#winning meat trays

[fazcinatingblog]

What do you mean there's no big bash on till Tuesday?????

[gowonminajxx]

sevika x female!reader one shot

she teaches you poker, except you don’t wanna pay attention.

WARNINGS: suggestive / smut, MDNI, slight degrading, drinking smoking, sevika and reader are in a relationship (already damn!!)

it was another usual night at bar sevika always went to to play poker — a game she always won at. the same men would come back every time to blow their money in hopes of winning, but never succeeded.

you decided to ask sevika, hands behind your back, if she could teach you how to play poker. you weren’t new to seeing her dominate all the rounds of poker, but you always wondered how she always won. you wanted to be as good as her. you also wanted to be good for her.

she nodded, a slight grin on her face before resuming back to her current game of poker. she quickly said to you in between plays: “after a few rounds. i’ll teach you.” in response, you nodded your head extremely quickly, scooting in closer to her so she could attach her hand to your hip. you were like a lucky charm. she didn’t need luck, but she still wanted it.

when the bar started clearing out, the last few people finishing up their pool games, she was drinking whatever number drink she had that night. wasn’t easy for her to get tipsy. she was smoking and drinking at the same time, putting her cigar down on a tray to drink, and then putting it back in to focus on poker.

your head landed on her shoulder before you opened your mouth and asked “could you teach me now?” and of course, she said yes. she set her drink down. she was drinking bourbon, two ice cubes. you took the opportunity to casually sit on her lap.

whatever she taught you in those first 10 minutes ended up being a blur. you weren’t paying attention whatsoever, and when she tried snapping you out of it, your eyes widened.

“someone’s not paying attention.” sevika grinned. as she played with the cards in between her thick fingers, she murmured “i’ll figure out a different way.”

she went on and on about poker and methods to do it. you always thought it was luck but majority of her wins were based on her skill. as your eyes blankly watched her flip between the cards as she talked, she noticed you were drifting off again.

with the cold glass of bourbon in her hand, you suddenly felt the ice cubes inside the glass press against the warm skin of your collarbone, making you jolt backwards into sevika’s chest. your eyes instantly darted down at sevika, who looked serious.

“i don’t enjoy when people waste my time, y/n.” her eyes stood still on the cards on the table, while the cold glass slid downwards towards your chest. the fabric of your top began to dampen because of it.

you shivered at the cold feeling of the glass, contrasting against your warm body. as the glass drifted down more, you felt your core throb on top of sevika’s thigh.

sevika’s large hand landed on your breast, with a softer touch than she usually has. the coldness of the glass lowered, all the way down to your inner thigh. your heart raced as you sighed.

“you thought i wouldn’t notice how needy you were at the start of the night?” her low, husky voice sent a chill up your spine. she put more pressure onto the glass, the ice cubes within bleeding into your pants. you flinched at the feeling.

her other hand began slowly massaging the meat of your tit, the cigar twitching in her mouth. and as soon as your body was getting used to the cold temperature of the ice cubes, she shifted it to a different area surrounding your clothed vagina, making you flinch and whimper every time.

she looked downwards at how your stomach retracted whenever she moved the glass, like she was proud. “you never wanted to learn poker. you just wanted me to treat you like the slut you are.” her hand clenched the glass and pushed it a little further into your pouch.

you gasped, your neck losing its posture to look down at what she was doing. her finger rubbed the fabric of where your nipple was, before continuing to massage the breast.

she knew people were still in the bar even at this late time. she also knew they were too scared to tell her to “get a room” or take this elsewhere — she wanted to punish you, embarrass you even.

you felt your underwear getting more wet by the minute, you felt like you were about to explode any second. your hips began moving back and forth small amounts on sevika’s thigh for friction, which she took note of immediately. you could feel how your pussy throbbed at every stimulation.

“so fucking desperate. was this your plan?” a grin crossed her face as she scoffed, shaking her head as if she was disappointed. she was anything but disappointed. she let you continue, and an orgasm just from this was starting to bubble inside you.

as your hips began to move faster and harder just for that feeling of some sort of touch against your clit, sevika suddenly stopped you. she stood up, your hips halting as hers pushed yours forward. her hand pushed your chest onto the table in front of you, cards piling on the floor as they fell. your hands came to either side of your head.

“everyone out.” she said, people starting to run out of the bar. her chest lowered down to rest onto your back, her head right next to yours as she grunted into your ear.

“so desperate for my touch? then i’ll let you fucking have it.”

—

raaaah 🤓🤓

[ichorai]

number 13 ; rhaenyra targaryen.

track thirteen of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; rhaenyra targaryen x lannister!f!reader

synopsis ; in another life, she could’ve been with you, she was sure. a life of bliss and a life not ruled by the laws of men.

words ; 5.4k

themes ; angst, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; takes place from e3-8, rhaenyra and reader are bisexual, allusions to sex, infidelity, foul language, lots of time jumps sorry ;-; nearly two decades is crammed into this, reader is later married to jasper wylde and has his children, mentions of other hotd characters, jason lannister being annoying, not quite a happy ending cries :(

The celebration for Aegon’s second name day was in full swing. Large, lavish tents were erected, decorated with flowers and greenery of all sorts. Every which way you looked, there were tables full to the brim with cakes and pastries and cheeses, goblets of wines and platters of fruits. Outside the tents lined stalls offering roasted meats dripping with rich oils, exotic delicacies from Essos, and all sorts of extravagant animals parading for show. 

You’d taken to watching the blue peacocks with muted fascination—it was the first time you’d seen birds that large. Sure, the doves at Casterly Rock grew plump and lazy, but they were no grand feat.

Your brothers, the lion twins of house Lannister, Jason and Tyland, stood by your side. They were bickering amongst themselves about who would be the first to speak to the Princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen. They weren’t being too quiet about it either, loudly proclaiming that the other twin would have to wait their turn.

“Toss a coin,” you boredly said, picking up a golden-green grape from a gilded tray on a nearby table and popping it into your mouth. “Though, knowing you two, you’d probably be too bull-headed to decide who gets heads and who gets tails.”

“I get heads!” both of them announced at once. They glared at each other for a moment, before Tyland propped his hands on his hips and blew out an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine. You go first. The one that goes last will be the one that she remembers, anyway,” Tyland told his twin, his Lannister pride getting the better of him. He arched an eyebrow and jutted his chin out to the Princess, who’d just strode out of the tent. 

You tore your eyes away from the ridiculous birds, fixing your gaze on Rhaenyra. Her hair shone a pearlescent white beneath the sun’s brilliance, nearly as bright as the golden rings she twirled about her fingers, hands clutched closely to the deep red bodice of her dress. She was a grand beauty, you surmised. It was no wonder your brothers were so desperate for her hand—though you were certain they only wanted her for the power that came with her rather than the Princess herself. 

A smile twitched over your lips upon seeing Rhaenyra lean over the sweets, sneakily plucking a lemon slice off of one of the cakes, popping it into her mouth just as quickly as she had swiped it.

Off Jason went not a second later, content with speaking to her before his brother. In his mind, he was sure she’d fall in love with him on the spot—how could she consider anyone else when he could offer her anything she wanted? A handsome, strong husband, as much gold as she could yearn for, and the promise of children with golden-silver hair?

“She doesn’t look too pleased,” you murmured to Tyland, studying the way Rhaenyra’s features soured with distaste the longer Jason spoke.

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in mild amusement, but he said nothing else. Instead, he slunk off to disappear within the tent, needing to speak to the King about urgent matters concerning Prince Daemon’s reckless endeavors.

Jason could feel his little sister’s stare bore into the back of his neck. It made him nervous, despite his larger-than-life ego—he itched to prove to his family that he was capable of winning the Princess over. 

“Was your own second name day as grand as this?” he crowed, trying his best to appear nonchalant. 

Barely sparing him a glance, Rhaenyra folded her fidgeting hands behind her back. She trained her eyes on the large bonfire situated across the field. “I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aegon.” There was a twinge of disdain in her voice, but that went largely unnoticed by Jason.

“Lord Jason Lannister,” he said, bowing his head ever so slightly.

Rhaenyra half-smiled. “I gathered that from all the lions.”

Hastily, Jason chanced a look down at his apparel—he was decked in crimson and shimmering gold and embroidered lions of all sizes. He was practically a walking banner for his house. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Your twin serves on my father’s council,” Rhaenyra told him, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny. 

Snapping his fingers, Jason beckoned for a servant to come forth and bring him a chalice of wine. “Tyland is frightfully dull, gods love him. My sister finds me far more entertaining.” It wasn’t a complete lie—Jason would often take you riding outdoors whilst Tyland took to reading in complete silence with you. Jason merely surmised that you enjoyed your time more with him rather than his twin. He plucked a goblet off the tray and held it out for Rhaenyra to taste. “The finest honeyed wine you’ll ever try. Made in Lannisport, of course.”

He didn’t catch the way Rhaenyra subtly rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said. She took a small sip, humming mildly. It tasted like every other wine she’d had. A part of her wondered if the sister Jason had been talking about was around. Was she in the tent, amongst the women gossiping around the Queen Alicent? Immediately, her mood soured once more.

“The Kingswood is a fine hunting ground,” Jason started speaking again, eager to spark a flame between them. “But the best spot is to be found at Casterly Rock. Have you been?”

“Once,” Rhaenyra replied. “On a tour with my mother, when I was young. Honestly can’t recall much of that, either.”

With a grin, Jason kept boasting on, “The Rock is thrice the height of the Hightower in Oldtown, taller still than the Wall in the north.” He stepped closer to her. “It’s been said that if one were to stand in the tower on a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.”

“Must be quite something.”

“I don’t have a dragon pit, of course,” he said, voice lowering an octave, “but I do have the means and the resources to build one.”

Arching a brow, Rhaenyra leveled her eyes with his. Amethysts against emeralds. “Why would you need a dragon pit?”

“To house dragons, of course,” he bluntly replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d do anything for my Queen. Or… my lady wife.”

There was a beat of silence. Realization and anger flooded her features all at once moments later. 

“Thank you for the wine,” she said with a stiff, polite smile, handing him the chalice. With that, she stormed off, making her way back to the tent. 

You watched her disappear, before fixing your eyes on Jason. You wondered what in seven hells Jason had said to make her so upset. Knowing him, he’d probably soiled the mood with his ridiculous self-importance.

Inside the tent, Rhaenyra made a bee-line to her father, interrupting the conversation he was holding with Lyonel Strong and, as her rotten luck would have it, Tyland Lannister. 

“Is that what I am to you?” she hissed. “A prize to proffer about to the great houses?”

Pursing his lips, the King calmly told his daughter, “You’re of age, Rhaenyra. And Jason Lannister is an excellent match.”

“He’s arrogant and self-serious!”

From behind the two, Tyland could barely hold back his victorious laugh. 

“Well, I thought you might have that in common,” Viserys said. Rhaenyra recoiled with a scowl at his words, as if she’d been struck. “Since you came of age, I’ve been slowly drowning in a lake parchment flung from every corner of the realm. Marriage proposals, all. And I have tried, oh so often, to discuss it with you! But you’ve refused me at every turn!” His voice raised with frustration. Several curious heads turned to see what the commotion was.

Baring her teeth, Rhaenyra insisted, “That is because I do not wish to get married!”

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenyra!” the King yelled.

Rhaenyra hotly spewed out a protest, but was quickly cut off by Otto Hightower. The two were reeled back in from their argument, noticing everybody’s prying eyes on them.

“You must marry,” said Viserys to Rhaenyra. And that was that. 

He turned to Otto, asking what it was he needed to say, effectively dismissing Rhaenyra. The Princess angrily pushed her way out of the tent, the heels of her boots scuffing deep into the dirt once she exited.

“What do you think has got her knickers all twisted?” Jason asked, taking a large bite into a sizzling skewer of meat. The two of you watched as Rhaenyra made her way to the tethered horses beside the tent. 

You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re such a fool, Jason. You know nothing about women. Did you even try to ask if she wanted to marry you, instead of presuming it to be so?” Before he could respond, you were already walking off, leaving your indignant older brother in your wake. You stopped by the sweet desserts on one of the long tables, picking up a delicate slice of lemon cake.

A coil of nervousness sat within the pits of your stomach as you approached the Princess. You were near the same age as Rhaenyra, if not just a few moons younger. If it were anyone else, you would’ve easily made friends without hesitation. But this was the Princess—she was royalty.

And it didn’t quite help that she was so beautiful.

“I’m sorry about him,” you said, pulling Rhaenyra’s attention away from the horses, to you. She spun the golden rings about her fingers in quick motions. She studied your face first, before darting down to the simple dark dress you were wearing, detailed with yellow embroidery. It took her a moment to realize that you were Jason and Tyland’s sister—you shared many physical similarities with your brothers, though Rhaenyra had to admit that you were far prettier than they were. “Jason is an imbecile. He thinks his own cock should be gilded with gold.”

Your words made Rhaenyra smile, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she laughed. A strange sort of pride festered within your chest.

“I take it the Lannister twins are your brothers?”

“Unfortunately, Princess.”

She hummed in amusement. Her eyes flickered to the cake you were holding.

“Would you, uhm—” You cleared your throat, a nervous flush creeping up your neck, spilling over the skin of your cheeks. “Would you like the lemon slice? I saw you nick one off before my brother came to you. I… I usually find it a bit too sour for my taste. Would be a waste for me to toss it away.” 

After a moment of consideration, she nodded, and you held it out for her to take. She murmured a sound of content at the tart sourness, before shooting you a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” She fiddled with her rings as you absent-mindedly tugged at a loose thread on your dress. “I understand how you feel. I mean, obviously not as much pressure as you, I’m sure, but… my father wants to marry me off as soon as possible.”

Rhaenyra’s features softened ever so slightly. “It’s terrible. Fathers forcing us into marriages we don’t want. If I was born a man, none of this would be a problem.”

You turned your head to glance over at Jason, who had already moved on to flirting with other ladies of the court. “I’m glad I was not born a man. Or else, I’d be afeard of turning out like my idiot brothers.”

There it was again. Rhaenyra chortled at your words, her grin growing wider. 

“I’m also glad you’re not like them. You’re far easier to talk to. Much less…”

“Of a Lannister?” It was your turn to laugh. You wrinkled your nose humorously. “Yes, there’s enough lions in our castle as it is. I’m content just being me.”

With a nod, Rhaenyra scanned her gaze along the crowd. “It was nice meeting you, Lady…”

“Y/N.”

Her violet irises glimmered. “It was nice meeting you, Lady Y/N. Thank you for the lemon. Enjoy the festivities.”

You nodded and gave her a slight curtsy, watching as she straddled one of the horses. A part of you wanted to ask where she was off to, but you wisely stayed silent, instead taking a bite of your cake. It was pleasantly sweet on your tongue, just slightly acidic with its aftertaste. 

She gripped the horse’s reins and pressed her knees into its flank, urging it into a fast gallop. The Princess disappeared into the forest, Criston Cole shouting after her, hot on her heels.

During Rhaenyra’s tour for a husband—a tour that her father forced her into, one that she was not at all keen on—she made a stop at the Westerlands. Dozens upon dozens of eligible suitors lined the halls of Casterly Rock, awaiting their moment to present themselves to the Princess.

She was bored, to say the least. None of these men appealed to her.

Certainly not Jason and Tyland Lannister, who’d been relentless in their approach ever since she stepped foot in the castle. They showered her with gifts and gold and heaps upon heaps of riches. 

It’d only been a few hours, and Rhaenyra found herself wondering where you were.

“Lord Tyland,” she called, and the tall, blonde man perked up.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Where is your dear sister, might I ask?”

For a moment, Tyland faltered. What would the Princess want with you, of all people? 

“She’s usually in the library at this time of day,” he replied, miffed. “Would you like me to go fetch her?”

A touch of a smile reached Rhaenyra’s lips. “No, it’s quite alright. Would you be so kind as to escort me to her?”

Both Jason and Tyland exchanged indiscernible looks before Tyland bowed his head and beckoned her along, down the hall. “Right this way, Princess.”

The library was a grand hall, decked with hundreds of looming oaken shelves housing many rows of old, worn books. Tyland silently led her further inside, where there was a small alcove by a window, streaming golden light within the otherwise dim library. You were curled up by the glass, soaking up the light, reading fervently through a tome of alchemic history.

At the sound of footsteps, your eyes snapped away from the yellowing pages, widening upon seeing the Princess.

“You’re dismissed, Lord Tyland,” Rhaenyra told your brother.

Tyland opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. With a nod and a sharp look in your direction, he took his leave.

“Princess Rhaenyra. I’ve heard you’re on tour,” you said, slightly breathless. With fumbling hands, you shut the book closed and put it off to the side.

She clasped her hands behind her back, watching you with both caution and intrigue. “I am. It’s a dreadful affair.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What brings you here, though?”

“I wanted to get away from your brothers.”

You knocked your head back and beamed as you laughed. Rhaenyra smiled then, wide and true. It was probably the first time she’d smiled since she set off on this wretched tour.

“You and me both, then.” With that, you stood up, smoothing out the creases in your soft crimson dress. The color certainly brought out warmth in your eyes, she thought. “Come. I can show you around the castle, if you’d like.”

“Please,” she said, breathily. She briefly thought about the long line of suitors waiting for her. None of them seemed worth the time. 

But you seemed worth all the time in the world.

The two of you linked arms, and you led her out of the library. It was a beautiful castle, with much to explore—but Rhaenyra found it hard to concentrate when all she could think about was your soft skin pressing against hers. 

After you’d shown her the lavish halls, the marbled pathways of the gardens, and the history room full of artifacts and prized Lannister heirlooms, you finally stopped by a gilded staircase.

“Up there are my chambers. My brothers sleep on the other end of the castle. I doubt you’d want to go there.”

The two of you giggled with each other, and she leaned even closer.

“Can we go up?”

“To my chambers?” you asked, hesitant.

For a moment, Rhaenyra feared she’d stepped over some unsaid boundary. She liked you a lot. Perhaps more than she should, for this was only the second time she’s met you. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to—”

“No!” you blurted, hands shooting out to hold hers. Your thumb brushed over her several rings. “Come. I was just surprised, was all. Nobody’s ever really wanted to come to my room before.”

The two of you made your way up. Not once did you relinquish your hold on her—and not once did Rhaenyra pull away. Tension crackled between you, but not the hostile kind. This was… this was the type that kindled fire within your chest. The kind that made your breaths grow shallow and your cheeks grow heated.

Your chambers were tidy and spacious, with a four-poster bed against one wall and a gold-detailed table across the room. Several windows were open, showcasing a beautiful view of the seas, glittering hues of clementines and tangerines.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, breathless, resting her hands upon the windowsill. “No wonder Lord Jason boasted about the view here.”

“Jason would boast about anything,” you snorted, coming to stand beside her. “But it is beautiful.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at you, finding you much closer than anticipated. She studied your features—the slope of your nose, the way your lips were parted ever so slightly, the beauty mark just below your right eye. 

“Have you ever laid with anyone, Y/N?” she asked, voice quiet yet bold.

Surprised at her question, you reared your head back with raised brows. But she only stepped closer, her nose nearly brushing yours when she leaned forward. A bout of shyness overtook you, warmth spilling over your cheeks. 

“No, Princess,” you whispered breathily, head tilting. She glanced down to your mouth when you nervously ran your tongue along your bottom lip. 

A second of silence. 

Rhaenyra took one more step, and you could feel her whole body press flush against yours. A part of you wondered if she could feel your heart thrumming loud within your ribcage. She watched you, waiting for any sign of uncomfort.

