween memories with your favorite people <33

[fallen-in-dreams]

CHAPTER EIGHT on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 8,363.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

Enjoy. ^_^

Tumblr version:

… Chapter Eight: In the Light of Day. ...

.:.

I was a stranger to myself A flicker, a memory I was a fragment, an empty shell 'Til you got a hold of me

-- Like You Mean It, by Ruelle

.:.

There were no more explosions. No more bursts of unpredictable fire. No more screaming. The initial panic had subsided.

In the light of the next day, smoke from the doused fire had an otherworldly quality to it. It looked harmless and non-pervasive. The dust and ashes of collapsed rooves, fallen stucco and broken supports littered the streets invaded the senses. She would not deny it excited her. This was horrible. But it was not the monotonous lifestyle she’d come to expect from being stuck here. It was different. This was something that tore apart her day and ripped a hole through her boredom. Things had to break for there to be something to fix. She was a healer. She needed an injury to mend. It fed the beast inside of her, the medic part.

The dead part.

At least, it was dead, until now. She still cared. Sakura could feel the pang. That pull to sympathy. The past two years hadn’t eradicated it entirely. This was a relief. But she still couldn’t feel too bad about the fires. Nobody had died and she had work to do. The people coming into the hospital needed attention. They needed fixing. She had a purpose again.

And the council can’t do a damn thing about it.

Gaara had overruled them. He had to. His words. This was an emergency. It stung a little, that her assistance came only when they were in dire need, but at least she was here. The Suna Hospital was not lacking in staff, but the search and rescue efforts required medics to accompany teams in case they found people in need of emergency healing, leaving the hospital short staffed. The damage had been widespread but not entirely catastrophic.

So, as long as she didn’t stop to wonder if the parties responsible were waiting to blow up the building she was in, Sakura could look at this as a win.

Sakura had not slept a wink since that sleep paralysis woke her up. She’d never experienced anything so terrifying before. Coffee couldn’t have made her wider awake after that scare. She needed something familiar to take up her time. Something she could do with her eyes closed and had less risk of setting off her anxiety.

The rest of the morning went swimmingly. An hour after Gaara had left with Kankuro, the redhead returned. While the sun began to peak over the horizon, he informed her that he’d had a word with the council and if she wanted to, Sakura would be welcomed at the hospital to help treat the incoming wounded.

He’d leaned in, whispered, “I trust you” in that deep voice of his.

Stay calm.

It made her heart swell. It sent the logical part of her brain into the abyss, letting her imagine all kinds of weird reasons he’d have for saying that. Her heart made her wonder if he was just being nice for the sake of it, or if he really wanted her to like him. To want him. To turn this fake engagement into something real. Whisper sweet words. Make provocative promises. Stare with those captivating eyes of his. Trick her into thinking he was the perfect man. Make all her wishes come true.

Gods. She was hopeless.

“Watch out!”

Sakura looked up from her work in time to watch as a genin crashed heavily into a wheeled medical bed being pushed by a chunin. Except the latter was dressed in the long-sleeved red robes and pale vest of the medical division while the former looked bedraggled enough to have just come from a bomb site. She had to suppress a chuckle at the sight. There was no patient on the bed but that just made these two idiots lucky, not defensible.

Watching an aging nurse as she reprimanded them, Sakura couldn’t help but think of Lady Tsunade and her infamous anger. Once upon a time it had been her in the crosshairs of a superior medic when she’d bumbled while moving the medical bed in a hurry. She smiled wistfully.

“Sakura?”

“Hm?”

“The fracture?”

She blinked heavily. Right, she was healing a hairline fracture on an elderly man when the commotion started. The civilian medic who’d brought her attention was looking at her funny. The woman had her hands on the patient in question, pursing her lips.

Stay calm.

“Sorry,” she said, and the man just nodded, wincing when she held her hands over his wound once more. Green chakra made quick work of the bone and she moved her hands away, clenching them against her lower back. She looked around. There was a long line behind the man, and she needed to hurry up down the line. Before her inactivity could draw any more attention to her, Sakura moved over to the next minor injury.

Minor, right.

Sometimes she wondered about the labelling system of other villages. Or even her own, these days. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves.

The next in line was a brown-haired young man with a gash that a civilian medic had wrapped tightly but without gauze or even any medical tape, clearly assuming he would receive chakra healing once someone got around to him. The man was staring at his bandage, a grimace marring his features as he pressed his muddied hands against the wound. She hoped that meant someone else had told him to do that and not that he’d had to figure it out for himself.

They’re run ragged right now, she reminded herself. They’re doing the best they can.

Their triage department had more patients than nurses. It wasn’t their fault. Pushing down her annoyance, Sakura stepped over to the man. He didn’t react. She grabbed the clipboard next to him on the emergency room chair; his triage chart had him at a Priority Two, colour coded with an ugly orange hue.

“Akihiko?” She asked, glad her voice sounded so professional at least. He finally looked up at her. Dark green eyes had watered slightly at the edges, but he nodded at her.

“Y-yes.”

A civilian nurse had written down his information and it was good to know. But Sakura was a chakra using medic. She didn’t need to confirm every point again. The chart claimed he’d been given pain killers. She just needed to infuse her healing chakra into him and move on. She considered those hastily scribbled words on the chart to be an order and put it back down.

Sakura put on an award-winning smile. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we?” she asked, and he released his hold on his leg when she moved closer before gently unwrapping the makeshift bandage. The wound had been cleaned, at least, by the look of it. Everything was ready.

Sakura removed the bandage and held her hands over the wound. “This will take a little bit,” she said, and started to focus.

Even these small healing sessions made her feel human again. As Sakura knitted muscle together and sewing nerves, she still couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. This man had a few burns on his arm and chest as well, but they weren’t bleeding out, so she intended to leave them until last.

She wondered how back the damage to Suna really was. No-one had died but she’d seen a few cases where the patient had to be placed in a medically induced coma. It was a few people who’d been found under debris that had almost crushed their lungs. Lucky for them, the team that found them had had a chakra healer and not a civilian one, on hand.

Gaara had been sure to tell her that this incident was being treated as subterfuge and not an all-out attack, which was why there’s been no more attacks since the initial onslaught. He’d said it so matter-of-factly she wondered if it was a regular thing. But surely if this happened every so often, the medical teams would be more prepared, right?

The fires had spread through a third of the civilian district causing no deaths, only cases of second and third degree burns and smoke inhalation. One man came in with the first batch of patients with a hairline fracture on his tibia sustained from searching rubble for his daughter. The five-year-old in question had been perfectly safe, which just left her father exhausted and more pained. But clearly happy.

Other than that, there was nothing serious to tend to for the first few hours, just gashes and follow-ups on healed patients. But Sakura had been keeping busy, following the instructions of the matron she’d been assigned to and performing her tasks diligently. None of Suna’s medics were trained ninja but a third of them could use chakra. Most had been deployed on site, however.

“There you go,” Sakura said confidently, and the brown-haired man winced under her hands as she removed her chakra from his leg. He didn’t complain, however. “Let’s check those burns.”

He let her remove his shirt. A salve had been rubbed into his skin and his upper torso bandaged. Sakura removed the wraps and inspected the marks before summoning her chakra again. This time, the man sighed into her treatment, like the painkillers had finally started kicking in. She could use a few of them herself.

Stay calm.

A composed but high-pitched voice nearby reminded Sakura of her ranking in this place. The matron. Or Sue Yagen, as she was called. She had no idea if the older woman was like a head nurse or doctor. She had a grandmotherly air about her, much like Tsunade. And despite being middle-aged. But Sakura wasn’t worried Sue was going to break a wall in frustration.

She also made Sakura wonder where Matsuri and Yukata were currently working, since it was unlikely that they could be spared for more wedding planning right now. Sakura finished her work on the man, and he bowed slightly, offering a pained, “thank-you” before wobbling to his feet and insisting he was fine to move.

The next was a woman with a hairline fracture and after her an elderly couple with superficial scratches.

Sakura worked in silence for most of it, feeling the energy that had gotten her through the morning begin to wane. It was almost nine o’clock now and she wondered if anyone would miss her if she ducked into the cafeteria. The noise around her was beginning to wear on her. She just needed a little time separate from the crowd.

Sakura finished off her line of patients and made a show of heading back to the beginning of the line, keeping her eyes on Sue while repeating stay calm to herself over and over. She ducked out of the room when the woman turned around and quickly headed over to the almost empty room. There was just a chunin who was reading a large medical tome, their eyebrows narrowed in confusion.

She made herself a coffee, musing on the fact that she didn’t feel guilty about ducking out. It took a few minutes to make her liquid caffeine, about five minutes to drink it and another few minutes to psyche herself up to heading back out. Really, she must be having a good day. So far, no breakdowns.

Sakura chalked it up to the fact that she’d missed working in hospitals. Her inner crazy was sleeping, content.

She spared a quick look for the tome-reading chunin, who was still looking anxious, before slipping back out into the chaos. The sound hit her on all fronts at once and she had to repeat her stay calm mantra again, but she avoided a panic attack. She glanced up at the clock.

Almost ten o’clock now. She could do this. Sakura had had longer and more chaotic mornings before.

But when Sue saw her, it all came crashing down. A fog of rushing water in her ears almost knocked her off-balance. The woman looked harried. She grabbed Sakura’s elbow gently and started urging her in a different direction altogether, but not unkindly.

“Sakura, dear. The rest of the wounded are being seen to. I need you in the children’s ward. There’s…”

The rest of what she was saying fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, she could hear them. They were moving closer. Or maybe she was moving towards them. Sue let go of her as someone drew her attention, clearly confident Sakura would stop and wait for her.

The sounds of children pierced her ears. There was a childcare centre in here, maybe not too far from the hospital greenhouses and perhaps an indoor recreation area that looked like a park. Sakura had heard it earlier but hadn’t paid much attention. Her mind was on other things. Like healing people. And pretending she was a person again. But now, the noise was rising in volume, like an oncoming storm. A thunderous reminder of something she’d lost. And painfully. Her heart started to race, and she clenched her fists.

No, no, no, no, no.

She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes for a moment, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.

Stop it.

Sue didn’t seem to notice, peering at the patient chart in her hands that someone had run over to hand to her. The middle-aged medic was one of the most studious working in the hospital, that Sakura had seen so far. Truly, dedicated to her work.