With that, she kissed you. Your noses slotted, your lips melded, and her hand cradled your face as you fisted the expensive fabrics of her dress. It was near magnetic, the way you two clicked into each other.

She tasted of lemons, you hazily registered. Of course she did.

When she finally pulled away, chest rising and falling rapidly, you found yourself chasing after her lips, eyes hooded with want.

She laughed at that, kissing your cheek once, then fluttered several over the bridge of your nose.

“What about the tour, Princess?” you murmured just before she captured your lips once more.

“Fuck the tour,” she replied, tugging you towards your tall bed.

Her words made you laugh, overcome with giddiness. “Fuck the tour,” you agreed.

A year had floated by since Rhaenyra’s tour. Much to your dismay, your father had you betrothed and wed to Jasper Wylde in a matter of a few moons. He was a handsome man, but you found very few things to speak to him about. It was clear that Jasper saw you as little else than something pretty to fuck—after all, you were the fourth wife he’d taken. Probably wouldn’t be his last, either.

There was only one positive that came out of your marriage to Lord Wylde.

You lived at the Red Keep because of your husband’s place on the small council as the Master of Law. And that allowed you and Rhaenyra to stay close, kindling the fires of your secret romance, along with your more… sexual escapades.

Life in the capital was utter bliss. Save for the few times Lord Wylde bedded you, of course. Those weren’t quite pleasant—most of the time you simply shut your eyes and let him do as he pleased with you. You much preferred your time with the Princess than with your own husband.

Times such as now, for example: your arm wound with hers as the two of you strolled in the Keep’s expansive gardens. You leisurely bent down to sniff the blooming flowers, the bushes bearing assortments of roses and peonies and marigolds. Rhaenyra was complaining about her father bringing up proposals again, all huff and puff and pout. 

“Why are you smiling?” she queried once you shot her an amused glance. “This is serious!”

“Rhaenyra, my dearest,” you told her, grin widening as you clutched her hand all the tighter. “I care very much for your struggles, I do, but your pouting is quite funny.”

With a sigh, the Princess reached out to trace a finger along the petals of a flower. You watched her movements, your smile falling away. “I suppose you don’t have to worry about it anymore. You’ve got your husband already.”

“Yes,” you hummed, stepping closer so that your chest pressed flush up against her forearm. “Lord Jasper is… tolerable. But he never pleasures me the way you do.”

Her purple irises seemed to darken in a matter of seconds, darting down to your parted lips. With that, she seized hold of you and you hurried out of the gardens, back into the castle. In your haste, you both tripped over your skirts and the many staircases, your giggles echoing over the stone walls. 

Once the two of you had successfully snuck into Rhaenyra’s chambers without any spectators noticing, her lips immediately slanted against yours. It was an embrace of fiery passion, as your hands spidered down to her waist and yanked her closer, reaching behind to blindly undo the threads of her dress.

“You’re getting better at this,” she murmured when you pulled her dress off in a matter of minutes, leaving her in just a thin shift. She began trailing hot kisses down your neck.

Gradually, the two of you made your way to her bed, leaving a haphazard trail of tossed-off clothing along the way.

It was a blissful evening, to say the least. But the days of wine and roses wouldn’t last long, the two of you soon came to realize. 

Later that same moon, Rhaenyra was betrothed to her second cousin, Laenor Velaryon. And, to your turmoil, you found that you were pregnant for the first time with Jasper Wylde’s babe.

Ten years passed in a flurry, filled to the brim with many joyful ups and even more tumultuous downs.

You had your two children: your eldest, Petyr, was the spinning image of his father, with dark locks of hair and molten brown eyes. He was quiet and observant, never one to speak his mind. The youngest, Aella, was a bright and bubbly young girl, her curly hair a shade lighter than her older brother’s, but they shared the same eyes. In short, they didn’t look much like you.

That was one thing you shared in common with Rhaenyra. 

After she was wed to Laenor, she had three sons—each of the boys harboring none of the traditional Valyrian physique of silver-white hair and purple irises. Instead, they bore an uncanny resemblance to Lord Harwin Strong, a man you knew Rhaenyra was seeing for quite some time. There were even instances where you joined in with them, but those were few and far in between. 

Your children were close friends with hers, and you and Rhaenyra were happier than ever.

That was, until Laena Velaryon passed away. Which, much to Rhaenyra’s intrigued curiosity and your dismay, Daemon Targaryen was a single man once more. You were never quite fond of him, judging from his infamous reckless behavior and callous nature, only highlighted by Rhaenyra’s fond recollections of him during her childhood. 

Eerily soon after Laena’s death, Laenor also mysteriously passed away. Something was afoot, and you only pieced things together once Rhaenyra approached you the next day. She did not look like she was in mourning for her late husband—in fact, she glowed more than anything. 

“Come with me,” she whispered to you in the dead of night, gathering your hands in hers and staring straight at you. “I’m leaving for Dragonstone to be with Daemon. We’re to be married. I want you there.”

She said your name then, all sweet and silky, as if her tongue was coated with honey.

Your lips parted. Shock, incredulity, and anger flashed across your features all at once. “Rhaenyra, your husband died yesterday.”

“I know,” she said. “He’s…” 

There was a pause.

The two of you gazed at each other. You could feel your heart starting to fracture, even though you weren’t even sure what exactly was happening just yet.

“Come with me,” she repeated. “We can be happy together in Dragonstone. It’s a beautiful castle.”

Your eyes flitted across the hall, to the closed doors you knew led to your children’s chambers. 

“My husband wouldn’t stand for it,” you told her. 

“I’m the Princess. The heir to the Iron Throne. He wouldn’t have a choice,” she stressed.

Blowing out an unconvinced scoff, you shook your head. “I have children now, Nyra. I can’t afford to be as irresponsible as you are.”

The woman in front of you drew her hands away, clearly stung. “Your children would have a good life on Dragonstone. Luke has even taken an affection to Aella, my love.”

A part of your heart crumbled when she called you hers. Nonetheless, you shook your head again.

“These are dangerous times… the realm is growing uneasy. I just don’t think it’d be safe there for me and my children. Besides… a lion has no place in a den of dragons.” 

You chose your words carefully, but clearly, they weren’t careful enough.

“I leave by daybreak. The ship will have space for you,” she murmured lowly, but she took a decisive step back.

Salt pricked the corners of your eyes. Stinging, burning, hurting. You wanted to kiss her for offering, and yet you wanted to slap her for leaving you.

“Goodbye, Princess,” you said, bowing your head. 

Anguish colored over her features. With not another word, she turned and began to walk away, her dark dress fluttering in her wake. She left you there, heartbroken, the both of you not knowing that that was the last time you’d ever speak to each other.

Six years crawled on by—slow and dragging. Life at the Keep without Rhaenyra had proven to be rather dreary. You missed her, awfully so. Things just weren’t the same without the Princess—your lover around.

The realm was beginning to split, it was obvious by now, especially with King Viserys growing increasingly ill and rarely making an appearance outside of his chambers. Greens against blacks, supporters of Queens against supporters of Kings, Targaryens against Targaryens. 

Personally, you fully believed that Rhaenyra should take over her role as Queen once her father passed, but your husband seemed to think differently. You would hear him mutter aloud at times, his and Otto Hightower’s plans to put Aegon on the throne. Your brothers were none too quiet on the matter, either, both the twins boldly vocalizing their distaste to see a woman ruling the realm. A part of you wondered if they were all hatching a plan to supplant Rhaenyra during small council meetings instead of tending to actual matters of importance.

Not only that, Alicent Hightower grew more and more bitter over the years, practically ruling in her husband’s stead alongside her father. It seemed nearly the entire capital had turned their back on their future Queen they swore fealty to. 

You oft worried for your children and their safety, especially with the looming threat of war on the horizon. It was a messy affair, that was made clear, and you were nearly certain that none of it would end cleanly. 

The news that Rhaenyra was coming back to the Keep to reaffirm Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark didn’t delight you as you thought it would, for so many years. Instead, it made you worry even more—nothing good would come from her visit. She was a past love for you now, a woman you scarcely knew anymore. And yet your heart still ached when you thought of her. Of the life you didn’t choose by remaining in the capital.

Besides, Rhaenyra wasn’t here for pleasure. She wasn’t here to see you. She was here for her son—the very son that sliced out Aemond Targaryen’s eye. Alicent would not see kindly to Luke taking over Driftmark, especially with her suspicions of his true heritage. 

Tensions ran high in the castle, that was safe to say.

And so, that was why you brought your children to the Godswood, a place of peace and much-needed quiet. Everybody was abuzz in the castle. Murmurs and whispers and an uncomfortable weight hanging about the air. You couldn’t stand any of it.

You leaned against the trunk and shut your eyes for a moment, listening to the whistling wind and the chirps of birds. Petyr quietly read a book beside you and Aella traipsed over the gnarled tree’s roots that poked up from the soft grass, giggling to herself. They were good children, you thought. They didn’t deserve to see war in their lifetime.

“Do you think Lucerys remembers me?” Aella asked, her arms spread wide open as she balanced herself on a large stone. “We were so close when we were young.”

You cracked an eye open and spared her a sweet smile. “I’m sure he does, darling.”

She’d always harbored affections for him, ever since they were young children. It ran through the family, you surmised.

Your mind flooded with memories of all the times you spent with Rhaenyra here. Stealing kisses beneath the shade when nobody was around, holding hands in the gardens, hurrying down the halls of the castle with linked arms. The two of you were only children then, but it was the happiest you’d ever been.

That was where Rhaenyra found you. 

In truth, she was trying to find Princess Rhaenys to discuss the matter of betrothals, but she was glad she stumbled across you. You were just as beautiful as the day she left, Rhaenyra thought, her purple eyes curious as she watched you affectionately lean against your son. You spoke then, calling out to your daughter to be careful after she tripped over a fallen branch.

Gods, even the sound of your voice made Rhaenyra’s chest feel heavy. She ran her palms down the fabric of her black dress, over her prominent baby bump, and anxiously turned her rings about her fingers. 

After Rhaenyra studied you a little longer, she noticed that there was a distinct sort of heartache with your expression—one that Rhaenyra was sure she mirrored. So much of her wanted to step out of the shadows. She wanted to wrap you in her arms, kiss the beauty mark beneath your right eye, and tell you how much she missed you.

But she didn’t do any of those things. The two of you hardly knew each other now. Merely two strangers that used to know each other in a different lifetime. 

Rhaenyra could hardly swallow around the lump in her throat. Her feelings for you hadn’t mellowed with time, even though she’d convinced herself that they had during her time on Dragonstone. But seeing you right there made years of self-preservation come crashing down in an instant. 

First loves were always the most painful.

And with an exhale that trembled much more than Rhaenyra would care to admit, she turned on her heel and took her leave, off to find Rhaenys. 

In another life, she could’ve been with you, she was sure. A life of bliss and a life not ruled by the laws of men. 

But this was not that life.

And Rhaenyra had come to accept that.

a/n ; thank you for reading !! i made picrews for how i pictured the lannister!reader to look like (you obviously can picture her however you want, though), along with her children, petyr & aella wylde :)

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Rook Hunt x Yuu/Reader

Rook was always so put together. Not in the way Jade was of course, but nothing ever seemed to surprise him or make him angry, anything other than that passion or happiness that seemed to shine through.

Maybe that's why they did it.

Vil had just left to start his skin care routine for the night and Epel could apparently be convinced to get enough sleep if one phrased it for Spelldrive practice instead of beauty sleep.

Yuu and Rook were quietly putting away what few study materials were left, a tray of sweets and meats out being stored away for Yuu to take home.

"You mentioned a game earlier, with these?" he says, picking up one of the 'pocky' sticks. It was called something different here, about half the size and richer, but it was more or less the same.

"Yea-Yes." they corrected themselves, "Yes. It's like a game of chicken. Two people bite down on either end and nibble on it until you get to the middle. Whoever pulls away first loses."

Rook's grinned, exclaiming some sort of French, before leaning over the table with the treat offered from his mouth.

Maybe that's why they let the intrusive thoughts win. Just to see what he might look like flustered or surprised. Maybe it was that he was an interesting man. Maybe it was a lot of things.

Before they could really think too hard about it, Yuu leaned across the table and pulled Rook closer by his chin. Their tongue wrapped around the treat to break it in half before simply taking both.

Rook's eyes widened slightly, chocolate smudged on his bottom lip that twitched into a small grin.

"Not bad." Yuu whispered, grasping the handle of their bag and practically running out.

Why? Who's to say?

Really they should have expected some sort of retaliation, but pinned the next day wasn't in the top 10.

No, him finding Yuu curled under some tree only to drop down into a crouch with his knee on one side of their head and their foot on the other was not in the top 10.

"That was a dirty trick, Mon Trickster." he whispered playfully, though his eyes were dancing. His smile was different. Softer. Warmer.

Again, damn intrusive thoughts, because reaching up to pat one of those muscular thighs was not apart of the plan.

"Maybe I'm just testing the waters."

He hums, tucks a strand of hair that had fallen out of place before lightly pulling on it.

"I am picking you up at 7. Nice, but not formal. Wear good shoes for it will be a bit of a walk."

He rises, hops back into the tree, and the faint sound of a zipline starts going before Yuu picks themselves off the ground.

Ace and Deuce, who were waiting underneath the tree for them, can only stare ludicrously.

"What the hell?" Ace asks, staring at the place Rook had left from.

"Well mark me down as scared and horny." Yuu murmurs, looking at the same spot.

"By the seven..." Deuce shakes his head, and then everything passes when Ace makes fun of his blush, and they start to wrestle.

Neither of them notices Yuu's own cheeks until long after it's faded. Thankfully they say nothing when they leave just a little bit earlier than planned.

Afterall, they have a date tonight.

[glossysoap]

you asked for smut requests so what about könig and pegging 🫣🫣

YESSIRRRR

shiny new toy ; könig

tags: fdom reader, msub könig, possessive f!reader, teasing, massaging & oils, overstim, multiple orgasms, post orgasm torture, double sided dildo/strap, milking könig, kortac and 141 are merged in this fic but it doesn’t play a huge part.

note: german will be in bolded italics, the english translation will be right after that in non bolded italics.

word count: 4,877

It all started when you spotted the new girl recruit talking to König in the mess hall.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at her from across the cafeteria, glaring at her hand that laid on his shoulder and the way she laughed at every little thing he said, even if he was saying the most mundane thing.

Your grip tightened on your juice box as she kept talking his ear off, yapping like a dog. Ghost, Soap and Gaz were sitting next to you at the lunch table. Soap and Gaz were armwrestling and arguing light heartedly, while Ghost would interject with his own opinion every once in a while.

“Yer gonna burn a whole in her head, lass.” Soap joked while he tried to get the upper hand against Gaz.

“And spill your juice with how hard you’re grippin’ it.” Ghost butts in while still staring at the boys’ arm wrestling match.

“Good, she deserves it. Fucking snake,” You scoffed under your breath, referring to Soap’s comment. “And no, I won’t spill it because,” You sipped the rest of your apple juice until the straw made a scraping sound against the carton, “I finished it, thank you very much.”

Soap snickered at your comment about the recruit. He was distracted the slightest bit, but that gave Gaz the perfect window to pin Soap’s arm against the table, winning the match.

“Fuck!” Soap cursed when he lost and Gaz laughed at him.

You were still glaring holes into the recruit when you witnessed the last straw— her hand trailing away from his shoulder over to his chest. Her hand was splayed over his tight shirt, dangerously close to his pecs.

You clenched your jaw and sucked your teeth before sharply getting up from your seat. You chucked your juice box in the trash can a few feet away and slid your lunch tray to the middle of the table.

“I’ll take the rest of yer food while you kick her arse!” Soap cackled as he reached across the table to snatch the rest of your food.

You waved him off and ignored the rest of 141’s heckling and wolf whistles as you stalked over to where König and the annoying recruit stood.

The second you saw him, you could see how nervous he was around the girl. Not in a good way, like how he was with you, not like butterflies erupting in his stomach when he saw you. It was a bad kind of nervous, one that was due to unwanted attention, one that made his stomach turn and hands shake.

Your hands made fists by your side. This was more than just flirting with your König. This was worse. She was making him feel uncomfortable in the one place he should feel in his element. She was making him feel like a piece of meat.

“Who’s this?” You asked König, not even sparing a glance at him. Instead you opted to stare down the recruit, never breaking eye contact and quirking your brow. Unbeknownst to you though, König felt his nerves relax the second you spoke.

You outranked her in every sense, and she knew it. If not by your uniform or your chest candy, but by your stature alone. The way you held yourself in such a confident air, with your head held high. You sneered at her, nose pointed up as if she was nothing more than gum stuck to your shoe.

A nuisance.

“Hm? What’s your name, private?” You pressed, turning your attention completely away from König. “Callsign? Anything?”

She struggled to find words, avoiding your gaze nervously. She fiddled with her hands and her posture lacked any ounce of confidence.

“Your superior asked you a question. Speak.” You ordered. She flinched at your cold tone before finally stuttering out her name and piss-poor ranking.

“Get out.” You barked. She threw her full tray into the trash before scrambling for the exit.

“My room, now.” You ordered König, stern and leaving no room for discussion, but not with nearly as much malice as you used with the recruit.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You could hear his boots hit the tile floor as he followed eagerly behind you like a lost puppy. You couldn’t see the flustered grin he was wearing behind his mask or the flush red of his cheeks.

The two of you soon reached the elevator that was thankfully empty. You punched in the number to the dormitory floor before turning to face König, who was leaning against the wall of the elevator.

The second that the elevator doors shut, you closed the distance between the two of you and pulled his face down to yours by the bottom of his mask.

“The very fucking second we set foot in my room, I’m ruining you.”

(….)

Before König knew it, he was laid on your king size bed, back against your black satin sheets. Fully stripped, every inch of skin on display for you. He also took off his mask, revealing his sharp jawline, defined cheek bones and full brows. It also revealed his Roman nose and all of the scars that littered his face, that you felt only enhanced his beauty.

When he was bare like this, there was nothing to conceal all of the claims you’ve laid on him. His neck was decorated in bruises and bite marks, all black and blue. He itched to have your mouth on him again.

Red scratches were scattered on his chest, reminders of your nails digging into his skin while you rode him the night before.

He waited patiently as you kicked your shoes off and undressed down to your underwear, lace bra and crotch less panties making his mouth water. He yearned to have you sitting on his face, using him like a throne while he savored your juices.

You kept him waiting, though. Parading around your room in your sexy lingerie, not even sparing him a passing glance while you walked over to your dresser.

“What do you think you deserve today? Hmm?” You hummed, still not even looking at him as you rifled to your dresser. You began pulling out massage oils, one that matched your own (perfume/cologne) scent. Just another casual reminder that he belonged to you, wholly and completely.

“The gag, miss. I think I deserve the gag.” He guessed in a low whine. He guessed wrong, if your scoff was any indication. You turned to look at him for a moment.

“No, no, no. None of your noises will be getting muffled tonight. Not if I have anything to say about it.” You muttered, with a smug lilt to your voice. He gulped.

“No, in fact I think if you wanna let some green-in-the-face recruit follow you around like a sad dog, then that sad dog should get to hear who owns you.”

A moment later, he saw you pull out a dildo. It was black at the base and midway up the shaft, before fading into a bright orange. The mushroom head was a bright red, and it melted into the orange shaft to mimic flames. Metallic gold lines marbled the flames, tapering off as the red faded into orange and orange into black.

König’s bright eyes widened when he noticed the length and girth of the new toy. It was about eight inches long, if he had to guess. He could feel warmth settle in his stomach at the sight of your fingers struggling to wrap around the girth. He felt his own cock begin to throb at the sight.