Stop having weird panic attacks or she’s going to think you’re a weirdo.

It had happened several times already; once upon entry to the hospital first thing in the morning, another time when she was helping a patient into a wheelchair, and again when her healing chakra had flared after a patient had gushed about being rescued from falling debris by the Kazekage.

This one makes the most sense though.

She didn’t need to hear the sounds of children playing. It reminded her of what could’ve been and what had been ripped away from her. Her almost-motherhood, she’d called it, when the blood had finally stopped gushing. But she had her autonomy now and needed to get a hold of herself. Gone were the days when she was a toy for the rich men that Danzo had sent her to seduce or kill. Yes. She had control over her own body now and these stupid panic attacks needed to fuck off already. She took a deep breath, hand on her heart, and tried to stop the images in her mind, groaning softly when that failed.

When it showed her how it happened.

Dead bodies. Burned beyond recognition. The putrid smell of decaying flesh. The pulsing in her womb as blood trickled down her legs. Her tear-stained face as she tried to rationalise her decision and the silent sobbing of her heart when she came to terms with what she’d done.

What I’d had to do.

What Danzo would’ve done anyway, if she’d returned to Konoha in that condition.

Fuck.

“You’re an idiot.”

Sakura forced herself to stand straight and glanced at her mirage. All morning she’d avoided seeing it. From the moment she left the Kazekage mansion until this panic attack there’d been blessed silence. And no matter how much she tried to wish it away, the thing wouldn’t leave. It just stared at her like she was some kind of dumb arse with a death wish.

“Lord Kazekage.”

That snapped Sakura out of it. She looked up so quickly her neck twisted painfully.

Gaara was striding through the room, from the direction of the main doors to the hospital. He seemed to be on a mission, sparing a curt nod toward Sue (whom Sakura was beginning to think was a bigger deal than the older lady had let on) and a slower nod to Sakura, his mouth softening into an almost smile, as he kept walking. Sakura watched him intensely before he disappeared.

They hadn’t talked about what she did to the almost-assassin. He seemed to just want to forget it. But Sakura wasn’t naïve enough to think that it would never come up at some point. That the council would just let it go. She was still waiting for the moment they dragged her into an interrogation room. As an ally (allegedly) it would be inappropriate, but Sakura had no illusions about how the official members of Suna’s hierarchy felt about her.

She didn’t want to talk about it.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sue asked, snapping Sakura out of her musings, and shooing at her. “I said head into the children’s ward. It just needs a bit of tidying up. Give you something to do, dear.”

Did you really say that?

She couldn’t remember.

Sakura found herself following Gaara unintentionally. It seemed the children’s ward had been his destination all along. She’d heard talk of him visiting all the main sites affected by the fires in Suna, like he was a dignitary making rounds. It had to be a morale thing. She was sure his skills would be better put toward fixing structural problems. But obviously that was done now.

She lost sight of the redhead for a minute before stepping into the children’s ward. She inwardly groaned.

He’s talking to him.

Sakura had just met him that morning and already didn’t like the boy. Ryou was a volunteer in the children’s ward and a prideful boy of sixteen. A civilian with the ego of a genin fresh out of the academy. She’d seen him herd the wounded kids to the children’s ward hours ago, bossing them around like an older brother. They responded to him, even when only petulantly, and he won them over with a kind but no-nonsense attitude.

The one time she’d interacted with him had been an hour later when they’d both gone looking for the same supplies in the nurse’s station. Sakura felt uncomfortable around him immediately. The old version of her would appreciate his work ethic and dedication to the children, but the new her couldn’t get past the way he looked down his nose at her.

Staring at him now, she pursed her lips in disgust. He talked with Gaara like the redhead was just another person instead of his Kazekage, which Gaara didn’t seem to mind. Ryou even scowled at him a few times. But what they were talking about, she didn’t know. Not that it mattered. She didn’t want to approach them. Even if Gaara did hold her to higher esteem. Her nerves frayed just thinking about it.

Sakura did as Sue instructed and started clearing out the area, beginning in the area furthest from Gaara and Ryou. This was the library section with a small play area. It was a mess. She glanced over as Gaara left with the children and Ryou, to some outdoors area she wagered. The redhead spared her a light smile as he exited the room and Sakura glowered at the retreating group. Ryou scowled at her when he noticed, shook his head and left.

Fuck him.

Sakura worked in silence, moving toys and books off the floor. She tried not to think of the tiny hands that would play with these, lest her heart start to squeeze her in panic again. She wished this hadn’t been Sue’s only idea to the “what to make Sakura do now” question. She didn’t want to be here any more than Ryou wanted her to be.

Ugh. I could break both of his legs and drag him into the medical corps by the scruff of his neck.

That would be something for her to do. Never mind that he was only sixteen. Still a child, really. She didn’t care. When she was sixteen, Sakura had already endured worse just in training session with her shishou. She grinned maniacally at the thought of doing the same to him. Of putting him in his place.

An hour went by. It has passed in a series of dissociations in which she fantasised about Ryou’s gruesome death. Maybe it was the fault of the Cold War and the budget for the hospital was unimportant to the council, but the security in this hospital was a joke. Only the larger areas like the emergency room and highest floors of the building were under constant surveillance. Back when she was slipping through civilian defences to find targets that were hiding behind technology-based security systems, this place would have been easy to sneak into. Her genjutsu was perfect for this kind of mission. She’d have been in, found Ryou and wrung his fucking neck, and out in under fifteen minutes. Even with other shinobi around.

As long as they weren’t S-rank and adept at genjutsu themselves.

Then it would get increasingly more difficult and dangerous.

Sakura mused on it for the time it took her to finish her current task. But when she came out of her daydream, she was unsurprisingly and very quickly bored out of her mind. Deciding she’d had enough, Sakura left the playroom, heading in the same direction Gaara had left. The door at the other end led into a hallway, a small kitchen (and several gossiping nurses), and then opened up into an outside garden area. Her presumption had been correct.

There he is.

Ryou was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. But Gaara was still with the children, helping a few of them to build what looked like a fortified castle in the large sandpit. With his hands. She smiled at that. She leaned against the door and just watched them. Watched him.

If she hadn’t come to Suna under duress, Sakura might have entertained the idea of starting something with him. There was no longer anyone else she thought of when she touched herself. And she’d been doing that a lot lately. Inserting a little fun time with the Kazekage might get her way too much attention though, regardless.

I’m too fucked to fuck, anyway.

She sighed softly but the soft exhalation hadn’t been soft enough and pale green eyes scanned the area and quickly fell on her. He looked mildly surprised to see her but offered a genial smile, which she returned without thinking. Gaara turned back to the sandcastle at the prodding of the children.

Cute and good with kids.

She watched as Gaara continued to play with the children. She blinked heavily. Voices of children in the background. She was reminded of wistful thoughts she’d once had about what might have been. How differently her life could have gone. A more peaceful version of herself.

The world around her blurred and she fought down a groan. Hazy tendrils of light and blackness played across her vision. She blinked heavily but it wouldn’t go away. Sakura slumped down to the ground, still pressed against the door. Shaky and closing her eyes as the children doted on the Kazekage. They spoke and her mind homed in on them.

“It’s really pretty, Kazekage-sama.”

Blood everywhere. Streaking down her legs, her thighs. Caking her skin.

“More sand, please!”

Sharp, stabbing jolts of phantom electricity surging through her abdomen.

“My castle won’t stay up!”

Cramps. Painful, searing cramps that lingered for days.

“I wanna be strong and kind like you, Gaara-sama!”

She couldn’t stop the groans and gasps of pain. One hand on her stomach, one on her head. Nestling her head against the door frame like it was a lifeline. She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

“Sakura?”

The deep, familiar husky voice broke through the cracks in her memory. But it was a welcomed one. She attempted to exhale, her breath coming out shaky and ragged.

“Sakura?”

Warm hands encasing hers. Fingers stroking her skin. Minutes passed. Sakura blinked heavily. Her vision cleared and her tremors receded. She took a deep breath, unable to summon the energy to be embarrassed that Gaara had seen her panic attack. If anyone understood, it was him, right? It was a new level of self-awareness and just not giving a shit. Maybe she just wanted him to see her.

Sakura took a chance and gripped his hand firmly. He didn’t flinch or hesitate, returning the gentle squeeze. She couldn’t look him in the eye, however, lowering her head further. So, her mind wondered. Was he looking at her? And why did she care? She took a deep breath and thought about pulling away. The Kazekage was crouching in front of her, holding her hand, waiting out her panic attack. How odd did they look?

She had a fleeting concern about the children. Small mouths spread words fast.

“Sakura?”

His deep voice drew her eyes to him. Sakura blinked slowly. “Huh?”

He tugged on her gently and she let him help her to her feet. She trembled. He still hadn’t let go of her hand. Wait, what was he asking?

Gaara was addressing her again, a concerned look on his face. “Are you well?”

Loaded question.

She just nodded. Her skin was flushed and tingled. It was clear she was lying. But she kept the fake smile plastered to her face, willing him to understand. He got the hint and finally nodded back. But she saw the worry etched along his face. The way he hesitated to leave her behind when the children called for him. He wanted to say more and almost did. It was all over his face and in his body language as he reluctantly walked back to them, glancing at the pinkette a few times.

She kept the smile on her face, hugging herself and leaning against the door frame again. Gaara was full of surprises. Sakura, meanwhile, was having an epiphany.

He went back to the kids. Sakura went back to the emergency room. Nobody mentioned that she’d been gone for over an hour. She wouldn’t care if they did. She slipped into autopilot as Sue piled more work on her. Small things that were usually only dumped on genin or untrustworthy foreigners. Innocuous tasks. But important all the same. She did them all without complaining. And without really paying attention to what she was doing. They occupied her for the rest of the morning.

There was only one thing on her mind that mattered to her right now: how Gaara had been towards her. And how her heart raced just remembering it.

He sees me.

.:.

She had to escape.

There was no panic in her steps, no rush to her movements. She just knew, unequivocally, that she had to leave the medical corps. Finally. There was still work to do but it wasn’t important. It was boring. And the tedium was driving her insane. Gaara had likely left already too. It had been a couple of hours since she’d seen him. Maybe more. Maybe less.

Of course, he’s gone by now.