You held that dildo in one hand while pulling out a different one with the other hand. The new toy was a strap-on, he noticed. It was royal purple colored, with realistic veins trailing the underside of the fake cock. The mushroom head of that one was pretty pink. The straps were black leather, and on each side of the hips were pink bows.

This one was about six inches in length and the girth looked more manageable.

Only something was different about this strap-on. It was double ended with another six inch dildo, so that the person wearing it would have their own dildo, while they were fucking the other person with the outer dildo.

“I think I’ll use a bit of both. Give you some variety, hmm?” You proposed with a sickly sweet smile on your lips. Your eyes are crinkled with excitement to pull him apart from the seams and drink him in.

And drink him in, you did.

Just a few minutes later, König was kneeling on the bed with his wrists tied to the bedposts, with his cock sprung up against his stomach. The head was red and weeping already, leaving a trail of precum staining his happy trail. It stood hard at about seven inches, with a good width to wrap your fingers or lips around.

His skin was all flushed and sweaty, almost a peachy pink. His chest heaved with every breath, pant or needy moan that left his pouty mouth. He was already a sniffling, sensitive mess just from your possessive eyes and the promises of pleasure that fell from your lips.

You were sitting criss cross in front of him with a cruel grin on your face, eyebrows raised in faux surprise. Your eyes trailed up and down his form, admiring every scar, bruise and bulging vein that decorated his body.

He gulped as he felt your gaze heavy on his vulnerable body. He looked down nervously, only to let out a surprised gasp when he’s met with the sight of your wet pussy, fully exposed from your crotch less panties. He tries to look away, to bring his attention back to your face, but he can’t look away from your dripping cunt. Just begging to be eaten, devoured.

He salivates at the sight.

“Someone’s already so excited, look at that.” Your smug tone brings him out of his trance, making his eyes dart back to your face. He couldn’t even register your teasing words before your palm covered the head of his cock.

“Mein liebling!” My darling! He gasps at the sudden contact, bucking his hips into the palm of your hand. Begging for more.

You rubbed your palm over the head a few times before you began to stroke him, slow and languid. With every stroke, your thumb traced the vein on the underside of his cock, making him shudder.

“What did you think of that recruit? She looked so pretty, right?” You asked casually, as if you weren’t holding his throbbing, leaking cock right in your hands. Your movements never ceased as you talked about the girl, if anything your hand began pumping even quicker.

He shook his head with wide eyes and pouty lips.

“Nooo,” He whined.

“Yeah, I think that’s why you’re so hard. I think you like all that attention, baby.” You never let up, never stopped long enough for him to respond. You kept on pumping and pumping.

You squeezed at the base of his cock, pulling a cry from his throat. While you kept pumping him, you used your other hand to squeeze at his sac to feel how full he was.

“Aww, and look at how full you are! All of that cum is for that girl, huh?” You cooed, mocking and sickeningly sweet. Using your thumb to stroke at the sensitive skin of his balls.

“No, no! Only for you!” He babbled as he felt his first orgasm of many build up deep in his stomach, all warm and tight.

“Oh, is that right?” You crooned with a mocking pout on your lips.

“Yes, yes! Only you!” He nodded desperately. His hips bucked into your fist, chasing after his high.

You hummed to yourself as you let go off his sac and instead used that hand to tweak at his pink nipples. His moans echoed through the room along with the wet sounds of his precum coating his length.

“Oh my god!” He exclaimed as he felt the knot in his stomach unravel, ropes of cum spurting from his cock and onto his stomach. His eyes rolled back and his mouth opened in a silent scream as he rode out his high.

You continued stroking him though. Determined to milk out every last drop of his orgasm. You pumped him again and again, milking a bit of his juices out with every pump.

“No, no, no. Too much, too much!” He cried out, hips jerking as you kept torturing his sensitive cock.

“Aw, are you sensitive? Yeah?” You asked, feigning concern.

“Uh huh! Please!” He nodded, brows scrunched and eyes glazed over.

“Please what? Please stop? Or… please more?” You asked, slowing down for a moment to let him speak, or use his safeword if he needed to.

But he never used it. He just whined.

He just whined and bucked his hips into your hand, begging for more.

“Oh? I thought you couldn’t take it? You want more, don’t you? Don’t you?” You crooned, not waiting for a reply before you started pumping him again.

His previous orgasm was coating his cock, creating obscenely wet sounds as your hand fisted his length.

“Yeah, you can take it.” You nodded, coaxing more moans from his panting lips. His tongue was sticking out as you milked him for all he was worth, every last drop. Saliva dropped from his tongue and onto his chin.

You leaned forward and licked the saliva from his chin, licking up till you met his mouth with yours. You stuck your tongue in his mouth, swallowing any of his moans and cries of pleasure that bubbled from his throat as you kept pumping him.

His moans quickly became strung together as he approached another impending orgasm. You smirked against his lips, tasting the saltiness of his sweat mixed with tears that had begun flowing down his cheeks from overstimulation.

“Fuck, Y/N! Ah, fuck!” The cries that left his mouth were borderline pornographic, making you smile at how anyone walking by the room would hear just who he belonged to. They could hear exactly who was reducing the mass of a man into a whimpering, cum soaked mess.

“Oh, I know. It’s just so much. But you can take it, I know you can.” You coo into his ear, before taking his earlobe between your teeth and nipping.

He gasped. You knew he was teetering on the edge of his second orgasm, he just needed a bit of a push. You took your chance to lick up his neck before biting down on his jugular vein, where you could feel his pulse beating erratically.

He choked out a high pitched moan, almost a scream, as his second orgasm came in waves. His hips bucked in tandem with each spurt, over and over and over.

You stroked him through his high, gently this time. Once he came down, you removed your hand from his length and brought your hand to his chin. Tilting his head up to face you, you looked into his fucked out, loopy gaze.

“You doing good? Hm? Say the word and this is all over, you know that right?” You reminded him.

“Doing good, so so good. Please, I want more. I need more.” He begged, sending warmth straight to your core.

“Alright, then.” You grinned, glancing at the two toys from earlier that were laying next to you on the bed.

You reached for the massage oil that was laid with the toys and opened the cap, before squirting some onto his chest. He shivered, the contrast of the cold oil against his warm skin making goosebumps form.

You rubbed the oil into his skin, taking your time and savoring your boyfriends’ muscles. You pressed into any knot you felt, massaging any stress or tension that you came across and melting it away.

You used both hands to trace around his nipples, before rubbing over them with your thumbs. The buds soon hardened under your touch, making him whimper when you started pinching them a bit between your thumb and index finger.

You moved your hands up to his broad shoulders and massaged the oil into those tight, hard muscles. With every press and push of your palm into his skin, he let out pleased sighs, feeling any tension fade away.

“How’s that?” You checked in, wanting to make sure he was comfortable in this small bit of respite you were allowing him.

His pink lips formed a content grin, brows relaxed as he looked at you with hooded eyes.

“Mm, feels good. Always know how to make me feel good, mausi.” Mouse. He praised as he stretched his shoulders, letting out a pleased whine as he did.

You grinned at his words as you squirted some more oil onto his abdomen, letting it drip down into his happy trail. You feigned innocence as some oil “accidentally” dripped onto the head of his sensitive cock.

“Ah!” He choked, the cold oil making his hips jerk.

You rubbed the oil into his v-line, slowly tracing his hip bones and feeling the tickle of his auburn curls at your palm.

You could hear him panting as you ventured closer and closer to his throbbing member.

“What do you want, baby?” You asked, hand moving down past his cock to rub his thick thighs.

He only whined in response, bucking his hips against your hands. You pushed his hips down against the bed, gently but firm enough to keep him still.

“No, no. Use your words.” You order, bringing a hand up to cup his cheeks, making his lips pout.

“Please, schatz. Please touch me!” Darling. He begged, his voice muffled from his cheeks being squished in your grip.

“There’s my good boy.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to his plump, glossy lips. He whimpered into the kiss, all needy and insatiable.

“First, I need to make sure you’re good and prepped for me,” You said, reaching up to untie his restraints so his arms were free. The second his hands were free, his hands went straight to touching you. He grazed your hips, your stomach, and your thighs. Anywhere he could get his hands on before you stopped him.

“Nuh-uh. Hands to yourself, you know the rules.” You reprimand him with a gentle swat to his pawing hands, before getting off of the bed.

“Go ahead and lie down for me.” The second those words left your lips, König scrambled to lay back on the bed, feeling the silky fabric against his skin.

You positioned yourself between his legs and patted your shoulders, directing him to hitch his toned legs over your shoulders. You loved seeing him like this, all fucked out and flushed red for you. Tongue lolling out, brows scrunched and eyes glossed over, pupils blown wide with lust. Spread out perfectly, legs open wide and hole ready to be bred.

You smiled at the sight, stroking his inner thigh so casually as if you weren’t sending tingles straight up his spine right now.

“I’m gonna start getting you stretched out, alright? How are you doing now?” You asked as you pressed a tender kiss to his calf, still staring deep into his ocean eyes. His breath hitched as you licked a stripe on his calf, before sucking a mark into his skin.

“Grün, grün,” Green, green. He breathed eagerly.

“Mmm, I’m glad.” You hummed as you uncapped the bottle of oil once more. You liberally squirted the cold liquid onto your index and middle finger. You gently traced his puckered entrance with your lubed up fingers, letting him get accustomed to the temperature.

You continued tracing his hole for a minute, pressing only the slightest bit of pressure to his entrance. Pouring more oil directly onto your sticky fingers, you teased one finger at his hole. Barely pushing in, just taking your time to get him used to the pressure.

“Fuck,” He gasped.

You used your other hand to wrap around the base of his cock and begin pumping slowly up and down. You watched as his foreskin covered the head of his cock with every upwards stroke.

After gently working him open with just one finger for a few minutes, and pumping his cock with a steady rhythm, you eased a second finger into his entrance. Slowly, sinfully slowly.

He let out a low moan as you thumbed at the slit of his tip, while also wiggling your two fingers the slightest bit.

You spat on his length, pulling a cry from his lips as you watched your saliva drip from the head of his cock down to the base.

You spread the mixture of spit and precum down the shaft of his dick, pumping him faster now.

As you were pumping him, you were scissoring your two fingers inside of him in tandem. Curling and twisting in search of the soft, spongey spot that would make him scream.

When you curled your fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, it made his breath hitch.

“Yeah, there it is.” You crooned, beginning to piston your fingers at that spot over and over again until his moans strung together to form a scream of pleasure.

One hand pumped and the other fingered until his eyes rolled back and his tongue stuck out, mouth open in a silent scream. He hit his third orgasm of the night, shooting ropes of white cum to his lower abdomen.

“Oh my god!” He shouted as you stroked him and curled your fingers into him, helping him ride out his high.

Once he stopped cumming, you let go of his cock and gently pulled your fingers out of his sopping hole with a ‘pop,’ making him whine at the emptiness.

That emptiness wouldn’t last long, as it turned out, because a few moments later you were already thrusting that flaming orange dildo into his thoroughly prepped entrance.

“Oh, fuck,” He moaned, hands fisting the satin sheets between his fingers. His head was thrown back against the pillow in pleasure, auburn hair strewn across the silk pillowcase.

“Oh, you like that?” You egged him on. You loved asking him questions when you knew full well he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. He could try, of course, but he would just end up blabbering incoherently.

“Uh-huh! Y’ know I do, pl—,” His pleading was cut off by you thrusting the fake cock at a cruel angle, one that had his eyes widening and hips bouncing down on it.

You kept hitting that new spot as you pistoned the dildo into him, pulling whines and cries from his mouth.

You used your other hand to stroke his soaked cock again, knowing that he only needed a bit more stimulation before he was at his fourth orgasm. With that, you leaned down and put your warm mouth right on the head of his cock with no preamble.

“Oh, fuck!” He shouted as you suckled on his head, hollowing out your cheeks like you were sucking on a lollipop. While you sucked him, you flicked your tongue over his slit.

“You’re gonna make me—,” He cried out before he was cut off by his own quick orgasm. You moaned over the head, sending vibrations through his cock and making his moans even more high pitched.

You drank all of the cum that spurted from his cock, swallowing around him to milk every last drop. Gently and slowly, you pulled the orange cock out of his hole.

When you pulled off of his cock, you looked up at him through your lashes to see him panting, lips red and glossy from drool.

“Do you still want the other toy?” You asked, concerned that he might pass out soon from exhaustion. Your thumb rubbed small circles into his calf that was still hitched over your shoulder, the delicate touch bringing him back to earth.

“Please, please. I need it. Need you to feel good too.” He begged breathily, nodding repeatedly.

“Such a sweet boy.” You cooed, reaching up to ruffle his red, mussed up hair.

You let him have a moment of reprieve as you took your time to prep the last toy. Before you strapped yourself in, you coated the double ended dildos on the strap on with oil. Though you doubted that either of you needed the extra lube, you couldn’t deny that you loved the filthy wet sounds that came with being over-lubricated.

You began strapping yourself in, inserting your end of the strap on into your sopping cunt with a gasp. You could feel his eyes burn holes into you, memorizing your expression as you took a moment to fuck yourself on the dildo. He memorized the way your eyebrows scrunched and mouth gaped open as you panted. He also memorized the way your pussy lip’s absolutely swallowed the toy, sucking it in so tight and almost not letting it go when you moved to pull it out.

After a moment, you had sunk fully on your side of the dildo before tightening the buckles on the sides of the strap on to make sure it was secure.

You positioned yourself in front of König, lowering yourself until his side of the dildo was nearing his abused hole. His knees were still hitched over your shoulders and as you pushed yourself into him, his legs were by his ears — solidifying him in a mating press.

You thrusted into him at a consistent pace, watching his every expression and savoring how his face twisted in pleasure when you hit any new angle.

With every thrust you gave him, you gave yourself at the same time, making you both moan together in harmony.

“Oh fuck! God, you’re fucking me so good!” He shouted, head thrown back.

“Who is? Huh?” You pressed on as you pistoned into him, leaning in so your lace bra brushed his chest.

You wanted to hear it. You wanted to hear who was making him feel so good. Who was fucking him so good, as he’d put it. You needed to hear it.

Grabbing his jaw, you pulled his face close to yours and forced him to look at you.

“Who’s fucking you so good?” You mocked, grinding your hips into him in search of that spot that made him come undone so many times that night.

You pushed his knees against his chest, finding an amazing new, deeper angle to fuck him, and yourself with. With his hole being spread even further, you found that spongey spot even easier.

“You, only you! Oh, fuck—,” He screeched as you abused that soft bundle of nerves, thrusting against it over and over. You were approaching your own high because with every thrust towards him, your own dildo was fucking you without abandon. You wanted him to come right along with you so you reached down to jerk him off at the same time, rapidly pumping his cock.

“Fuck!” Both of you screamed in unison as you you both came, eyes rolled back and mouths hung open in silent screams. You thrusted into him to carry both of you through orgasm as you pulsed around your toy and he squirted more ropes of cum from his length.

(….)

The following day in the mess hall, you walked over to your table without a single shred of doubt or insecurity. Head held high and smug grin on your lips as your eyes cut to the recruit, who now couldn’t stay any further from König if she tried.

Speaking of König, he was currently waiting in the lunch line with his tray in hand, waiting for a scoop of food to be placed on it. He had a slight limp and you noticed how he winced when he took a step.

You couldn’t help it, that only made you even more smug. The fact that he was sore from last nights tryst made pride bloom in your chest, a secret reminder of what the two of you shared.

You set your tray down next to Ghost, who was gossiping talking to Soap and Gaz, just like yesterday. They all nodded to you when you sat down before taking a bite of their food.

Soap was trying to have a conversation with Gaz about training some new privates but he kept noticing the smirk you wore.

“What’s got you so smug?” He asked with a lilt to his tone.

“Yeah, yesterday you were fuming about that new girl. What’s up with that?” Gaz hummed.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s all taken care of.” You replied, sipping your apple juice casually, as if you weren’t remembering how König came apart from you at least five times last night.

“Oh, I know that look. What did you do to her?” Ghost muttered, though he had to admit, his curiosity was piqued.

“Oh, to her? Nothing. Nothing at all.” You assured.

“Not to.. Oh, I see!” Soap chuckled.

“I did always wonder who wore the pants in your relationship..” Ghost trailed off.

You only laughed.

“Why do you think I can walk right now and he can’t?”

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission. you can use this work as a scriptfill for gonewildaudios as long as you credit me and link me.

[recombinatrix]

So I’m a bit Sangfielle pilled this month, and I’m finding that whenever I see one of those “stop playing fake slots” advertisements I start thinking about the Course, the Shape and the Structure.

A creature of meat and bones, with brightly coloured chitin resembling a metal frame, and bioluminescent lights, enticing in travellers with the promise of soft golden coins, cascading into a tray ringed with needle-like recurved teeth.

A ornate art-nouveau slot machine that pays out on every prime number of spins. The second and third pay a single bank note each. The fifth pays two, the seventh three, and the eleventh five. Keep playing and you’ll keep winning, in more ways than you realise.

A little dusty metal box with a greasy lever on the side sits alone at an abandoned station. Nobody has seen a train pass by here in a generation. You pull the lever, and the spin falls on three engines. Jackpot! You are immediately flattened by the Prince Alexander.

[two-white-butterflies]

you're losing me (four) | am. targaryen and j. velaryon

Description: The awkward family and friends dinner continue. Rhaenyra tries to prod deeper into your relationship with her brother. Rating: General Audiences Author's Note: I didn't expect this series to last longer than 3 installments. Might reach longer than 5 or 7, but I'll keep the chapters light. part three

Jace watches as the waiters began to serve their food. It was gourmet of course, prepared solely for the guests' enjoyment. You couldn't help but feel out of place - an imposter crawling into the inner circles of the upper echelon. "I'm vegan, I'm sorry - I can't eat this." you whisper, declining the wagyu steak in front of you. It looked delicious, but there was no way in hell that you were eating meat.

"Really? Aemond was the one who confirmed the meal samples?" Rhaenyra raised her voice, saddened since she was the one that planned the party. "Oh, he didn't know." you smile, and the waiter places the food back on the tray. "How long have you known each other?" Jace speaks, swirling the wine on his glass.

The first thing that couples do before knowing each other - is going on a date, and if you've been on a date with him countless of times - wouldn't Aemond know about your certain likes or dislikes?

"A year." Aemond answers, flashing you a sorry smile. " - and you can have my food, it doesn't have any meat." he smiles, quickly placing his plate on your table-mat. "Thank you." you mumble, and he motions for the waiter to bring the steak back and to give it to him.

Jacaerys' eyebrows raised in intrigue. A year and his uncle knew nothing about you. Aemond didn't know that your eyebrows bumped into each other when you were worried. He didn't know that your favorite game was Mario Kart even though you sucked at it. He was losing you to a man that hardly knew you - and he could do nothing but watch. "Where did you meet?" Lucerys pipes, realizing that drama was about to go down.

"At a hotel room garden," Aemond smiled - staring at you with stars in his eyes. He looked at you with all the warmth that he could muster. He was a magnetic force of a man. "I wanted to grab a picture for Helaena, but she grabbed my heart." he placed a hand on your chair, a coy smile on his face.

Alicent smiles at the both of you - a look of adoration on her face. Her son has fallen in love with a wonderful woman. "When are you getting married?" she inquired, joyous at the thought of grandbabies. "Soon, somewhere around May or August." you answered. You were staring deep into his eyes - convincing yourself that you were doing this to free yourself from debt, and that you weren't actually in love with Aemond Targaryen. "This year?" Jace choked.

"Of course, the good ones never wait." Aemond smirked.

Jace finally has you alone.