Sakura slipped out of the empty, tiny office she’d been stuck in for the last forty minutes. She hadn’t brought a bag with her when she arrived in the hospital, first thing in the morning, but Sakura found herself seeking out the nurse’s station as though she had. Behind the station was a small supply closet, less stocked than the ones on the main levels but stocked enough. Her feet moved in that direction.

Who’s actually in control of me, really?

Finding the nurse’s station empty, Sakura slipped into the supply closet and closed the door behind herself, breathing a deep sigh of relief. She needed to escape the strange looks and judgement. Some people were praising her work, making her nostalgic for the days when that wasn’t a rarity, and other people were treating her like she was an alien from another planet.

It’s too much.

After her panic attack in front of Gaara, Sakura was done. But first she needed to get her heart rate under control. She leaned back against the door, not caring that if someone opened it, she’d fall arse over tit. It was surprisingly comfortable as she counted her breaths, feeling her pulse. A few minutes and she was no longer shaking. But now she had a new problem.

Voices. A man and a woman. Unfamiliar and from the sounds of it, taking up positions in the nurse’s station.

Shit.

Sakura moved away from the door, grateful that even the chakra wielders of the medical corps didn’t seem to have any sensory ability. Even comparable to her own pathetic skills. They continued talking as though they were alone. They started referencing “that foreign medic” and it didn’t take a genius to realise who they were talking about.

“Sakura Haruno?”

“She’s a quiet one, that one.”

“She’s been under Danzo’s thumb, give her a break.”

“Lord Danzo.”

A scoff. “I hear his dark Anbu squad are all minors, like it’s a fetish.”

“He’s creepy.”

“I know, right?”

“I heard he rounds up the kunoichi every week and personally inspects them.”

“Eew!”

“Think he takes some—”

“Gross! He’s like, a hundred years old!”

They continued back and forth until the man left, and Sakura bounced on the heels of her feet impatiently. She didn’t care what they had to say. They didn’t matter. She just needed to get out.

Do I have a jutsu for this?

Genjutsu. Yes. But if someone else happened by while she was sneaking out, she could get spotted. And there was no exit plan for her escape from the village. Unlike her previous missions, she’d have to come back here and act like nothing happened. The risk was too great. She waited a few more minutes but the nurse’s humming indicated she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. This was just fucking great.

She sighed softly and turned around.

I’m in a medical supply closet.

It hadn’t really hit her until now, to take advantage of this. She smiled. Sakura searched the lines of drugs and supplies with her eyes. Most of the drugs were of no use to her or out of stock and she had no need for the medical tape or alcohol pads. Or the limited variety of stationary supplies.

She stepped forward and squinted at some of the labels. One of them in particular caught her eye.

Prazosin.

Sakura reached up and carefully grabbed a bottle, turning it over in her hand thoughtfully. Prazosin was a medicine typically prescribed for high blood pressure, but it could also be used to combat nightmares. Reducing the severity and frequency. This had potential.

I need it.

Sakura knew she shouldn’t be self-prescribing (or stealing) like this but she was desperate. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she got here. Suna might have been an easier pill to swallow than she’d initially thought, but left alone with only her warped mind for company, she was going to go insane.

Even more than I already have.

For high blood pressure, the maximum dose would normally be about one milligram capsules, two or three times a day. That would be three milligrams in one go if she swallowed all three and she figured it was a bit much for a first dose so Sakura dry-swallowed a single pill.

There was nowhere on her person to put the bottle in that wouldn’t look suspicious when she walked out. There were, however, resealable bags on the bottom shelf that were small enough to fit in her bra. She fiddled with her clothing, puffing up her breasts to accommodate for the extra packaging. There was no way anyone was going to look at those things if she exited the supply closet.

When I exit the supply closet.

There was no way to guarantee that she would be able to return to the hospital, but she couldn’t risk stealing anything else. The security might be lax right now, but that could just be coincidental. She knew what the security was typically like at a medical corps, as well as the punishment for being caught thieving. The Prazosin would have to do for now.

Sakura pressed her ear against the door and waited.

Should I just go now or wait? She had no idea. The clock above the wall said it was almost midday so she decided to stand and watch the big hand to hit the two. When it did, the nurse made a shuffling sound, giving a long sigh. The woman groaned a few times, like she was doing stretches and pushed her chair back. Sakura continued to listen but the click clack of the woman’s shoes moving away was all she needed to hear.

She tentatively pushed on the door and let out a sigh of her own when the nurse’s station looked empty. She closed the door and made to leave, pausing when she noticed something sticking out from underneath the desk. She almost laughed out loud. It was a dirty magazine.

She fingered the magazine, smiling. That was the silver lining of her crazy mind. Her libido was strong. She had been self-recreating more often since her arrival at Suna. Old Sakura was a closet pervert. New Sakura might not be shouting her perversion to the rooftops, but she had come to terms with it internally, at least. Men dressed in barely anything. Men not dressed at all. She flicked through it quickly before putting it back. Unfortunately, she had no way to smuggle that out of the hospital.

I wonder if there are any in Temari’s room.

The idea of sneaking into the bedroom and stealing things from a woman who may or may not be dead felt wrong. But the magazine was putting idea in her head now, and Sakura needed something. She was currently living with two men who were very easy on the eyes. One more than the other, in her opinion. She needed a little distraction.

Something to take the edge off.

An ink bottle caught her eye, reminding Sakura that she hadn’t done anything with her version of Sai’s ink jutsu in a few days. She’d made her decision to perfect the ink bird and have it scout out the boundary of the village and needed to keep that promise to herself. If nothing else, it was something to do.

I’ve been so distracted lately.

There was nothing else she felt confident trying to steal. She couldn’t spot any cameras but there would definitely be a live feed once she stepped back into the emergency room, which just so happened to be on her way out.

I have to get out.

Resolved, Sakura left the nurse’s station and searched for Sue to let her know she was leaving.

I have more important things to do.

.:.

“It’s too dangerous!”

“A kunoichi with a weapon. Right.”

“You scoff now, Lord Baki, but wait until–”

“Sakura Haruno is here as our guest,” Gaara reminded the councillors. “At your behest, no less.”

“That may be, Lord Kazekage,” Sajō said, “but we cannot allow this. She is no longer a kunoichi. She is your future wife. Ninja weapons do not belong in non-ninja hands.”

“Are you punishing her for killing that assassin?” Kankuro snapped.

“Kankuro.” Gaara understood his brother’s stance. He had been wondering this himself. Why do this now? The council had been informed about the would-be-assassin immediately. But only recently had he decided to inform them who it was that had killed him. And now, they’d pried the existence of an uncatalogued kunai that nobody had retrieved from her. They were so determined to have every weapon in Suna under some kind of surveillance. Even Gaara’s family training grounds had been stripped when this Cold War had escalated.

It was so opportunistic and conniving to be making a big deal of this, but that was politicians for you.

They bickered a few more times. Gaara could easily pull rank on them. He wanted to. And he noticed Ebizō watching him intently, like he was waiting for the Kazekage to do just that. Debating the pros and cons of whether or not to anger the rest of the council on such a matter, Gaara had no idea if it was even worth it. If he knew how Sakura would respond, he could use that help balance his yes or no dilemma.

The council room felt extremely confining and stuffy all of a sudden.

“We are still waiting the return of Lady Temari and her team, you recall.”

The mention of his sister brought Gaara’s attention back to the meeting. They couldn’t have finished bickering already. But this was likely a momentary reprieve from the discussion at hand. He needed to pay attention.

“She will be fine.”

Please be fine. Gaara didn’t know what he would do if she never returned. If she became another statistic on a scroll that the lead medical examiner in the Suna Pathology Lab sent to him to read. He would not be able to handle that.

“What was she even thinking, leaving the village?”

“She wanted to help.”

“The Kazekage clan should be holed up behind the walls during this time of strife, not out fighting and potentially getting killed.”

Gaara swallowed heavily.

“This is all well and good, gentlemen,” Ebizō said, “but let’s get back to the topic at hand.”

Gaara had no idea which one of those options he hated more.

“Yes, yes. We need to disarm the Leaf kunoichi.”

Kankuro scoffed. “I thought she wasn’t a kunoichi anymore.”

Grumbles of “disrespectful” and “how dare you” rolled off Kankuro’s back as he glared right back at them. The only thing keeping him from being forcibly removed from the room was his position as the Kazekage’s brother.

“With that Root member lurking about, we don’t need any more problems.”

“It was your idea to have him lurking about in the first place.”

Dear Kami, Kankuro.

The outraged reply was white noise in Gaara’s head. He stood suddenly and the room went quiet.

“I will deal with it,” he said gruffly, then summoned his sand and teleported out.

.:.

Sakura was nowhere to be found.

The memory of her panic attack had him worried. Surely her day in the hospital had improved. He could still feel the warmth of her hand on his when he helped her through those moments. But when Gaara decided to search the hospital first the head matron, Sue, informed him the pinkette had been gone since lunchtime. Sakura wasn’t exactly a social butterfly these days so he presumed she’d returned to the Kazekage mansion.

As the sun set behind him, Gaara re-entered his home much earlier than his normal office day would allow. He couldn’t sense her at first, reminded of how her chakra often seemed to elude him, like she’d trained herself to suppress it autonomously.

There she is.

Sakura was walking down the internal staircase. He moved past the library and stilled at the sight of her. She was smiling at him but Gaara’s eyes were drawn to something else. Her nightdress (or whatever it was called, he didn’t know) was simple but hugged her nicely. Snugly. But not skin tight. Her legs and arms were bare and toned. He licked his lips, his eyes trailing her greedily.

Where did she get the nightdress?

Sakura ran her hands down the front of the nightdress, further drawing his eyes to the shape of her body. He swallowed heavily.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I found it in a hallway closet and I presume it’s Temari’s.”

Gaara nodded, not knowing what else to do. She looked amazing. He couldn’t stop noticing how it complimented her figure.

She has filled out nicely since returning to Suna.

Gaara cleared his throat. Well, she hadn’t looked very healthy that day on her arrival to Suna, so it was clear she’d been underfed. And there was always plenty of food in the fridge so the one thing Sakura wouldn’t be able to complain about was starvation, even with Kankuro around. His brother’s appetite rivalled Naruto’s at times.