You were standing on the balcony - with another glass of wine on your hand. The dress that you were wearing was slightly wrinkled, the ring on your finger was beginning to slip. He knows that this is the only chance that he'll be given - and he's taking it.

"Are you sure?" he opened his mouth, leaning on the balcony rails. This wasn't how he imagined it to turn out - you were his sacred new beginning, his sweet nothing, but now - you were his hoax.

"Sure about what?" you asked with a hoarse voice.

What the fuck did you get into?

"My uncle." he responded plainly, looking for something hidden in your eyes. Was it too far gone to bring back to life? Did you win the battle but lose the war? "He's the only thing I'm sure of nowadays, Jace." you answer - he could hear a tinge of sadness in your voice. You were hiding something and it wasn't his place to ask any questions. He takes a deep breath.

His biggest regret - standing in front of him. "I'm sorry," he apologized - and your eyebrows merged into each other. "Sorry for what?" you asked, playing with the rim of the glass. "I'm sorry for chasing fame - when I should've been happy with what I had. In another life, maybe - I'll love you, and you'll still love me back." he chuckled, slowly walking out of the balcony - completely oblivious of the man leaning on the door and eavesdropping on your conversation.

scammerui streets are saying that aemond targaryen (new dad) and j*ce velaryon are related. 😄 Y/N is a family hopper? IDGAF I STILL SUPPORT HER #SueMe

arthurmenchie: If my bf was related to a hot/rich/tall specimen like aemond targaryen, i'd family hop too 😳 also @ynwebster confirm this boo. - ynwebster: (source, wikipedia but put into terms that we can understand) Aemond is J*ce's uncle, they're related through his mom (Rhaenyra Targaryen) xxx ynwebster OUT

Aemond smiled at you with a drunken stare. He was evidently tired from all of the mingling and talking, but he still managed to escort you into the safety of his car. There was silence between the both of you. None daring to move or make a sound. He slumps on the backseat. Popping a small mint into his mouth.

You help him unbutton his suit, freeing his chest from the tightness. His smile deepens - staring deep into your eyes. "You're my best friend." he states - slurring though his words due to the amount of wine that he consumed. Your eyes widen slowly. He was in love. The drunken smile continues to paint his mouth, until he falls asleep on the drive home.

(your first name): here's to forever and more.

89,123 comments 3,128,801 likes

jacintarobinhood: "I wanna teach you how forever feels like," is not for Jack-in-a-box because it's for Aemond now 😭 - bananashake44: You mean Aemond Targaryen; born in Nairobi, Kenya who beat Jacaerys for the spot as President of Fire and Blood Corporations using equal machinery Aemond Targaryen? 🤘🏽 - technobrat61: I think you mean, Aemond Targaryen who was raised in Monte-Carlo and founder of his own corporation Aemond Targaryen. 💪🏽😳 - (your first name): is there a meme about him now? i don't get it

part five

@glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @winxchesters @yentroucnagol @hotchnerswife @mxxny-lupin @joliettes @kemillyfreitas @mxtantrights @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kravitzwhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @introverbatim @flrboyd @kemillyfreitas

[uhohdad]

Ghost does the thing my asian parent did where he cuts a bowl of fruits and casually place it next to u as apology.

Hes also the one to walk away like nothing happened and watch your every move from the corner. If u dont start eating his fruit bowl (accept his apology) he starts panicking internally.

Help this man lol

-🧸

You’re so right. Correct me if I’m wrong - this man would have such a difficult time apologizing. He’s not very good at being vulnerable like that, it would require self-reflection, and he hates thinking about himself, he just wants to think about you and how he can make it right. Make you want to snuggle up next to him again, feeling safe and warm in the crook of his arm, knowing that he’s got you. That he would never let anything bad happen to you, and it’s so difficult for him to acknowledge that he allowed himself to hurt you like this. It gives him a knot of dread in the pit of his stomach that’s impossible to ignore. Instead he’ll win you back with actions and gestures to show you he’s trying, that he is sorry, he just doesn’t know how to say it right now. He’d put on your favorite movie and take some of the chores off your plate, all while avoiding sneaking looks at your pouting face because he just can’t stand too see that you’re upset with him.

He’d leave that bowl of fruit in your vicinity as if he was feeding a lion a tray of raw meat, keeping his distance and careful not to trigger another confrontation. He’d also make sure you had something to hydrate with, especially if tears were involved. He’d take care of you, to remind you he’s got you. He’d work all through the night if he had too, waiting until you’re ready to come around and accept his care. To snuggle up to him again. To let him protect you and treat you how you deserve to be treated. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again.

Give him another chance, doll, won’t you?

[unamused-boss]

How we met

Billy Harvgrove x Phoebe Levin

Summary: The day Billy Hargrove found Phoebe Levin changed his life forever. The day he met her was one he would never forget, literally. Like how can you forget that.

The minute that Billy stepped out of his camaro into the Hawkin’s High School parking lot he knew that this was gonna be the absolute worst part of his entire life. Girls were already gawking him like a piece of meat given to a pack of wolves. The guys were sizing him up like they thought they had a chance at winning a fight against him. 

“Jeezus, smells like cow shit here.” He muttered as he made his way into the high school. Once his boot made contact with the tile floor of the school he was swarmed with wannabes and thirsty girls.

“Hey man, I'm Tommy. We’re gonna be great friends.” One freckled faced freak said to him.

“Hello~ I’m Tina, it’s so great to meet you.” Some brunette flirted.

“Heey cali boy, how does the countryside feel?” Some rando said.

‘Holy shit, do these guys have anything better to do?’ Billy thought. ‘It's not the worst, I already have them like putty in my hand.’ He smirked, he already had a majority of the school's population on his side. This could not be as awful as he thought it was going to be. If these guys are like this just by his first day then Billy can’t wait for what will happen throughout the next couple of months. 

Which is what happened, Billy soon became the new King of Hawkins High School. He had everyone eating from the palm of his hand. The parties were nothing like the ones in California but they were a good way to distract him while being here. And every girl here wanted in his pants, which he let them but soon left them right after the deed was done. 

The day started off as any other day. Billy was late to his first period, as perusal, taking his seat with a very irked teacher. As he was about to start his normal routine of ignoring everyone around him a glint caught his eye. He turned his head to see a girl decorated in long earrings and glittering necklaces. She had pale skin and hard dark hair. Her eyes looked bored but still tried to pay attention to the lesson at hand. She wore dark clothes, her stomach was out, and the closer Billy looked he realized she didn’t have a bra on. She looked wild. Her hair somehow kept and unkept at the same time. Something about her was drawing him in, like a wave to a surfboard.

“Can you stop starring?” She broke him from his thoughts. No enthusiasm in her tone, she was not happy whatsoever that he was staring at her. Why was she not giggling at him like every other girl?

“I’m Billy.” Billy tried to introduce himself. Pulling his classic charm to win this girl over.

“I know. Now stop talking to me.” She simply put.

“What?”

“I said stop talking to me, you are someone I do not want to speak to.” She was getting frustrated by his presence. That’s bullshit, the only person that was supposed to get annoyed by him was Hairrington.

“I’m trying to flirt with you, you know that right?” He asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Yes it’s very obvious, so why don’t you stop and go back to the other girl next you that you flirted with all last month that has not stopped staring at you since class started.” Now you were over him. If your tone didn’t put it straight in his face that you were not having anything he was giving; he turned around to, in fact, see the said girl staring at him. Then the bell rang just as he was going to talk to you again. But you were out of there without him seeing.

The cafeteria was where Billy saw the mysterious girl next. He just stared at her as she sat by herself. No one was around her, being that her friends had a different lunch schedule then her. His staring didn’t go unnoticed by Tommy or Carol.

“Why are you staring at that weirdo?” Tommy asked him, picking at the food on his tray.

“Who is she?” Billy asked curiously.

“Phoebe Levin is the most peculiar girl you’ll ever meet. Swear to god she is related to The freak sometimes.” Carol scowled. “You seriously don’t want to be around her.”

“Her mom was married to some Russian immigrant dude, probably killed because of his help with the Russian forces.” Tommy laughed.

“Ugh, I don’t know why she is still here.” Carol whined. “Billy there are such better girls in this school than her.” The three continued to stare at the young girl. 

Phoebe knew they were watching her, she knew Billy was asking questions about her. “God give me a break.” She grumbled through the sandwich she was chewing. She heard the sound of fake pompous heels click their way over to where she was sitting. And to no one's surprise there stood Carol Perkins. With a grin on her face and  her caked on makeup.

“Can I help you Carol?” The unenthused girl spoke.

“Hey Phoebe.” Carol smiled, obviously fake. “ I just wanted to check up on you, you seem so lonely.”

“Okay?” Carol just continued to stare at her while she ate.

“You know for someone that has so many cropped tops, you do have a pretty fat stomach.” Carol snied. 

“You know for someone that sucks every other guy's dick except her boyfriend’s, you’d think you’d know how to shut your mouth.” Phoebe retorted. “Are we done here?” Carol just sat there with her mouth agape. Phoebe finished the remainder of her lunch taking her tray to leave. Only for Coral to put her foot out and trip her. Causing Phoebe to go face first into her tray. Phoebe picked herself up, taking the little food she had off her shirt. Walking away unbothered.

“Ugh, You scathing BITCH!” Yell Carol.

Billy watched in amazement. He loved every moment of that conversation, he knew she were different. He didn’t think she'd be this different. He watched as Phoebe made her way out of the lunchroom watching her hips sway as she walked. Carol made her way back to their table huffing and puffing at the interaction she just had. Sitting down like a newly scolded child.

“I told you Billy, you don’t want to be around her.” Carol sneered.

Ever since Billy asked about Phoebe Levin everybody has given every opinion possible about her.

“She is so weird.”

“She’s probably a spy planted for the Russians, maybe that’s why she’s so isolated.”

“I swear she’s done a seance with Munson!”

“Phoebe doesn’t wear a bra, like ever, which is kinda hot?”

“Uhg, she hangs in the library all the time in her dark corner.”

“She always seems like she’s on some psychedelic trip.”

“I saw her walking barefoot through the woods once.”

“Her grandma is a witch.”

“I hear she’s eaten goat’s brain.”

Billy didn’ t give a shit what these people thought. He only knew her name and that he wanted to meet her.

While Billy dealt with his predicament of having to find his belle of the ball in black Phoebe was dealing with her own troubles. Her trouble has names that are Carol Perkins, Hiedi Flanders, Tina Clarks, and Betty Johnson; those four have been giving her hell all week. All for Billy Hargrove having caught his eye on her.

“I swear to everything, I will rip his tongue out.” Phoebe grumbled under her breath.

“Hey it’s alright.” Nancy reassured, “It’s Friday, you won’t see them for two days. But you will be seeing Tom Cruise with me.” She grinned. The both of you being friends was an odd sight to see. A princess and a witch, but you guys have been through thick and thin together. Phoebe was there for her when she found out Barb was found dead. And Nancy was there for Phoebe when her dad died. Only those two know the secrets between each other, that no one else will ever know.

“I guess you’re right.” Phoebe smiled. “I’ll see you after gym… see ya.” Phoebe waved her off. 

Phoebe was making her way to the gym locker room when she thought she heard giggling behind her. She knew what was going to happen, having already accepted her fate of whatever little prank the class bimbos were going to pull on her. Nothing like this will change for her if she stays in this fucking town. Phoebe entered the locker room to her spot by the corner. Putting her stuff away into her cubby then continues with getting ready as normal. Taking off her clothes to put on her gym clothes. Once the shirt was over her head and on her body, this is one of few instances she puts a bra on (ya gotta stay prepared) Phoebe then hears the giggles again. ‘Dammit’ Phoebe braces herself for what is about to come. The expecting rush of cold water comes down upon her; her hair now wet, her mascara smudged and running down her face, the top of her shirt soaked. The giggles turned to full hyena laughter ringing through the locker room. 

“Sorry Carrie didn’t see ya there!” Carol boasted.

“I think she looks better this way.” Tina smirked.

“Yeah, it brings out that washed out skin.” Betty cackled, and I’m the one that gets called a witch. The warning whistle from the coach signaling us to get out of the locker room.

“Come on Carrie, don’t wanna be late.” Carol joked, her and her friends laughed as they walked away. Phoebe did not react. She made no comment. All she did was make her way out of the locker room to the gym for class. Where she saw a familiar mullet head skipping class.

A glare was given to him. Phoebe was tired of the shit she was given. Tired of the attention people have decided to give you for the dumbest reason. To have some meat head think this is the funniest joke on the planet. ‘I will shave his head and make him eat his hair.’ I hate him.

‘Holy shit.’ No one since he has gotten here has given Billy any shit. But the glare that Phoebe gave him. A chill ran up his back. With the unlit cigarette hanging from his lip almost falling out. He has not met a girl like her. Well he has but they usually never speak to him, let alone glare through his skull. 

“Go to hell…”

Phoebe spent her time in gym class wisely. She didn’t tell the coach. Didn’t explain to anyone that asked. She ran her laps. Did every exercise she was told to. She ignored the laughter of the girls that did this to her. Ignored that stares from everyone. However when at her water break Phoebe noticed the janitor’s closet was unlocked, ideas went through her head. If she was going to be treated like this only because some ass is giving her attention. Well they don’t say an eye for an eye for nothin. 

Gym class was let out, since Phoebe was one of the first few into the locker room her plan was already in action. The four bimbo’s made their way to her corner; already dressed in her tank top and long skirt. Accentuating her figure, a figure that many were jealous of or either wanted. The bimbo’s were in their towels going to take their showers.

“Who knew you’d enjoy a cold bath before class.” Laughed Betty.

“Yeah… Now just for you to know…” Heidi said, wickedness pouring from her words as she stepped forward closer to me. She glared at me, “Stay away from Billy, or I will make your life hell.”

“Oh sweetheart.” Phoebe mocked. “I knew I was there when I saw you.” She apparently didn’t like that too much since she turned away from me flipping her hair into my face. Her curly coarse hair from too many perm treatments. But Phoebe didn’t have to worry about that, when across from her she saw the familiar belongings to the girls that were once here. Along with some items that will aid her in her revenge.

Nancy was confused, gym class got out a few minutes ago and she couldn’t find Phoebe anywhere. All she saw was the commotion of the halls. Nancy doesn’t know where she could be. Until…

Billy was getting annoyed not only with not being able to shake off his interaction with Phoebe earlier today but no one would stop bothering him. He can’t stand it, Tommy won’t shut his yap.

“Then I told him to strew off if he knew what was good for him.” Tommy laughed.

“Yep, you got him.” Billy grumbled. He just watched as the people in the halls passed him. Looking for her.

Tommy rolled his eyes, “Are you still looking for her, she’s literally a nobody.”

“Tommy. If I wanted your opinion I’d ask for it.” Billy stated. “ And I don’t-” Billy was cut of by the clicking of running heels.

“TOMMY!” Carol yelled, “TOMMY!” Carol and the other three girls ran up to the two boys. The girls were out of breath but fuming with anger with their arms tightly crossed against their chests. 

“Whoa what is it?” Tommy asked.

“Someone stole from us.” Carol snided.

“Stole what?” Tommy questioned. “You have all your stuff.” He pointed out.

“NO.” Carold came closer to Tommy’s face so no one else would hear. “Someone stole our bras…” Tommy’s eyes widened, he almost laughed at the statement before him.

“What?” Tommy answered. Neither of them noticed the sudden burst of energy in the hallway. People started to make their way to windows and the front of the school. Billy noticed but he waited for the couple to finish. All while being stared at by Hiedi.

“I want you to find them and kick their ass!” Carol screamed. The echo of her words is what stopped their discussion. Carol looked around, along with her little posse, “What are they looking at?”

It was about the same time when Billy and Nancy made their way outside to the front of the school. Pushing their way through a shocked crowd of students, some laughing and some with their jaws on the floor. By the time the two teens made it to the front of the crowd what they saw before them was not what they thought it would be. 

In front of them stood four burning stacks with bras being burnt at the ends.

With what Billy just overheard, he can only guess at who those were. And off to the side stood Phoebe Levin smoking a cigarette lit by the flames. Standing only looking at the crowd before her. It didn’t take long before Carol and the others saw what had happened to their once lacy bralettes. Screaming as they saw the consequences of their actions before them.

“OOHH!” Coral screeched. “YOU BITCH!”

“Exactly!” Phoebe Levin replied. Phoebe then stared at Billy, the same stare she gave him in the halls a while ago. She flicked the last of her cigarette onto the ground, then stomped it out. She only smiled as she passed Carol and them until she was face to face with Billy.

“I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t like it so leave me out of it.” She stated to him.

“I don’t think so, this only made me want more.” He grinned at her.

“PHOEBE LEVIN!” The familiar call of the principle called, she wasn’t getting out of this easily.

“That’s my que…” She said as she left him there.

Billy did not know what else to say. He was glad she walked away because he would have been speechless. Billy knew what he wanted and he wanted her, he wanted to be with her. And he’ll have to work a little harder to get her. He doesn’t mind cause once he has her. He won’t let go.

I hope you like it!

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday

Modern the untamed? The one where Wei wuxian is friends first with Lan Xichen

a continuation of 1

Sophomore year the administration had tried to exert some type of control over them by putting the three of them all in different lunch periods.

That had resulted in two of them cutting a class every single day so they could all have lunch together. Xichen either missed study hall or band, neither of which required his attendance and so his uncle was only moderately apocalyptic about him missing, and the only person Mingjue had to answer to was his cousin, who frankly didn’t give a shit, so skipping class was easy for him too. Wei Wuxian had the worst of it, because while he could ace statistics and chemistry in his sleep, Aunt Yu took every excuse possible to punish him and Uncle Jiang could only redirect her so many times.

Both Xichen and Mingjue had just offered to come to his lunch permanently, but that wasn’t fair and it wasn’t like Lan Qiren wasn’t punishing Xichen, he just wasn’t being as vindictive about it. So they took turns.

Not having lunch together wasn’t an option because that meant letting the administration win and that was unacceptable. The next semester they’d put them all in the same lunch, accepting that they actually caused less trouble that way, and had done so ever since, so it was a battle well won.

“Do you think this is a bribe?” Wei Wuxian asks as they sit at their customary table under the oak tree. They’d gotten into two physical fights and one prank war to claim it freshman year from the seniors, which may or may not be when the rumors about them first started. “Putting us in the same lunch as our brothers.”

“It’s probably just saving them a headache,” Xichen answers, taking out his healthy lunch that he brought from home. Wei Wuxian snags it to start distributing the rice and pickled vegetables between him and Mingjue’s plate and Mingjue leans over to dumb the cheese sticks and questionable meat loaf from their plates onto Xichen’s.

Lan Qiren is convinced that school lunches are filled with plastic and poison and pesticides. Which is probably accurate, but it still tastes better than pickled vegetables. Most days.

“Someone warned me against sitting here,” Nie Huaisang complains as he slams is tray down. “Which means now I’m required to have lunch with you in order to gain some extremely dubious street cred.”

“I’m only here because Nie Huaisang is,” Jiang Cheng says, even though he sits across from Wei Wuxian at the opposite end of the table. “Don’t get used to it.”

Wen Qing has this lunch period too, but she always spends it in the lab. Maybe he can entice her to eat lunch sometimes, because Jiang Cheng will definitely sit with them then.

“Hello,” Xichen’s extremely hot brother says as he sits down. He has an identical lunch box to Xichen’s, except he apparently eats all of his himself. That’s deranged. He’s lucky he’s so beautiful because it makes up for the pressed khakis and awful food choices.