How long does it typically take for someone to regain their natural, healthy glow?

He sighed.

“So…” Sakura stepped toward him and he stiffened slightly. “I was coming downstairs to get some icecream. Want to share?”

She didn’t wait for an answer and Gaara followed her quietly as she found the freezer and started rummaging through it, looking for the perfect icecream no doubt. The unstable woman from earlier that day, who’d been clearly having a panic attack, was gone. And a far cry from the confident kunoichi in front of him. She was holding herself different too. His body was reacting. Gaara unconsciously licked his lips.

Sakura pulled out a tub of icecream and grabbed a couple of spoons, running them under hot water for good measure. The flavour she’d chosen was one of Gaara’s favourites: kinako (roasted soybean flavour) which went great with black honey. He didn’t have a sweet tooth but this was one of the few exceptions. And a staple of his family. His mother had (allegedly) loved it, and so did his siblings. He had no idea what his father had thought of it.

The clang of the spoons as Sakura wrestled them out of the drawer reminded him of the twang of steel. Of kunai. He needed to bring up the subject of the kunai but also really wanted a bite of that ice cream. Gaara accepted the spoon and moved to stand adjacent to her at the island in the middle of the kitchen. They leaned over and started eating. Sakura let out a few soft moans as she ate, immersed. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.

They ate quietly for five minutes before Gaara pulled away from the tub, twirling the spoon in his hand thoughtfully. Still watching her. Then he dug back in, mostly to distract himself from the noises she was making.

Is she aware how erotic she sounds?

He couldn’t tell.

Gaara was determined to nip this in the butt before he got too worked up over something he couldn’t have. He cleared his throat and moved away, putting his spoon in the sink, to stop himself from eating anymore. He needed to bring up the kunai with her. But he couldn’t think of a way to segway into that conversation.

Sakura pulled away as well, now looking at him with a thoughtful smile. “The children at the hospital really like you.”

He nodded. “They are orphans.” His heart clenched at the memory of their faces and Sakura inhaled sharply. He was actually thinking of adopting one of them. Several had shown promise in ninjutsu and he could imagine himself raising a child that could even one day succeed him as Kazekage. But there was a niggling feeling that told him it would be unfair to adopt for that purpose. He wanted to form a bond, not just adopt a student. He didn’t want to turn into his father.

Gaara had slowly come around the idea of being a father one day, but that normally came with romantic entanglements – something he’d never been a fan of. If things could work out with someone he actually respected, like Sakura, it would solve all his concerns about that. Relationships were never easy, of course. He just wanted the people in his life to feel like they were worth it. Having a girlfriend or wife just for the sake of it wasn’t an enticing prospect for him. And he’d be the first to admit that sexual attraction, while a fascinating reaction he did indeed possess, was even less important to him than having a real connection with someone.

The topic required more contemplation on his part.

“How… how is the repair work going? I mean, after the fires.”

Gaara was not expecting that question. “Well enough,” he said and she nodded, her face pensive. He continued. “Most of the structures that were affected are salvageable but a few need rebuilding from the ground up. I’m sure you’re aware of the current climate and the state of inter-village interations.” She nodded again. He probably shouldn’t be telling her this, but found he didn’t care. “This is just another stunt from enemies who are annoyed at us for some reason or another. Closing off Suna’s borders, in this climate, would be seen as an intention of war, bringing all matter of chaos down on us.” He frowned, staring at the wall for a moment. “So sometimes a visitor goes unseen around the village because we cannot spare enough eyes to watch every new occupant. We must seem to be running the village as we always have. Any change would draw the wrong eyes.” He sighed. “It is unfortunate that inter-village relations have regressed to this point.”

He might as well have just said, “Danzo’s spies would take their observations of our goings on to report these as valuable secrets to other nations”. He couldn’t let Suna appear weak, in this current climate. In any climate.

Sakura continued to nod her head as though it was the answer to all their problems. She seemed to understand.

It had been decades since relations between villages were as bad as it was now. The Third Great Shinobi War had been devastating and it was only an armistace between Konoha and Iwa that finally ended it. The Leaf earned the respect as the nation that had come out on top. That war had started with skirmishes along borders, a lot like the war the nations currently found themselves embroiled in. Except for the fact that the skirmishes weren’t being officially recognised.

Time will undoubtedly change that. If nothing could be done to prevent it.

Short of a miracle, it was inevitable at this point.

“I remember a few incursions back in Konoha,” she said, and it was his turn to nod along. She spun the spoon in her hand absentmindedly. “I lost....” She cleared her throat. “Fires in a village whose specialty is fire was a really ironic move.” She seemed lost in thought now, a haunted look on her face. “Maybe they thought there wouldn’t be enough water jutsu to put the flames out. Stupid, really.”

He agreed with that. It would be like this recent sabateour attacking with wind or sand, given Suna’s natural inclinations. These would be easily combated by sand shinobi. But this topic was the perfect excuse for what he’d really come here to say.

“Appearances are important,” he stalled. He frowned at himself before looking Sakura dead in the eye. “The council know you have an unregistered kunai.”

Sakura stiffened, narrowing her eyes at him.

He didn’t want to keep talking, but he continued. “They have demanded it be turned over to them.”

No reaction. Not for all of five seconds. Then she growled. She threw the spoon at the sink. Not into it, but at. It startled him and Gaara almost took a step backward. Almost.

“No, they can’t have it. It’s mine.”

Her voice trembled with every syllable. She pursed her lips, her chakra flaring.

“I killed him,” she said, her voice croaky. “It’s mine.”

“Sak—”

She cut him off with a strangled, sudden sob. “I always do that. It’s all my fault.”

The shift from angry to devastated and then crying gave him whiplash. Her eyes shone with tears and a weight settled in the pit of Gaara’s stomach. He shouldn’t have done this. He should have just told the council where to stick it. A single kunoichi with a kunai in a village of armed ninja? No threat. Even if she did avail herself of the training grounds that he’d offered her. And the kunai was not from a Suna shinobi. Technically, they had no right to confiscate it. Not unless it had been used to attack one of their own ninja. And it was very clear they didn’t consider Sakura to be anything like that.

I’ll tell them off later.

Sakura let out a sob and he moved forward to catch her when she fell; they sank to the floor in a heap. She didn’t push him away, digging her face into his chest as she cried openly. She fisted his shirt, pressing herself against him almost intimately. The reality of her bare legs and arms came crashing down on him. He tried to be respectful but their positions on the floor made it hard to hold any part of her that was clothed. The only silver lining was that their legs were not entangled. If his knee moved even a few inches to the left, gravity would kick in and without interference, his knee would slip between her legs easily.

Gaara closed his eyes and turned his face from her, trying to push out those thoughts. Her body was warm and heavy against his. It was more intimacy than he’d gotten in a long time. But even though he knew he should move them into a less scandalous arrangement, Gaara didn’t want to. His arms encircled her. He wanted to support her. To comfort her. They’d spoken so many times and yet said so little to each other. There was a dull ache in his chest that wanted to change that.

She hiccupped. “I’m s-so sorry, G-Gaara.”

He pulled her tighter. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m so f-fucked up. You deserve better.”

Had she ever sworn before? He’d never heard her. It sounded so unnatural coming out of her mouth. And there was no honest way to respond to her confession that would actually make her feel better, so he fell silent. He just continued to hold her closely. The warmth of her, the scent; he breathed it in. Her bare legs pulled up against his and he no longer had to worry about accidentally parting them. He relaxed further into their mutual embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say. “You can keep the kunai.”

.:.

[clatterbane]

That was fun. I woke up to what in context I was guessing were likely plumber noises. (Yep!)

Can't actually find when I posted about it the first time our persistent drain problem (which is down to the building plumbing 🙄) really needed professional intervention. But yeah, the main sewage drain has kept getting blocked up through nothing we can control, and it was pretty bad again when I went to bed.

(Weird backflow keeps blocking things up where our plumbing meets the main line. It's apparently at a terrible angle or something. We are also on the bottom floor, just to make it better.)

After working on it pretty much the whole time I was gone last night (not least with a bunch of drain cleaner, after going out yesterday evening to get more before the store closed). No luck, and we were hoping it would unblock overnight like it's done before.

No such luck. He came out this morning, and accidentally left one of the toilets running after flushing it again. (I think that needs a valve replacement or something, because it keeps sticking open and needing the flusher jiggled.) He can't really hear it when it is running, though the noise drives me crazy. Anyway, then he came back a little bit later to find nasty water starting to spill out into the hall. 😱

For context, this is indeed a basic Swedish standard wet room setup we're talking about, with a slightly sloping floor leading toward a big floor drain that the bathtub empties into and a lip at the threshold.

Every previously dry towel in the house is heaped in the tub now. He has actually gone to IKEA to buy more, because Out Of Towels Error. Those sodden filthy ones will also need to be hauled to the basement laundry room whenever we can book a time. 😩

That's how we get Sewage Lake going whenever that drain backs up. It just comes up that floor drain under the tub.

Similar deal in the current wreck of a small bathroom, though it doesn't have a floor drain which is why there is still some standing water after the plumber came. Otherwise a wet room setup, and (thankfully cleaner) water managed to start overflowing the sill because that was the stuck-running toilet culprit.

At any rate, he saw that little flood and was going "oh shit, we really need a plumber STAT!" when apparently some essentially condo association staff person came a'knockin' to see if we had a leak. Because someone had already reported water dripping in the laundry room right under us.

So yeah, at least this time they did arrange to get a plumber in stat! Dude apparently had to pump the horrible water out into an outdoor drain, and no wonder they were here so long.

The blockage did get successfully rooted out, and Mr. C already cleaned the big bathroom floor out with bleach so it's vaguely usable. The small one still has a bit of standing water for the moment, because Out Of Towels Error. I may have to thoroughly clean them both myself before my actual OCD feels relatively OK with not treating them like particularly nasty public restrooms in my own house.

With the disgusting flood actually breaching containment and leaking through outside our apartment, hopefully this will make them more inclined to fix that plumbing junction which is causing the issue. Can't say I'm holding my breath, though. 🤨 This has to be a long-term thing already, and I would be amazed if previous owners hadn't kept having the exact same issue. And possibly getting nasty floor water dripping down to the laundry room, which frankly may have been considered lower priority since it isn't somebody else's apartment under there.