It’s a tragedy that A-jie has the lunch after them, especially because it’s the same one that the Jin degenerates have. Wen Ning has that one too, but he’s not much protection.

“Can we beat up Jin Zixuan?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng, Mingjue, and Nie Huaisang all say at once.

Xichen sighs. “Can we at least have a good reason first?”

Very hot brother – his name is Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian should probably start using it – looks at them all with faint disapproval.

That’s hot too, actually.

[ceilingfan5]

it's gotta be arcade carpet, I will start a fight and I do not care if I win that fight, even though I will win that fight. I want to draw blood, and Taako

"I hate him," Taako says, with feeling. "I hate him so bad. I want him to be naught but purple viscera traumatizing onlookers. You get me? Like, am I being clear enough?" He dips his pretzel passionately into the communal cheese and gets that succulent plastic nacho sauce all over the tray and his hand. He scowls and sucks his fingers loose and Kravitz thinks, not for the first time, him, huh? This is where I've laid my affections?

"For sure," Kravitz says calmly instead. He slides Taako a napkin.

"His strategies are garbage from a toilet, he has no flair, he cheats, I fucking know he does, I don't know how but I Know he does-" Taako huffs and chews his pretzel. Kravitz props his head up on his hand, looking at the jewelry store behind them, and the poster in the jewelry store with the deliriously happy gay couple, and he like, knows, okay, he knows all the diamond things and the capitalism things and the marriage things. And targeted advertising and rainbow bank icons. But listen. What if, is the thing.

"You could find another place to play?" Kravitz suggests, already knowing the answer. But Taako is in a ranting mood, and wants to get the magma out of his system. Kravitz is happy to divert the flow. It's certainly more interesting than going back to work in fourteen minutes.

"Obviously I'm not going to run, Krav," Taako scoffs, mouth still full. Nasty <3. Kravitz has it bad. It might be infectious, how bad he has it. Limbs falling off. In twenty years they'll be like how did the zombie apocalypse start? And no one will answer, because everyone will be gone of zombieism. The end. "I'd rather kill him."

"Noo," Kravitz says, laughing. "Really?"

"Yeah, really!" Taako almost manages a straight face. Usually he's so good at locking it down. Perfect stupid asshole. "I'd kill him good. I'd uh, I'd. Uh. If he beats me at Dance Party Castle again, I'm gonna start a fight."

"A fight? With what, your beefy fists?" Kravitz laughs. He knows Taako could hold his own in a scrap. But also.

"I will start a fight!" Taako declares, maybe a bit too loudly, but the empty food court just echoes dimly about it. "I will start a fight, and I don't care if I win, but I will win. I will win that fight. I wanna draw blood."

"Blood on the dance floor?"

"Boooo!" Taako breaks up into giggles. "Blood on the arcade carpet!"

"Oh no! Think of the blacklights!"

"Think of the Jenkins meat getting fed into the- what's the- Polybius!"

"You said Jenkins meat out loud with your mouth and now you have to go to the Phantom Zone forever." Kravitz shakes his head so sadly. What a loss. Taako cracks up.

"Noooo, I wasn't thinking!"

"That's it, you never think." Kravitz folds his arms, and gets cheese sauce on his suit jacket. "Wait, aw, fuck…"

"Are you sure you don't want to watch me defeat Dance Party Castle one mo gain?" Taako teases. He slides the nakins back over. What a loss!!!

"Only if there's an arcade massacre."

"Beb, I'd commit all kinds of crimes for you."

"Murder?" Kravitz pretends his cheeks aren't heating up, even after all this time. The classic Ken doll of a dude proposing to the slightly more racially ambiguous Ken doll in the glossy jewelry store ad almost winks at him.

"Easy."

"What about tax evasion?"

"Peasy, even."

"We got 'im, boys! Lock him up!"

And as Taako pretends to get dogpiled by a number of invisible undercover tax assassins, he has at least gotten less righteously incandescent about the fucker ruining his favorite thing. So Kravitz wins.

Just not at Dance Party Castle.

[pascaloverx]

As It Was

Chapter One

next chapter

Summary: "When your ex-husband shows up in the middle of the night, asking for your help, the right thing to do would be to leave him to fend for himself, wouldn't it?"

Our protagonist decides to embark on an adventure to clear her ex-husband's name as a scapegoat. Together with a small team, they will do whatever it takes to keep James Barnes away from prison and perhaps rekindle flames from the past."

Warnings: use of violence, future adult content and inappropriate language. Minors are advised not to read or engage with this story.

James Buchanan Barnes entered my life at an unexpected moment. We were at a party organized by my best friend Wanda. She and her girlfriend were celebrating their first home together, while I was celebrating a canceled date on top of another. My father, who was a military commander at the time, had arranged a meeting with his best friend's godson. This godson apparently was too busy for a tedious date with someone's daughter. I wasn't feeling very happy with myself when James approached to ask if I wanted some snacks. He was trying to be social since Sam had made a bet with him that involved someone buying beer for the other for a year. That night, James earned free beer for a year when he managed to hold a conversation with me for more than twenty minutes. It was easy to talk to someone who was just as uncomfortable as I was. I confess that the fact that James had a job similar to my father's made me insecure at the beginning of the relationship. But something about the way he stood out among the people at that barbecue made me want to know more about him. He seemed out of place even though he interacted with other people, in reality, he only interacted with Sam and Yelena throughout the night. There were people trying to approach him, striking up a conversation or touching his arm. He seemed so uncomfortable that I even wondered how someone who didn't seem to like crowds became friends with Sam Wilson. In fact, I was about to leave when James asked me if I wanted more hamburgers.

"Do you know that in Brazil, barbecue is not about hamburgers and sausages made on a grill but about meat?" I said, trying to be as random as possible to see if I could prolong our interaction. Ironically, Yelena challenged me to hold a conversation with any unknown person at the party for at least five minutes.

"Are you Brazilian or just a culturally curious person?" James asked, holding a tray with hamburgers. At that moment, I stopped to observe his face completely, his stubble and long hair gave him the aesthetic of a bad boy excluded from society. I thought to myself that if we were in high school, he would be the type of guy who would attract me.

"A little bit of both. My mother was Brazilian, and I simply got curious about what her life was like before I existed," I replied, grabbing one of the hamburgers from the tray. I moved away from James because I imagined he would offer hamburgers to other people, but he remained still.

"I've never been to Brazil, maybe one day I can have a real Brazilian barbecue and say which one is the tastiest."

"When I was little, my mom used to say it was one of the things she missed the most, so I believe you won't regret it." I remember James's smug smile when I distanced myself from him, thinking our conversation had ended. Honestly, in my defense, he seemed to want an excuse to get away from that barbecue.

"Do you usually leave people talking to themselves or do you just really not like me?" He spoke almost whispering close to my ear. His voice at that moment made my whole body shiver. Barnes typically used the power of his voice against me when he wanted to win an argument. It always worked.

"I thought after the cooking class you'd be eager to go home, maybe have a nice drink and do what a man like you does best on a Saturday night." I spoke shyly because, honestly, James Barnes had a gaze that would make anyone feel inappropriate for talking to him.

"Then come with me, accompany me while I do what a man does best on a Saturday night. I'm sure your company will only enhance any lurid thoughts that may be crossing your mind right now. Not to mention, you seem just as eager to stay here as I am." His words exuded confidence, and I stared at him, surprised by his sudden invitation.

"Do you have a habit of inviting any stranger to accompany you home, or am I the lucky one tonight?" I'm trying not to accept your invitation too quickly, perhaps it's my attempt to play hard to get or my inexperience with flirting.

"You're not a stranger. You're Wanda's best friend, who happens to be my best friend's girlfriend." He approaches as if he's analyzing me or trying to read my thoughts. I smile softly, thinking that Wanda must be watching this scene from afar, thinking that this will be the thousandth time she tries to set me up with someone and it might be the thousandth time I turn the guy down. I take a deep breath, counting to five mentally to make sure I respond to Barnes' invitation with confidence.

"You don't even know my name, yet you want my company tonight?" I say as we flirt with our eyes. It seems like we've entered into a mental competition to see who can flirt better.

"Naturally, for what I have in mind for the future of our minds, we'll have to exchange names, but that's just a minor detail. The most important thing is to know if I have your consent to turn this quiet night into one of the most memorable ones you've ever had." Officially, I'm in his hands for the night. There's no fighting it, even though I don't even know why I'm fighting against my instinct to go home with this handsome man with piercing blue eyes.

"My name is Melisa, and you have permission to show me how much potential you have to make this night memorable. But can you live up to the expectations you're creating?"

"I guess we'll have to find out together, Melisa." He took my hand, guiding me towards his motorcycle. I remember my shocked reaction when I saw that he rode a motorcycle. I remember how he spent countless minutes trying to convince me that motorcycles were safe when driven by a professional. I remember asking if he was a biker and receiving a hearty laugh in response.

I remember how he touched his long hair and brushed the strands that were near his eye to the back. That night was truly memorable, but not for the reasons we expected. It was the night I discovered who James Buchanan Barnes truly was. A man who takes you to his home and despite being eager for a make-out session to help out his drunk best friend who is too intoxicated to drive. A man who takes you home and convinces you that you won't be able to move on with your life until you find out if he's truly worth it. The man who takes three dates to take you to bed. The man who makes you want to marry him just a year and a half after you start dating because he feels like he can't live without you. But he's also the man who, when he's wrong, simply shuts himself off from the world until there's no other choice but to leave him there.

I could spend my whole life trying to explain James Barnes, but I would simply like to share what Barnes currently means to me.He is the ex-husband whom I swore never to let back into my house, and right now, I am staring at him. I'm staring at him while holding a baseball bat that I keep for "emergencies."

He is wet, wearing a soaked white shirt, most likely due to the heavy rain outside. His hair looks very different from the last time I saw him. It's short, while his beard seems to have been left unshaven for a while. He's breathing heavily, perhaps he ran here or is fleeing from something. The gaze that once left me speechless now made me question everything. I was ready to swing that bat at James' head when he whispered, "I know you've probably wanted to hit me with that bat since the divorce, but can we save this reckoning for when I'm not running away?"

"Running away from whom, Barnes?" I assure you that my facial expression must be as cold as the tone of voice I'm using. But after the divorce, all I was left with was anger towards the man I used to call my husband.

"There's still that secret passage you called stupid when I suggested it, but later said it would be a good hiding spot in case one of us got arrested." He seems to ignore my question or my utterly confused expression. I nod silently, pointing towards the end of the hallway in our house. Well, now it's my house, but it used to be ours.

Instead of moving forward and entering that secret passage which, yes, if you've seen any action movie, you know it's usually hidden behind a mirror or a bookshelf, Barnes approaches me with a look of "I forgot to tell you" that he used to give me before delivering bad news.

"The police will be here in about five minutes, and I need you to act as if you haven't seen me in years. Be the daughter your father raised and the clever woman I fell in love with, and make sure they leave without suspecting anything. That's the most I can tell you in such a short time, and I need you to trust me just one more time."

James was so quick that before I could even respond, he had already disappeared into the secret room of the house. I could only curse myself internally for keeping that place a secret, even though it had been years since my divorce. At that moment, memories of the day I introduced James to my father flooded back. My father, who had gone to great lengths to set me up with his friend's godson, was not at all pleased to learn that his beloved daughter was dating a man who worked as a government agent.My father actually didn't like James. He would say that something about Barnes made him believe that one day I would be interrogated by the police to talk about James. My thoughts were interrupted by knocks on the door, followed by a police officer asking me to open the door. It was only at that moment that I realized I wasn't properly dressed to receive anyone at home. The truth is, I was getting ready for a date when I heard a noise on the first floor of the house. So, I'm just wearing my underwear and a robe that doesn't fully cover my body. But that doesn't stop me from opening the door right after hearing the police officer call my name.

"Good evening, officers. How can I assist you?" I say, trying to hide the lower part of my body behind the door. I wish I had had time to put on more decent clothing. The police officers are clearly scrutinizing my behavior, attempting to find any trace of James through the small opening of the door.

"Is your husband James Buchanan Barnes, miss?" The older, graying police officer speaks in an authoritative tone.

"He used to be, sir. Is something wrong with him?" I try to appear as surprised and innocent as possible. I know that many law enforcement officers tend to believe people who seem somewhat innocent.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but your husband is wanted for suspicion of being involved with an international smuggler named Killian. We believe Mr. Barnes may have provided unauthorized access to national security information." Now I'm truly shocked, perhaps nervous enough for the officers to notice a slight twitch in my left eye. My hands start to sweat as I think about the slightest chance of them knowing that James is here.

"And you believe he would come to his ex-wife's house in the middle of the night, after years, to hide from the police or whoever else is after him?" Years ago, my father taught me that the key to telling a good lie is to make the truth sound absurd. I am practicing one of his many teachings with those whom he would hate to know I'm trying to deceive. You see, my father worked for years to keep this country free from criminality and to apprehend those who threaten it in any way.

"We believe he might reach out to you or this residence seeking comfort or assistance, in which case we advise you to contact us immediately. Otherwise, it will be assumed that you are an accomplice." The other police officer spoke, trying to intimidate me. It didn't work.

"Well... in that case, as soon as I see my ex-husband, you'll be the first to know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for a date. You know, I'm trying to move on after the divorce."

I give them a completely nonchalant smile. They seem to have believed that I don't know anything about James, but they don't seem to have understood that I'm no longer his wife. I can't blame them; at this moment, even I am unsure if we really are no longer married.

"We hope we haven't disturbed your evening. Here's a number for you to call if you see your husband. Please do not hesitate to call if you have any information about him." The older police officer speaks, handing me a card with a number. I nod, confirming that I will assist them, and watch as they make their way back to the patrol car.

For a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief, but then I remember that my ex-husband is still hiding here. I know I can't keep him here for long, so I decide to start planning what to do next. I have a plan that might work to get James out of here before the police come back with a warrant. I can't help but think that whatever I do, it has to be quick because I do have a date, and if I'm absent, I know my father will become suspicious. Before going to talk to James, I went upstairs and put on the dress that was laying on the bed. Fortunately, I was almost ready, which would help me not to be too late for the date. As I put on my shoes, I send a message to the man I'm going out with, letting him know that I'll be running late. I also send a message to Sam, using a coded message that only he can understand. In reality, I simply sent a message saying that he had forgotten his favorite cleats here and that it would be good for him to come and get them for the weekend game. He would know that I needed him urgently because we agreed to send messages like this in case we needed help. I think he understood, as he replied that since the game was very important, he would come to pick up the cleats as soon as possible. Sam has been James' best friend for as long as I've known him. I'm sure Sam will want to be involved in helping out.

I finish getting ready for the date and head downstairs to find the secret passage where James is hiding. I stomp my feet on the ground twice with force to secretly signal that I'm alone. Barnes created several secret codes to ensure I was prepared for any situation during our marriage. For a moment, I feel strange for still remembering those things.

"You took all this time to get ready knowing that I was here waiting for you?" James's tone of voice indicates that he's not very happy with me. His gaze reflects a minimal level of patience, something I witnessed only a few times during our marriage. Unfortunately, the damn man is irresistibly more attractive when he's angry.

"It's funny how you're the one indignant when I'm the one being interrogated by the police right after my ex-husband breaks into my house. And I'm dressed up because I have a date that I can't cancel, as my father would quickly find out, and you, James Barnes, certainly wouldn't want my father suspecting why I missed this date." I know I'll seem like a submissive daughter to my father, but he has been trying to set me up with Steve Rogers, an FBI prodigy who is his best friend's godson, for a year now. He would connect the dots as soon as he found out about James. He approaches me with a deeply concerned look, and I feel like I could get lost in the scent of his perfume. It's not overpowering, but it's distinctive, and it's incredible that he still smells so good after all these years.

"Speaking of your father, you can't tell him anything about this. I... I found out just minutes before being framed that he is the true partner of Killian." Before I can even muster a reaction, I hear the sound of someone knocking on the door and look at James, who has a facial expression that makes me think he's contemplating ways to escape.

"Don't even think about it, Barnes. I'll handle whoever is here, and you'll wait for me while we figure out a way to keep you from getting arrested or killed." Few moments in my relationship with James were about us disagreeing with each other because we knew that two stubborn people rarely reach a consensus. He seems to understand what I'm saying, but I don't trust that he will obey me.

[fatteningmenstories]

At your service Part 4

It had now been nearly two months of staying in the suite and Alex had quickly gotten used to his new and much more convenient life, he would wake up every morning to the smell of a big hearty American breakfast being cooked just for him, in the bathroom all the tedious jobs of brushing his teeth and even washing himself was done by the robots happily. He could spend the entire day in his underwear and there was no one to protest- not that they would of course, Unit certainly didn’t complain as he strolled about in his underwear and silk robe. Each morning he looked forward to what Unit had had prepared for him, his favourite of course was the buttery pancakes drizzled in maple syrup and sided with a tray full of crunchy bacon. Unit had noted that this was his preferred meal ,so of course went the extra mile of doubling down on its size whenever it was served. Somedays Alexandro would start the day with nearly a dozen fat pancakes, and he loved it - he was finally being treated like the stud he was, sometimes he would hit the Gym for a couple hours pushing weights while being weighted on by Unit who would always refill his chocolatey protein shakes, he still attempt a bit of cardio here and there but breakfast always left him feeling so sluggish especially after weights so with that cardia was off and replaced with sauna time. As the weeks passed the games library would always be updated with Alex finding himself being glued to the screen with what ever next level game he was supplied with, and of course he could play vr, it was the most intense thing he did. While he gamed he would constantly be grazing on whatever the snack bar had on that day- somedays it would be cotton candy other nachos but there would always be chocolate to Alex’s delight. Lunch was Alex’s anchor in the day it split his two gaming session in halve and Unit always made sure it was worth it , Unit of course had followed suit of Alex’s requirements to get bigger and provided Alex with all the meat a jock like him needed to get bigger, somedays he would plough though nearly a dozen beefy overspilling burgers and of course the cheesiest fries imaginable others it would deep dish pizzas and hordes of overspilling tacos. The remaining part of the day would be spent dozing in and out of a food coma which Alex had called getting ready for dinner he needed time to probably digest his food before meeting up with Mr Gordo. The competitive natures of the two had really quickly turned dinner into a eating competition between the pair of them to see who could digest the most quickest, Mr Gordo of course won but Alex wasn’t always that far off, his competitive nature told told himself that it was just because Mr Gordo was a complete fatty with no control that allowed him to beat him. Desert was however was the polar opposite to dinner the two of them would savour the gourmet and brilliant deserts designed for them by Unit.2, here they would engage mostly in conversation about Alex’s athletic life, Alex would explain in absolute detail his play through as a quarterback and how winning was so easy with a body like his, while digging into Units chocolatey deserts. Then came the best part of the day , his treat for eating all his food, the most divine chocolate in the world pouring down his throat, and as the weeks passed Alex could take more and more of it until he almost lasted a complete minute before spluttering it all up, he hadn’t heeded Mr Gordo’s advise and how could he it was too good.

month 4

Burrrpppppppppp,

Alexandro let out the another burp as he finished another one of Unit’s shakes, ahhh it tasted so good and creamy he thought as he scratched his bloated stomach, it was almost dinner and he hadn’t left the sofa all day and why would he anything he could possible need was delivered straight to him by unit. He wondered to himself as unit delivered a dozen of fresh hot donuts straight to his mouth as he gamed what possible joy Unit could find like this serving his every need.

Little did he know how much Unit revelled in serving him, over the last couple of months had Unit able to learn so much about humans, about their likes and their needs, Alex was Unit’s little case study and it was learning some about him, storing all of his behaviours over the last couple of months in to its hard drive - what he liked to eat,at what time Alex liked to be woken and most importantly how much he had seemed to enjoy Unit’s mission of getting him ‘bigger’. Unit was able to scan Alex’s brain every time whenever it delivered a plate full of food to him and the endorphins were off the scale - Unit was definitely doing something right. Unit was learning so much and growing in its knowledge about what humans needed and Unit hadn’t been the only thing growing since had Alex moved in, Unit’s sensors eagerly picked up on Alex’s inflating size. As Alex laid on the couch mostly naked, Unit was easily able to detect the changes in Alex’s size. First it had been his abs, they quickly had lost their definition and were now slowly being coated in a layer of fat, according to Unit’s access to the web Alex’s abdomen could know actually be classified as a gut, and these changes were all over Unit eagerly noted how Alex pecs were swelling up day by day with more adipose the same changes were being seen in his ballooning butt - Unit made note to alter Alex’s clothes at night ( once it researched how alarming humans can find this experience). Notes were made on Alex’s thickening waistline which was outgrowing his first 29 inch measurement it was getting thicker and thicker which Unit believed was the human body’s adaption to support his growing midsection. Unit scanned Alex all over detecting his loss in muscle tissue and tone and his increase in body fat levels and compared it to the surface changes of how Alex’s arms and thighs were swelling up with all this extra fat, it connetced this to Alex’s changes in behaviour. Over the last couple of months Alex was noted to use the gym less and less and favoured more sedentary practices in and how despite his change in exersise levels he still carved more and more food - food which Unit was particular energy rich. Unit was having a marvellous time, scanning and learning about humans and Alex was their prefect guina pig

Completely oblivious to all these scans Alex reached for a donut than another plugged into to his Vr headset he had no idea how well noted his descent of gluttony was being. As his hand danced blindly around an empty donut box searching for any stragglers the loud sound of Mr Gordo knocking on the door for dinner broke him form his gluttonous ritual, the days sure went fast when halve of it was spent sleeping and the other halve gaming, he had spent almost another whole day entirety on the sofa eating whatever he could possibly have wanted and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Alex my boy, come on quickly before the food gets cold” Mr Gordo chuckled turning off of his VR set

Alex quickly stirred of the sofa, flicking of the crumbs of his stomach and licking the icing of his fingers

‘Umm dinner - what’s it tonight’

“Just you wait my boy’ chuckled Mr Gordo eyeing up Alex

Years of only spending his days with robots fixing them and winding them up, had made Mr Gordo enjoy having another play thing in his arms, when Alex had insulted him the over day he knew a funny little game he could play on the poor boy and as he sized by Alex he could see the boy was playing it very well.

As Alex off course had been very musclier before and with such an impressive build the changes were harder to see but they were there, Mr Gordo of course noticed that the jock had significantly widened in the waist, the boys abs could only faintly be seen as his stomach had rounded out and muffin topped over his tight jockstrap, and that the beginning of a double chin was slowly forming around the studs face paired with his cheeks losing their tight definition

Dinner had of course grown in size to accommodate Alex’s increase in appetite, he was drinking nearly 5l of shakes ever day all of which riddled with appetite enhances so now after 4 month he was plowing through dinner with Mr Gordo. Only a month ago Alex would have called it quits but when Mr Gordo signalled for Unit to bring out the 3rd helping of turkey - it was like his competitive nature went into overdrive, as he reached for helping after helping mimic Mr Gordo’s piggish appetite.

“Alex, its nice to see you throughly making use of all the ai in your suite”, let out Mr Gordo after the plates of food between the two had been licked clean

“Of course I have Mr Gordo” Alex let out in-between burps

“Might I add, Alex that unit has told him your instructions of getting big, would you like myself to install a fitness regime into the gym ai”

“Nah don’t sweat it, all this extra stuffing is simply just fuel for my bulk, I gotta get big first and then imma hit the treadmill to burn off any side effects’

“Well, I’m sure a jock like you knows what’s best, and let me just add your’re certainly looking more beefier than when you first came’

“Yeah, its all about the process of course, gotta get big first to get some massive gains when I leave”

“ Certainly my dear boy now if you don’t mind , I think its time for dessert, If I dare say so myself”

The simple mention of desert made Alex’s eyes lit up , like always Unit.2 had completely outdone themselves producing gourmet chocolatey eclairs each pumped to the brim with delicious cream, the moment they entered Alex’s eyesight he was fixed on stuffing each one down his throat, it wasn’t long till he was covered in chocolate and his stomach was fully bloated after another day of ploughing through his food - this was the good life Alex thought to himself as he licked up the remains chocolate form his lips

Dropping Alex of at his suite, Mr Gordo made a quick stop before hitting his bed,

‘Unit boot up’

With his voice Unit woke itself up immediately from its charging spot and awaited Mr Gordo’s command

“Unit under my instructions I want you to increase you protocols on making master Alexandro bigger, this means doing what ever you can to following his demands and taking it to 300%”

“Yes master Gordo, anything else”

“Now that you have mentioned it, the gym equipment inside masters Alexandro suite is to be in a permanent state of renovations” Mr Gordo continued “None of this is to be mentioned to the my little Guinea pig master Alexandro instead carry like on normal”

“Yes master”

[soft-bellied-tannies]

Chubtober Day 2!

Today's prompt is a combination of two from older Chubtober prompt lists - Fall Fair and Bellyaches & Binges. Enjoy Jungkook eating way too much at the fair!

Read here or on AO3!

---

Jimin had not stopped talking about visiting the fall fair since he found out about it. He always thought it looked so fun filled with bright lights, cute games, and most importantly, delicious food. Jungkook couldn’t possibly say no when Jimin asked if they could spend their entire Saturday at the grand opening of the two-week fair. 

As they stepped onto the fairgrounds, the aroma of warm sugar and freshly popped popcorn filled the air. "Where should we start?" Jimin asked, his eyes scanning the booths of games and food lining both sides of the walkway.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to try a funnel cake and that could pass as a sweet breakfast, right?” Jungkook replied, immediately realizing that Jimin’s desire to visit the fair was actually an amazing idea considering the smells surrounding him. His stomach had started to rumble as soon as they arrived.

Their first stop was at a booth adorned with colorful signs advertising deep-fried delights. They ordered a large funnel cake topped with powdered sugar and strawberries. "Mmm, this is so good," Jimin sighed as he took a few bites. 

As he should have expected, Jimin handed the plate to Jungkook after barely making a dent, saying he wanted to save room for more food. While Jimin had a small appetite, Jungkook knew he could finish off the funnel cake and have more than enough room to continue on their day of taste testing the fair. 

Next, they wandered over to the barbecue stand, enticed by the savory scent of grilled meats. Jungkook couldn't resist ordering multiple sides on top of the pulled pork sandwich Jimin picked out. 

"I think I'm already getting full," Jimin chuckled as he wiped barbecue sauce from his chin, only managing two bites of the sandwich. Jungkook just laughed and accepted the container his boyfriend handed over, encouraging Jimin to try a few bites of the coleslaw and mac and cheese.

Jimin figured they should probably try a game or a ride before buying more food. He knew Jungkook could keep eating well into the day, but he wanted to pace himself to make sure he got to try everything he wanted.

After a few spins around the Ferris wheel and Jungkook taking a few attempts to win Jimin a stuffed bunny at the ring toss game, they made their way back over to the various food booths. Jungkook managed to find the main tent after looking over their map and the food options seemed endless.

The full food stand was offering everything from huge trays of nachos to giant turkey legs to massive ice cream sundaes. Each vendor seemed to outdo the last in terms of portion size and creativity. Jimin couldn't resist buying a bucket of chocolate chip cookies, while Jungkook ordered a jumbo-sized pretzel, a footlong corn dog, a turkey leg, cheese fries loaded with toppings, and a giant deep-fried pickle with a tray full of assorted sauces for everything.

As Jungkook arranged his food on an open picnic table, Jimin returned with an overflowing bucket of cookies, a milkshake, and two sodas. He slid the milkshake toward Jungkook and said he couldn’t resist because it looked so good. 

Jungkook looked at it with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Are you trying to fatten me up?"

“Don’t be silly! I wanted to try it,” Jimin cut back, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend. 

“Min, we both know you never have more than a few sips of any milkshake, especially considering how much we’ve been eating today.”

“But I have you! I get to try everything I want and nothing goes to waste,” Jimin said as he waved his hand toward Jungkook’s full belly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and tried to hold back his smile. “I’m not a garbage disposal, baby. I’m getting full too.” 

Jimin giggled but nodded in agreement. "Okay, that is fair. Consider it a challenge then," he teased, winking at his boyfriend knowing Jungkook can’t resist any sort of competition. “Also, how could you ask me that looking at all this you ordered for yourself?” 

“Hey! I ordered this for both of us. You love pretzels and you said you wanted to try a turkey leg,” Jungkook replied, defending himself for ordering with his eyes instead of his already full stomach. 

Jimin just kissed his cheek in thanks and sat down, holding back from continuing to tease his sweet boyfriend. It was a date after all and Jungkook was actually doing a great job of making their fair date everything Jimin wanted it to be. 

As Jungkook and Jimin slowly made their way through their spread of fair food, the full weight of their indulgent day settled upon Jungkook. Jimin had five bites at most of any single item, pushing the rest off onto his boyfriend to finish. Jungkook's discomfort became more palpable as he felt his pants fitting less and less comfortably as he ate, his hand subtly adjusting the waistband of his jeans every few minutes.

"You okay, Gguk?" Jimin asked, noticing Jungkook's discomfort.

Jungkook let out a soft groan. "I think I might have overdone it," he admitted sheepishly, leaning back and letting out a deep sigh as he rubbed the top of his full belly. He felt his face warming up a bit, flushed with a wave of self-consciousness once he realized just how much he’d eaten since they arrived at the fair.

"Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that entire turkey leg," Jungkook mused, his voice tinged with amusement in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

As much as Jimin wanted to laugh, he actually had to agree. He hadn’t eaten maybe a quarter of what Jungkook had, yet he was feeling just as full. "I think I've eaten enough to last me a week. I wish I could unbutton my pants," Jimin groaned, pushing the containers toward the center of the table.

Jungkook laughed, thinking that his boyfriend had no room to talk considering his own waistband felt like it would permanently mark his skin with how tight it was at the moment. Somehow though, all things considered, Jungkook was staring at the containers with remnants of food left thinking he shouldn’t let it go to waste. 

Jimin assumed they were done and ready to walk a bit to digest before heading home, but to his surprise, Jungkook actually reached for the last few cookies at the bottom of the bucket. 

“I don’t even know how you are still eating, Jungkookie. You just said you overdid it,” Jimin joked, hoping Jungkook didn’t end up sick from his day full of eating but appreciating how much Jungkook was clearly enjoying their day out.

“Well, like you said, this stuff shouldn’t go to waste. We’ve spent so much money today, might as well get our money's worth,” Jungkook replied before eating one of the cookies in a single bite.

Jimin simply hummed in agreement, reaching across the table to wipe some chocolate from Jungkook’s lip. Then as he started cleaning up the table, Jimin held up any morsel of food left to his boyfriend and watched as Jungkook continued to somehow find room to finish off everything they ordered.

Jungkook let out another deep sigh as he polished off the last cookie, feeling like he was actually at risk of losing the button on his jeans. He could not remember a time he had been so full even with his massive appetite. Jimin took care of him well and always encouraged him to eat as much as he wanted, but his boyfriend had outdone himself that day. 

The walk to the car felt more like a waddle for Jungkook, almost feeling winded as he was still digesting an absurd amount of food. Jimin seemed full himself, but he was moving and talking like normal, going on about how he was so happy that they came to the fair which made Jungkook feel like stuffing himself full of fried food and sugar was worth it, especially seeing Jimin’s bright smile.

Back at home, Jungkook stood in front of the bathroom mirror, examining his reflection with a mixture of amusement and concern. He poked at his now protruding belly, full and round enough to overhang the waistband of his sweatpants and feeling every bite of their big fair food day.

"You know," he said loud enough for Jimin to hear from the bedroom, "I think I might have gained a few pounds today."

Jimin, who made his way to the bathroom, chuckled softly. "Honestly, it’s possible. You really put your appetite to work today," he admitted, joining him in front of the mirror. "But it was worth it, right? I had a great time. I’ve always wanted to go to the fair."

Jungkook nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Definitely worth it, best date we’ve had in a while, but maybe we should lay off the deep-fried everything for a while."

Jimin laughed, gently reaching over to poke at Jungkook’s taut belly. "I promise not to order so much next time.”

They both chuckled at the image of Jimin piling food onto Jungkook's plate throughout the day. Despite his teasing, Jungkook couldn't deny that he felt a twinge of regret over his lack of restraint. "I think I need to hit the gym this week," he said, mostly to himself.

“Or we could go back to the fair. You know, get our steps in and play more games this time. It’s only in town for two weeks. We should make the most of it!”

“Yeah, I guess we should, but I’m definitely hitting the gym after.”

“Of course, babe, whatever you say.”

[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: exams are crazy 😰 but i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions cannibalism, mentions of death, swearing, hallucinations, panic attack kinda, mentions of kidnapping, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty Five - Crown of Bones

Chapter Twenty Four - Crown of Bones

—-

1996-

“People of Europe, I send you the rainbow of Argentina!”

Misty and Crystal have been singing for ages now, sweeping, and everyone is doing their best to ignore them, eating their starling soup.

You sigh and turn to the window, trying to get away from the world, feeling Natalie breath out heavily next to you, muttering under her breath about them.

But at the same time- their singing feels normal. You smile to yourself, wondering if something like this would have happened at Nationals in a hotel room the girls had remade into a party room.

Would you still be sitting next to Natalie like this?

Who would still be there?

You rub your eyes, looking out the dusty window, trying to spot Shauna coming back with the bear meat for tonight.

Antlers, white like bone, the parts that aren’t covered in blood, at least, shine back at you.

Antlers like these used to mean so much to you. They meant a win, food in your stomach, and now everytime you even think about them- glance over at the wall above the fireplace-

And you remember that night. The antlers you saw. The sounds, the taste, how good it all felt.

You’re not sure of what you’ve lived through, you don’t know what is happening in this place, in this cabin, but you know those antlers aren’t supposed to be there.

You gasp, your metal cup clattering to the floor, soup spilling, staring, staring and those fucking antlers you can’t escape from.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Natalie asks, her hands all over you, but you’re not hurt, you’re just staring at the antlers in the window, wondering why you’re going fucking crazy-

You bring your hands up to your eyes, and when you open your eyes again- there is nothing but the dusty window and the snow, the trees in the background.

“Nothing,” you gasp after a second, your lungs tight, your breath not able to come through properly. “I… I just thought I saw something.”

The rest of the cabin is silent as Natalie shifts closer, looking out the window.

She nods. “It’s alright. There’s nothing there.” She looks into your eyes, places a hand on your face. “It’s alright,” she repeats.

You nod, feeling shaky and odd.

You’ve felt for a long time like something is inside of you, the wilderness, a poisoned sapling in your liver that is just pumping you full of poison- and the more you get it the more you want it.

You shake your head and try to take a deep breath, but it comes out as a shudder.

“I’m- I’m fine.”

Natalie nods, but you know she doesn’t quite believe you, and when you glance around the cabin- no one quite believes you either.

“You’re not,” Lottie says after a moment, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She stands up, crosses the room, and holds her hand out. “You need to breathe-”

“Oh, my God,” Nat scoffs. “She doesn’t need your bullshit, Lottie.”

“I’m trying to help,” Lottie frowns.

“I’m alright, Lottie,” you say, and Lottie takes a step back under Nat’s stare.

Shauna bursts through the door, setting down the tray of bear meat.

In a moment, everything has forgotten about you and your vision, just leaving you and Natalie in the corner.

She exhaled harshly, turning back to you after she’s done glaring down Lottie.

“You don’t need to be so mean,” you mutter, feeling like someone has stabbed the antlers through your chest, and the blood is yours. “She’s just trying to help.”

“She can go and help anyone else.”

“So who’s the thief?” Shauna asks, standing up, glaring around at all of you. No one says anything, confused as to what she’s talking about. “Someone stole some bear meat from the shed. I guess they think they deserve it more than the rest of us, which… at this point, is pretty fucked. If anybody, I’m the one who should be taking some more, but I’m not, because I’m not the fucking worst. So which one of you is?”

After Shauna’s rant, everyone is silent, and you share a glance with Natalie. She shakes her head, and you do too- and you believe her.

“Okay. Right. Whatever,” Shauna hisses.

Coach comes out of the shadows, moving to his chair in the corner, his crutches banging against the floor.

“It was probably him,” Mari whispers to Akilah, staring at him out of the corner of her eyes. “He thinks he’s so much better than all us.”

Coach stops and looks up to the sky, sighing.

“I didn’t take the fucking meat,” he glares at her. “Okay? And in case you forgot-” he holds up one of his crutches, “Not exactly nimble in the snow, huh?”

He keeps walking forward, and your breath finally feels a bit more normal, and you shake your head, not risking a glance out the window.

“But you know what?”

He stands in front of his chair, turning around to face everyone.

“If it had been me… what exactly would you do about it? Would you eat me?”

Everyone exchanges glances, and you’re not exactly sure what anyone’s trying to say-

Mari stands, taking a few steps forward confidently, like she would.

“Let’s all just chill, you guys,” Nat says, scrambling to her feet and raising a hand out to Mari. She gestures to him. “There’s no way that Coach would ever-”

“This is because of you, you know.”

You look up at Mari with wide eyes.

What the fuck has Mari done for you all?

“Excuse me?”

“Why we don’t have any meat. Lottie tries to bless you for the hunt, but half the time you’re MIA. Or when you do show up, it’s like you’re practically holding your nose.”

“Are you joking?” Nat hisses, and you stand up, feeling a little angry and a little on edge-

“What have you done, huh, Mari? Have you been hiking through the mountains in the freezing cold looking for food?”

She takes a step towards you, and you do too.

“No. You’ve been here, in the cabin, nice and warm while we were out there trying!”

“If there isn’t any game, then how did Lottie get the birds.”

“Lottie didn’t fucking get the birds,” Nat scoffs. “They flew into the cabin.”

“Because she told them too,” Mari says.

“It did happen when the blood dripped on the symbol she made,” Akilah mutters.

“We’re still not really sure that’s why,” Shauna says.

“Yeah, you see, that’s what we call a coincidence,” Coach sighs. “Okay? Those birds were just… like, confused, or had a disease or something.”

“No. If they were diseased, then we would have gotten sick from eating them,” Misty says, the broom still in her hands.

“What about the bear?”

Everyone turns to Van.

“I don’t think anyone who saw that could call it a coincidence.”

“Exactly.” Mari turns back to you and Natalie. “It all goes to show the only food we’ve had in months is thanks to Lottie.”

Natalie runs a hand through her hair.

“Then we should have a fucking contest, huh? One-on-one. We both go out. Just her and me, and at the end of the day we see who makes it back with more food.”

You stare up at Nat, but she’s not looking anywhere near you.

“Come on, Nat. That’s not fair,” Travis says. “Lottie’s not a hunter.”

“Oh, according to them, she’s better than a hunter.”

She looks around, and everyone else does, but not one says anything.

You grab Natalie’s hand, making her look at you.

“You’re not serious.”

She stares into your eyes.

“You’re not serious, Natalie. You can’t- can’t just go out into the wilderness all by yourself,” you laugh, just because it’s so hilarious. You look around, and no one says anything. “All of you can’t be serious. You’re gonna freeze out there all by yourselves.”

Natalie looks at you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s stupid.”

You take a step closer and drop your voice.

“Why do you let them get to you, Nat?”

“I’ll be fine, Y/N.”

You stare back at her, and when you look at her shadow behind her, you swear she’s wearing a crown of bones. Of antlers.

—-

2021-

“I know you’re in there, Y/N!”

Misty’s sing-song voice has been at your door for the past five minutes, banging and knocking, shouting that it’s her! It’s your old best friend, and you should just let her in-

“I don’t wanna talk to anyone, please Misty,” you groan, leaning your head against the heavy door. The following knocks make your teeth chatter.

“Okay,” she says, slightly shouting. “I wanted to tell you this in person, but since you’re being difficult…”

“What, Misty?!”

“Natalie’s missing.”

You open the door quickly, and when you look in her eyes, you know she’s not lying.

But you know nothing about the man behind her.

“I… who? Who the fuck-?”

She glances over to the man, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

“That’s Walter. Seriously, do not mind him. He’s just helping me.”

“Hi,” he says after a moment, holding out his hand that you cautiously take. “I’m Walter,” he smiles. “And you must be the infamous Y/N I’ve heard so much about. All good things, besides for the shouting of your name just now.”

“Ha,” you say, and maybe you would she laughed if you weren’t so scared and confused.

One Yellowjacket missing could mean bad news for the rest of them.

Misty barges past you and inside, and Walter smiles awkwardly at you before following her.

“Oh, okay,” you mutter, shutting the door and following them. “Nat’s missing?”

Misty sighs, sitting on your couch, like she had when Travis died.

“Yes. But, we have a lead! Purple people.”

“Misty… do you have any meds you should be taking…?”

“Oh, no, no, Y/N. Not actual purple people. But people dressed in purple clothes.”

“Oh, yeah. ‘Cause that makes much more sense, huh? Besides, how do you know she didn’t just take off?”

“Has she contacted you?” Misty asks, taking out a notepad. Walter looks around your apartment while you wring your hands together nervously.

“No,” you sigh, and she sets down her notepad, adjusting her glasses.

“You know something.”

“I don’t,” you mutter.

“You do!” she shouts, pointing her finger at you.

You roll your eyes. “God, Misty, fine, I-” she looks at you expectantly, and you look away. “I… may have kinda, like, completely cut things off with her at the reunion?”

“Y/N,” Misty gasps. “What? What happened? You guys were so…”

You sigh and turn back to her. “It… it was never really healthy. And we were too focused on saving each other to save ourselves, it- it was never meant to work, you know?”

Misty looks you up and down. “Well,” she mutters, writing something down.

“She’s probably in Texas,” you mumble. “She always runs to Texas. She took me to Texas. She likes… the heat.”

Because winter makes her feel a little sick.

Misty nods. “Texas,” she sighs. She looks around your apartment. “Goodness, Y/N. Breakup really effect you?”

“It wasn’t a breakup, Misty,” you sneer. “We weren’t together. It was just… a formal… we shouldn’t ever get back together again.”

“Okay,” she says, raising her eyebrows, not really believing you. “Well, pack your bags. Don’t worry, I already called out of work for you-”

“Misty?! You- you can’t just-”

She cuts you a harsh glare.

“Listen to me. I know, and everyone else knows, that you still love her. And now she’s missing. I need your help, Y/N, and you need mine.”

“I don’t need your help, Misty,” you roll your eyes.

She shrugs.

“Aren’t you at least curious?” Walter asks, the first time he’s spoken since he came in. Misty rolls her eyes. “Come. I’m paying.”

And you are curious. And you do care about Natalie, even if you’re working to not love her anymore. Besides, who doesn’t want a free vacation?

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydokii @happysparklingshadows @zhivaxo @maraudeerrs @karsonromanoff @onlyangel-444 @subastronaut

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[iviarellereads]

Nona the Ninth, Bonus Material: The Unwanted Guest

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which the fandom goes wild.

Laid out as a stageplay, surely setting us up (one might say, setting the scene) for impromptu fan performances, Tamsyn Muir gave us just one bonus in the Nona paperback, but it's a doozy. I am operating under the assumption that you have read (or listened to a fan assembled live or recorded performance of) the whole play in my comments. If you haven't, you can now read it yourself here for free!

Scene One

The stage is set: a funeral, with seven coffins, a row of six and one at the front distinguished from its fellows by its many gold and violet flowers(1) and wreaths, and being propped open at the top. A tray of meat sits on the closed bottom. Mourners(2) in gaudy masks take a piece of meat, then lean into the open head, though the view obscures whether they're kissing or feeding the presumed corpse.(3)

Palamedes Sextus is the final mourner in the line, his mask plain, wooden, shattered and pieced back together. He almost looks like he belongs. As the last mourners file out, he considers the meat, skips it,(4) and reaches into the coffin.

A hand grabs his arm and the corpse sits upright. It's IANTHE TRIDENTARIUS. Her face is covered in bloody kisses. Ianthe You're fucked, my lad. The lights go out.

Scene Two

The room is now empty, except for a fireplace with no fire, and the door at the back. Ianthe stands by the fireplace, dressed as a butler. Pal enters, in a ruined grey suit with a purple tie,(5) though his body isn't apparently injured at all.

Pal is calling upon "the lady of the house", for at least the second time. Ianthe-butler says "the master's answer"(6) won't have changed. Pal would still like to hear that for himself, and offers a whole skeletal hand(7) when Ianthe-butler asks for his card. Ianthe-butler says "If you'd be so good as to stay here", and steps out through the door.

Pal faces the audience at the front of the stage. He speaks of the grammar of "if", and how sometimes it's used for permission and sometimes used to command while pretending to acknowledge another person's agency.

In the background, Ianthe returns, now dressed in an "ooh-la-la" maid costume with "an enormous purple feather duster",(8) flicking it at the dead fireplace. Pal continues his monologue on "if", finishing with the assertion that the phrasing Ianthe-butler used is over-the-top in its politeness, so it circles back to being rude again.

Palamedes A pretty silk glove over a fist of iron. Or, in this case, gold. He turns to the maid for the first time. Palamedes Don't you think? Ianthe No, sir.

Ianthe-maid curtseys and leaves, stage right.(9) Pal is examining the dead fireplace when the butler returns through the door, and says the master will see him in "the Almond Room". (10) Pal doesn't move, but robed figures wheel the coffins from the first scene back in, now numbered 1 through 7, standing upright in a semicircle in the center of which is placed a chaise longue.(11) Pal pays no attention to the action.

The door opens again and Ianthe enters, this time in a rather daringly unbuttoned shirt and a pair of leather trousers, plus a Lyctoral rainbow robe draped over her shoulders.(12) The whole affect is louche;(13) she carries a small clutch bag. Ianthe walks over to the chaise longue and drapes herself across it artistically.

Having made her true entrance, Ianthe says it's so good of the "Inspector" to call so late.(14) He says it's not that late, she affirms that it is quite late, given how he's in tatters and can't last much longer. Pal says she's been saying that for the last three visits.

Ianthe asks what Pal wants. He says the same thing he's been asking for, the body of Naberius Tern. Ianthe finally agrees that he shall have it, if he can win a simple game. Pal is surprised, but goes along with it. She says he only has to guess which of the seven coffins, after asking her no more than five questions, none of which can be directly asking which coffin he's in or anything about the coffins themselves. He debates with her about how many questions it would take under those other circumstances, and she observes that he must have been great fun at parties.(15)

Palamedes asks his first question unintentionally: will Ianthe play fair? She says she never does, and he has four left.

Palamedes pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, turns away, and walks downstage. The curtain falls behind him--leaving him alone with the audience. Palamedes Ianthe's sparkling personality aside . . . this doesn't really make much sense. A new VOICE answers from the back of the auditorium. We do not see the speaker.(16)

The voice asks why it doesn't make sense. Pal says logic questions depend on a set of rules, and Ianthe hasn't set any. The voice suggests thinking more broadly, because logic isn't the important piece here: psychology is.

Pal almost talks himself out of this, but then the voice asks what would happen if he asked Ianthe to pick a number from one to seven. Pal realizes she likely would pick that number, trying to outfox him.(17) The voice says it won't be quite that easy, but Pal can get Ianthe to open herself up unintentionally and expose herself so he can get the answer. Pal nods and turns back to the stage as the curtains rise.

Voice I mean, more than she's already exposing herself with that shirt. (Pause) I'm kind of into the trousers, though.(18)

Scene Three

The curtain rises on the same scene as before--seven upright coffins, chaise longue, Ianthe--except that a robed and masked figure is now standing beside each of the coffins. Palamedes walks upstage to stand next to the chaise longue.

Palamedes says he has his first question. Ianthe corrects him, second, but invites him to ask. Pal asks if Ianthe believes in "the permeability of the soul?" Ianthe is dismissive, as the robed figures move the coffins. They place coffins 2 and 6 on their backs on either side of the chaise. Pal sits on coffin 6 awkwardly, as an attendant crowns Ianthe with ivy and sprays her with perfume, and another puts a gold cup in her hand and fills it from a gold jug.(19)

Ianthe wanted Pal to ask something more fun, maybe something sexual in nature. The attendants offer Pal a cup, but he covers it with his hand before they pour anything in.

Ianthe (Despairingly) You don't even drink! Palamedes In my defence: I'm dead, and this wine doesn't exist.

Ianthe suggests this improves it, as the false can have a "piquancy"(20) that the real lacks. Pal asks if that's a quote from something, and Ianthe, acting increasingly drunk,(21) goes on about pétillance(22) and asks if Pal's "tingue" ever "toungle[d]" when he was alive. Pal says they're not here to talk about his tongue, and makes to repeat his question, but Ianthe remembers. She addresses the attendants to say there's nothing the Sixth won't turn into a seminar, and she "shudders to imagine their pillow talk." Pal says "pillow talk is a science" on the Sixth, and Ianthe responds that she's not interested.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Ianthe admits(23) she does not believe in permeability of the soul. Pal asks if that means she believes "that the soul is both indivisible and impermeable", which she does. He asks if Ianthe believes the soul is malleable, can be altered or deformed. Ianthe says it must be so, or a revenant wouldn't behave as it does. Pal asks then if the soul is only imperfectly elastic, able to return to its original shape. Ianthe agrees to this as well

Pal summarizes: one would expect that a revenant would act like a newborn child in its behaviour, but there are cases where revenants clearly act in ways informed by their adult lives.(24) Ianthe accepts this, and with no reference made to the query about being in agreement being Pal's last question.(25)

Thus, Pal comes back to his original question: if you accept that the soul can be changed, and never fully recover, does it not follow that it can be diminished as well? Ianthe says that's not at all given. Pal says that surprises him, because most objects that can be deformed can be diminished. He compares it to a stone and a sculptor shaping it, and the stone can't regrow what was chipped off, and indeed someone who works around stone work will wear a mask to avoid breathing in the stone dust and damaging himself.

Tried beyond her patience, Ianthe takes off her garland and flings it irritably across the stage.

Ianthe can't do it anymore(26) and says the soul cannot be diminished because it's the underpinning of Lyctorhood. If the soul could be diminished, it couldn't be the perpetual fuel for the Lyctor's power, and only a soul can be used without being consumed in the process. Pal says that they don't know it, but Ianthe says she's a Lyctor, and she studied under Augustine who was a Lyctor for ten thousand years, and Pal has no idea.

Pal suggests that the rate of decay might be infinitesimally small, a soul might last a hundred thousand years before anyone noticed a change. Ianthe dismisses this as lacking evidence. Pal keeps trying to argue, but Ianthe says she's eaten a soul, and he hasn't.

Palamedes So your best argument boils down to "I know more about this than you do." Ianthe It's a very strong argument. Unless we get into "what's it like to be weirdly codependent with your dead-eyed cousin," I'm more or less guaranteed to win. Minions! Clear all of this garbage away; my guest has to go and take some deep breaths for a while.

The attendants move forward, and Pal walks to the edge of stage so the curtain can come down once more, hiding the action behind him. He says that went well, but the voice says the argument went nowhere.

Palamedes Ouch. Voice Sorry, babe, I can't compliment-sandwich this.(27)

Pal says it wasn't nowhere, he has a better idea of Ianthe's philosophical stances, and he thinks he can exploit them. The voice asks if jumping into Ianthe's "pet body" was Camilla's idea.(28) It continues that the Third are very good at giving people what they think they want, and Pal's best bet might be to stop asking Palamedes-questions, which she expects, and start asking Ianthe-questions. Pal isn't good at those, but the voice encourages him: play to your own weakness, everything here is Ianthe. Pal protests, not the bit that's Naberius Tern, which the voice points out is the part Pal is trying to find.

Palamedes considers this. Palamedes Ianthe questions. Okay. He turns upstage as the curtain begins to rise. Voice I believe in you. Palamedes (Over his shoulder) You didn't always. I had to fight for that.

Scene Four

The curtain rises on the stage, reset, with Ianthe on her chaise once more. The order of the coffins is now changed to 7-2-3-4-5-6-1.(29) Ianthe asks if Pal is feeling better, Pal says he doesn't feel much of anything, being dead, but he has his next question.

Ianthe Oh, Lord. Something juicy about pneumatic apocope,(30) I expect. I feel like I'm playing strip poker with Harrow; shyly unbuttoning her baggy black robe to reveal a baggier, blacker robe(31) underneath . . . (Pause) Yuck. I hope that hasn't awakened anything in me.(32)

Instead, Pal asks if Ianthe regrets murdering Babs. All seven attendants strike the lids of their respective coffins, once, together, then pick up coffins 2-3 and 5-6 and form waist-high barriers on either side of the stage by stacking them. Pal stands behind the one on the left, Ianthe behind the right, facing center stage.(33)

Ianthe gets a little up in arms over calling it murder. Pal says if she has another word for killing "intentionally and with malice aforethought," he'd be glad to switch. Ianthe says there was no malice involved.

Palamedes slams both hands down flat on the lid of the upper coffin, then thrusts his arm out to point an accusing finger at Ianthe.(34)

Pal accuses Ianthe of avoiding the question.

Ianthe is somewhat taken aback. So, after a second, is Palamedes.(35)

Ianthe asks why Pal did that, but Pal doesn't know. Still, he gets back on topic, and asks if Ianthe really denies she murdered Babs. No, it's a fair enough accusation,(36) but society is really to blame.(37) The cavalier's whole purpose is to die for the necromancer, though Cam's got "an element of horse/stable door confusion".(38)

Pal counters that the cav's role is to protect their necromancer, so what did Tern die to protect, Ianthe's ambitions? Ianthe says she is the sum of her ambitions, and that's why she and "Harry" are Lyctors, and Pal is "a little bag of bones."(39) Pal suggests Ianthe must be a real catch for salespeople, because she never stops to look at the price tag. If she came into his shop, he'd triple the cost of everything, and Ianthe would be too careless to notice the label swap. Ianthe retorts that if Pal came into her shop, she'd have security throw him out when he tried to haggle.

Ianthe states outright: the cost is the cost, and if blood must be shed, you demean yourself by arguing over how much. Pal asks if that's her answer, then, that Tern had to die, so she regrets nothing? Ianthe pivots and says she was very fond of him, and she thinks he was fond of her.

Pal is surprised, and Ianthe says Babs had some good points. He was always a good source of drama, for example. His tragedy was that he looked like he should be very interesting, but he never was. He was loyal, though it was to Coronabeth. He was sworn to serve before Ianthe and Corona were even conceived,(40) but he never shirked his obligation to it. Not like Harrow's original cav, who couldn't come to Canaan House because he was too sad. Pal says he heard it was because he got blown up, and Ianthe says yes, blown up for being too sad. And look at Abigail Pent, bringing her husband, and where did she get?(41)

Pal is flabbergasted. He says, so Ianthe was raised with Babs, since before Pal even knew Cam, and she still doesn't regret killing him? Ianthe pauses, then says no, and claps her hands.

Ianthe (Brightly) That's all, folks!(42) Back after the break.

Pal wanders downstage, distracted, as the curtains descend behind him.

Palamedes Do you know the worst part? Voice Tell me. Palamedes From her point of view, it all makes sense. Tern was shaped over years to be nothing more than--than-- Voice A perfect tool? Palamedes --a resource.(43) Something to be saved up and then spent at just the right moment. [...] Voice (Reproachfully) Cam would have smiled at "perfect tool." Palamedes Yes--she would have.(44)

A long paragraph is spent describing Pal pulling out, lighting, and smoking a cigarette. The voice draws attention to it, which makes Pal stare, with no described emotion or expression, at the cigarette between his fingers.

The voice brings him back, asking if he has any ideas for his last two questions. Still distracted, he says he thinks he does. The voice warns, he needs to use these wisely. If he doesn't turn up something, he'll lose. At this, Pal comes back to himself, drops and stomps on the cigarette, wipes his hand on his jacket. He wishes he had more time to think. As he turns away, the voice says he "used to say that a lot."

Scene Five

The stage is back to neutral, but the coffins in order 3-2-7-4-1-6-5. Ianthe asks Pal if he's had any insight. Pal asks what Ianthe made of Gideon Nav, at Canaan House. Ianthe asks why the curveball, and Pal says he had a question to spare, and was curious. Ianthe is reluctantly kind of proud of Pal's sudden trash talk.

The attendants take coffins 3, 2, 7, and 4, making a rectangle of them on the stage, a dueling ring. Attendants bring two rapiers, offering the more ornate to Ianthe, who accepts, and the less ornate to Pal, who refuses politely. The attendant is confused but takes up a dueling stance with Ianthe in the ring.

Ianthe asks where she should begin on "sweet Gubbins."(45) Pal asks for first impressions. Ianthe and the attendant duel, the latter poorly. Another attendant takes the place. Ianthe says she was intrigued, because everyone else was exactly on script for their Houses. Harry playing her part to the hilt, but Gideon dawdling behind her? Not the Ninth brand.

Palamedes "Harry"? Ianthe It's my little name for her, you know. Palamedes I can't think of a single thing she'd hate more. Ianthe You lack imagination.

Another duel with an attendant, another win to Ianthe. Pal asks what was off. Ianthe says, well, everything! The sunglasses, the vow of silence she only barely kept, the way she handled her sword. She accuses Gideon of wandering around "like she was the protagonist and we were all there to give her something to look at."(46)

Another duel, another win. Pal asks when Ianthe knew she'd underestimated Gideon. Ianthe says she estimated Gideon Nav exactly right from the first moment she laid eyes on her: a hilarious moron. Pal suggests Gideon "was smarter than even she realised."(47) Ianthe is dismissive: Gideon lived and died a dope.

Another duel, another win. Ianthe says that's all Pal will get out of her on this one. Pal says it was "tremendously helpful" actually, and thanks her. Ianthe looks suspicious, but Pal is already walking downstage, his hands in his pockets, the curtain already falling.

Voice Poor Gideon. I think she sounded fun. Palamedes Mm. You'd have liked her, I suspect. I did, once I stopped being jealous.(48) Voice Can you do this with one more question?

Pal stares at the audience for a moment, and says he thinks so, though he'd have liked less... the voice supplies, psychology, and he agrees. The voice, addressing Pal as "my child", says "there's no shame in a bluff."

Pal, on the subject of shame, says he does feel ashamed of rooting around in a dead man's body like this. He didn't like Tern, but the man deserved better than this fate.

Voice "Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?"(49) Palamedes (Surprised) I like that. Is it from something? Voice Yes. It's complicated.

Pal asks if she still thinks of him as a child. Her problem was always reminding herself that he was one, as she told him often. He apologizes for not saving or avenging her or Pro. She says she couldn't save Pal either, and Cytherea was so fast, Pro couldn't even touch her. And, at least "we both"(50) were killed by the same person. Pal isn't comforted. The voice says it'll work out "in the wash."

Pal says he wants to believe, so much, that she is who she says she is, but she can't possibly be here. He asks how she did it. She says she gambled on the truth,(51) then died.

Palamedes You died . . . again? Voice Truly, wonderful news for my haters.(52)

Pal asks if he can know what happened. The voice says yes, but she's not allowed to tell. It was awful, "in the old sense of the word."(53) Pal asks if she can give him something. She describes a letter Pal wrote that delighted her.

It convinces him, and he tells her, though she says he doesn't have to, that he loved her, still loves her, and would have loved to learn to love her better. She says it would have been beautiful, and "Camilla would have had to cook."(54) But she didn't just want beautiful, she wanted it to last, and knew it could never. She didn't want to steal Pal's youth and potential for love away from him.

Palamedes This again? From you and her both?(55) That merely by loving you, I added to your torments? Voice (Encouragingly) Yes, and also my agonies. Palamedes Dulcinea . . .

Dulcinea, finally named by the structure, says that Pal and Cam were her best friends, and she "loved real, ugly, unfinished things." There's a freedom in being incomplete. Now she's not in the River, and will never be again.(56) Pal says if she's on the shore, he can find her. She asks which shore. Pal asks her pardon. Dulcinea says a river has two shores(57) and he might find that out for himself if it ends well.(58)

Pal asks to see her. She asks if he's sure. He is.

Blackout on the stage. Then a light on Palamedes--a Palamedes who is completely dazzled, and staring blankly outward, at nothing in particular.

Pal recites a Bible verse(59), then the lights black out again, then return to normal. Behind him, the curtain starts to rise.

Dulcinea Was I cute? Palamedes turns and moves upstage. Palamedes You're perfect.(60)

Scene Six

The stage is back to neutral, the coffins replaced but reversed, leaving the order 4-7-2-3-1-6-5.

Ianthe says the tension is killing her, or really, killing Hect. Pal says he has a question left. Ianthe says it better be a whopper, because right now she estimates he has nothing upon which to base an answer. Pal asks if she's ready, and Ianthe makes fun of him for it.

Pal asks, if Babs had died at Canaan House, before completing the Eightfold Word, would Ianthe have eaten Corona instead?

The attendants all hit their coffin lids together, once, then pick up the last three coffins and set them in the middle of the stage, like two benches and a table. Pal sits on the left hand one, Ianthe on the right, where she gets a pack of cards from an attendant and starts shuffling slowly. Throughout the scene, they play and pick up cards.(61)

Ianthe says it would be "rather peculiar" to eat Corona, seeing as she's not a cavalier. Pal doesn't understand why. Ianthe explains that the cavalier's spirit is not just a power source, it's the Lyctor's body's defence system when their consciousness is elsewhere. Pal knew that much. Ianthe says her sister is not a swordwoman. She'd have lost to Magnus, not as a cavalier, but as he is now.

Pal says Corona's compatibility as a power source would have been even higher than Tern's, and surely you could train some more sword skill into the cav's spiritual remains. Ianthe says that no, the cavalier is essentially frozen at the moment of death. Pal wonders...

Ianthe Oh, no. We're not going through this again. The soul is a diamond, Sextus. You can leave it in a glass of wine for as long as you like, it's never going to soak anything up. Palamedes (Mildly) I thought you objected to analogies.(62)

Ianthe says the point is that she wouldn't have used Corona to finish the job. So, Pal asks what else she would have done, perhaps using someone else's cav. Ianthe says that would be terribly inefficient. Pal says, better than nothing, and she'd still be a Lyctor. And, Harrow's situation was "unorthodox" but she still has power on a scale her mortal self couldn't have dreamed of. Ianthe admits, alright, she might have used another cav, and starts going through the others available to her.

Pal pulls Ianthe out of that line of thought and back to the subject at hand. Now, he wishes Ianthe to imagine a situation where things at Canaan House went almost as wrong as they could have, Cytherea coming up the steps, and Ianthe and Corona the only survivors, the Eightfold Word on Ianthe's lips. Does she fold or raise?

Ianthe refuses. She says Pal couldn't understand the bond between twins. Pal, for his part, says that won't work on him this time, and demands to know why Ianthe's answer. Ianthe says nothing.

Pal continues that Ianthe has stated that the goal is always worth the cost, so either that was bravado, and there are costs Ianthe won't pay, or Corona is part of her goal. Will Ianthe tell him which it is?

Ianthe plays her last card. Softly, she says Pal can believe what he will, but she's won: he has no idea which coffin Babs's body is in. She stands, and an attendant clears the cards. Pal says she hasn't answered the question, but she insists she has: no, she wouldn't have killed Corona, and she doesn't have to justify that answer.

Pal stands, and the attendants put all the coffins back, again in reverse order, leaving 4-7-2-3-5-6-1, then all leave the stage, leaving Pal and Ianthe alone. Pal says he has one last question, it's yes-or-no and if Ianthe can answer it, he'll surrender immediately. Ianthe is suspicious, but Pal insists, all he needs is for her to be able to say yes or no. A question about Naberius.

Ianthe accuses Pal of trying to buy time, but Pal says if that were the case, he'd start another argument about how souls work.

Ianthe So, what--if I can't answer this question of yours, am I expected to do the decent thing? Applaud politely and retire? Palamedes Ianthe, I've been in your head for what feels like a week. I would never insult you by expecting you to do anything either decent or polite. Ianthe inclines her head in graceful acceptance of this point.

Pal says she has nothing to lose by answering, and she owes him a question from before.(63) Ianthe says she owes him nothing, but they look at each other, and she gives in, and tells him to ask. Pal's final question is whether Ianthe knows where Babs's body is.

The two move to stand at either end of the row of coffins. Pal starts explaining how the little signs, like the purple tie, started to tip him off, but he assumed it was Ianthe setting the rules. He opens coffin 4, which is empty.

Really, it was the cigarettes that did it. They don't exist on the Sixth, because of the fire hazards. He has never learned how to smoke, but he did it by reflex. Ianthe opens coffin 1, empty again.

Pal continues his exposition, that he wasn't sure until question four. He opens coffin 7, next one in, empty again. He asks how Ianthe knew that Gideon used her rapier like a racquet. Ianthe protests, she saw Gideon fight, but Pal got the full details from Cam, and by the time Ianthe showed up at the end, Gideon had her two-hander back.

Ianthe says she might have watched the duels. Pal says it's not possible, as Gideon only fought two duels, and Ianthe wasn't in the room for them, nor at any other time Gideon might have used her rapier. Ianthe says Babs and Corona both told her about it. Pal says that's unlikely, at least in such detail as about the racquet. It's not even a comparison Ianthe would make.

But it is the one Babs might.

Ianthe opens coffin 6, empty. Pal continues that Ianthe expresses little to no respect for rules, but in her ranting about Gideon, she said Gideon didn't know how to duel as a negative. But, Ianthe Tridentarius would have found that punch at the end of their fight funnier than anyone. He opens coffin 2, empty.

Palamedes You only got one question wrong, Ianthe, and it was the very first question. You can't admit what's happened here because you're fixated on this idea of the soul as inviolate and inviolable--this perfectly solid, impervious thing, the diamond sitting in the glass of wine. But souls are permeable. When they rub up against each other, they bleed--they mingle--they contaminate each other. Just from the handful of real-life seconds I've spent wrestling you for Naberius's body, I've picked up the knowledge of how to light a cigarette and a disturbing new enjoyment of trash talk. Ianthe opens the lid of coffin number 5. It's empty. She and Palamedes are now facing each other from a few feet apart, standing on either side of the last remaining closed coffin, number 3.

Pal says it's messier than he expected. He's started remembering things he never saw, from Cam's point of view, just from spending a few months in her body. Lyctorhood isn't swapping out a battery, it's a transplant. When she took Babs into herself, she ate a piece of meat, and that meat is digesting and its component parts mixing in with hers, to become indistinguishable. He knocks on the lid of coffin 3, and says if he's wrong, if Babs's body is inside, Pal will end his career "with a truly spectacular cock-up" and death will be welcome. If it isn't, then it's nowhere.

Palamedes turns downstage and starts to walk away from the coffins. Ianthe remains staring at coffin number 3. Palamedes There's no body left to find, Ianthe. Or, as I gather they call you now . . . Ianthe Naberius.(64) Palamedes keeps walking, away from the stage toward the back of the auditorium. Ianthe stands like a statue next to coffin number 3. She reaches out and places one hand against its closed lid as the curtain falls.

=====

(1) Our first hint at the occupant, really. Violet eyes, gold arm, and the gaudiness (affectionate) of the Third House in general. (2) Who are the mourners? The robed figures? For that matter, who are the audience? We have Ianthe, we have Palamedes, we have Dulcie in the audience from kind of across the River. Does that imply something about the audience versus the mourners as representing different things? Are they all just figments of Ianthe's imagination, background characters of her life, or is this something more? (Knowing what we do, probably both.) (3) What did you assume it is? I don't think the bloody kisses actually answer the question very satisfactorily, because, from whence cometh the blood? I do love the symbolism of the meat platter though, because that's all Babs ever was, and Ianthe is still eating him up. (4) Pal passing on Babs's meat is perfection, to me. He does consider it, maybe because of the desire not to stand out, maybe because of permeability starting to influence, maybe just because he's not yet aware of what it means. But he decides against it, because he's the last one there, because unconsciously he knows it's not his impulse to eat, because he recognizes on some level that Ianthe's meat platter is and has only ever been Babs. (5) Funny how much this stands out on immediate reread, eh? (6) The lady of the house, the master of the house, just another play on the gender fluidity that's easy for the eye to slip past. (7) I can't help but feel that this is related to Harrow's scene with Cam in HTN. See, Pal's soul was anchored to part of his skull. But if you recall, Harrow was spinning it out into a skeleton, starting with a hand. And I can't pinpoint right now, but I think I recall someone in the fandom wondering if the powder that caused Paul's transformation in the end derived from Pal's bones, even though he was at that point anchored fully to Cam. But, either way, the hand feels meaningful here. Hands so often are in this series.

(8) So, one reason I gesture at this is because the purple accents continue throughout, and it's impossible to ignore them with the Tridentarius natural eye colour being the most obvious parallel. The second reason is because Pal isn't the only one who picks up pieces of his companion in this sequence: Pal specifically said he finds the outfits nurses wear sexy, but those are so close to the stereotypical maid outfits as to justify a little eyebrow raising at Ianthe picking up a piece of Pal, I think. The final reason I gesture at the feather duster is because it's described as "enormous" specifically in the text. How big do you think it is? How big do you think you could make a prop for this performance? Grab a few purple feather boas at the Spirit Hallowe'en or something this autumn, fold them in half, tie them at the fold point to a sturdy stick. Just, you know, in case anyone's thinking about a cosplay, since this will be the defining feature. (9) I'd love to see a deeper examination from someone with theater experience as to what the stage directions might indicate, the comings and goings from each wall. (10) Why is it almonds? Is this a reference to a piece of media, a name of a nut as one or both go "nuts", or something else? I saw a compelling argument that it's related to the amygdala, two almond-shaped lobes in the brain that relate to memory, decision making, and emotion processing. (11) A note: not a lot of Americans in particular ever hear the original pronunciation of this word, so for the wise, it's "shayz", not "chase" or any of the other ways I've heard it. "Long" isn't quite the same as the French "longue" (it's got a sort of w in there, lowng, with the g a little more present) but it's close enough. It's "chaise" that really got the short end of loanwording. (I'm not saying anyone has to change how they do it, language is defined by use, not by origin, but a "chaise longue" comes from literally being a long chair in French, and if anyone DOES want to honour the original pronunciation over where it's gone, I want to help them.)

(12) I have no idea what this is referencing, but I feel sure that it is evoking something. An outfit of Augustine's that I can't find referenced in the text? Generally the male leads on historical romance novels, to play again with gender presentation? Some other specific thing? (13) Louche - indecent, disreputable. Think a neighbourhood of dive bars. (14) Flipping the script, keeping Pal off his guard as much as she can by jumping around a story and reassign the roles and the lines. (15) We know he actually probably was fun at parties, because according to the Cohort Intelligence Files, Judith met him at one once, and thought he wasn't serious enough about his role and title. Which, given that Judith has had a stick up her ass her entire life about duty (again, affectionate) I think we can take to mean that he was genuinely trying to be personable and fun at the party. (16) Dulcie is literally and figuratively separated from the stage, just as her spirit is now, apparently, if she's to be trusted, across the River. Does that mean beyond the stoma, or is there a more literal-figurative other bank? Is it that distance from the situation that gives her this insight, or was she always this good at reading people? (I'm asking here now to save myself another footnote later. Conservation of energy.) (17) Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line. This little sequence gives me very third-party Princess Bride vibes, though it's far from exclusive to that title. (18) Dulcinea, you naughty lady, I love this for you.

(19) I'm currently ignoring all symbolism that might be contained in the numerology of the doors because I don't understand it and I haven't seen anyone unravel it. However, I do feel like I'm right on the edge of recognizing what the ivy crown and perfume are supposed to represent. Ivy was often associated with Dionysus, the god of wine, fertility, ecstasy. The indulgence of the perfume and the further pouring of an ambiguous liquid into a goblet hints toward this end of things, but ivy was also a crown for Thalia, the muse of comedy, which would be perhaps even more apropos given the stage play of it all. But also, ivy was known outside Greek influence to be associated with fidelity and marriage, because it's green year-round and cleaves so sweetly and strongly to that upon which it grows. And all of these layers, every single one, comes back to permeability of the soul, and Ianthe's consumption of Babs, despite her skepticism. (20) Piquant - having a sharp or otherwise stimulating flavour. (21) I feel confident that this is what's intended by the tingue toungle bit, the implication that Ianthe might be getting drunk on her false wine, or at least is pretending she might. (22) Pétillance is much as Ianthe describes it, a light sparkle in a drink, or a sense of very mild fresh tingling from a very low carbon dioxide concentration. (23) OK I really haven't seen anyone mention this before but there's a fascinating thing going on with quotation marks as Ianthe replies here. Her direct responses to Pal, that she does not believe in permeability, all the way through to her aside, it's all in extra quotation marks, which Pal's statements don't have. (24) Pal was personally privy to one in the Doctor Sex story, after all. (25) Yes, I counted. Didn't you? It's very gracious of her to let all this stand as the one question for the sake of the narrative. (26) And here, indeed, is where the mysterious scare quotes end.

(27) I bet NONE of us guessed that this line belonged to Dulcinea when Tor did the pre-reveal puzzle. (28) Ah, but Dulcie, they've been slowly becoming Paul all this time. (29) I know I said I'm ignoring all the numerology, but I find it interesting that 7 and 1 are the only swap here, when Pal has just agreed to try to be more Ianthe. (30) This one's tricky. It's not an actual condition. In modern usage pneumatic just means engineering relating to air and air pressure, like pneumatic tires. But likely here it relates to the lungs (like pneumonia). And "apocope"… now that's a real puzzler, because it means the loss of the final sound or vowel in the pronunciation of a word. But, it comes from the Greek term for cutting off, like an amputation. So, I think Ianthe is referring to cutting out of the lungs. (31) I don't have the full context, and search engines are… really, really bad right now, but I do know that "a bigger, blacker dick" is a white response card in Cards Against Humanity, meant to outdo the card "a big black dick", and outdone itself only by the card "the biggest, blackest dick". This game was very popular a decade or so ago, because we were all edgelord jerks. (Yes, I have regrets.) At any rate, I assume they got the reference from somewhere, possibly a Chris Rock comedy routine title? But I can't find anything, er, definitive on the subject. (32) This, on the other hand, I can very much point at definitively. A scene in the TV show Community had the dean of the school hoping that watching a person in a dalmatian costume flex doesn't awaken anything in him. (33) Anyone who suspected the Phoenix Wright reference from this stage direction, job well done.

(34) OBJECTION! Alright, that's not the best video, but I couldn't find a simple one from the games that included both the slap and the pointing. There are compilations of the pointing animations of all the characters who ever object, but not the slap that comes first. (35) I do sort of love that they call attention to it to make sure you understand that it's a reference, but… Look, LOOK, look me in the eye and tell me a little of Jod isn't rubbing off on Ianthe already, that proximity to him isn't melting things across a little, and tell me you don't believe Jod absolutely played those games. Permeability of the soul need not be limited to literal contact with the soul: I think Muir is hinting that every time you let someone into your life, your souls are connecting, exchanging. And, isn't that true in real life? Can you say, for absolute certain, that your friends, your interactions, even your experience on social media, haven't changed you? I'm all about looking at the Watson and the Doyle, and I think this carries the weight of both. (36) What she says is "It's a fair cop, guv'nor." which has proven very difficult to run down as far as a specific reference, with guv'nor on the end, but generally is used to mean "I admit it, you caught me". (37) See, besides being a fairly common excuse given for committing crimes, I think this might be more evidence of Jod's influence. He's really good at blaming his problems on anyone but himself. I feel like I don't know as much about Ianthe, despite spending almost as much time with her. I could believe that she had a habit of it before… but given the whole point of this story, why not read more into it? For funsies. (This also makes the previous line a loose Monty Python reference, a skit of theirs included the line "All right, it's a fair cop, but society's to blame.") (38) Closing the stable door after the horse has already escaped. Ianthe sees the quest for a better Lyctorhood as pointless. If you recall, even she had the good sense to be awed when Paul emerged, but I like the context this gives to that.

(39) As a bonus question, when this scene takes place within the storyline of NtN, do we think that Ianthe still believes that Harrow's body is Harrow returned to the fold? Questions I have to ask myself the more I think about them… (40) Well, and left unsaid is that Corona was the older twin, the rightful heir, and Ianthe's jealousy has probably always been mixed evenly with her superiority because she got the power and Corona didn't. (41) Insert all the exaggerations here, because I'm fascinated at Ianthe's implications, as I see them. Abigail Pent ended up exactly where she wanted to be. Ianthe only seems to see the death, the wasted ambition and potential. She didn't know Pent at all. (42) I'm just glad Muir didn't try to write out Porky Pig's speech impediment to get this one across. (43) We joke a lot about Babs only ever being for consumption, never being a person, just an object. But it's also very much the truth. Ianthe never overestimated his worth to her. She just underestimated what he had done and would do to her. (44) Is this Dulcie hinting that Pal is already subject to his own permeability, even right before the cigarettes? (45) Gubbins - a collection of useless bits and bobs. Ianthe is so mean about Gideon, considering the friendship bracelets. Then again… Kiriona is the saddest girl in all the world, so she probably knows Ianthe doesn't really mean any of it. (46) Which is, of course, true. She was the protagonist of her story. But it's so interesting to see Ianthe, of the clever, quiet, observantness that still managed to miss so much, catch that behaviour. (47) Saw a post about how Pal makes this astonished face with Kiriona starts spouting necromancy facts, and how this line gives it new context. I just. Love. These books. I love Muir's brain. Every line can be looked at under a microscope and then the entire book totally recontextualized by ten words in a bonus story.

(48) Once he realized that Cytherea was not Dulcinea, and he had nothing to be jealous about, really. (49) The line from Hamlet is "Use every man according to his desert and who should 'scape whipping?" The short version of the context is Hamlet chastising Polonius for saying he'll give the guests what they deserve, because if we all only get what we deserve, who gets anything more than corporal punishment? So, where did Dulcinea get this line? Some force across the River? (50) This line is driving me feral. We both? Is that Dulcie and Pro, or Dulcie and Pal? Which we, Muir? (51) I want to believe this is a reference to Fullmetal Alchemist, but I have no supporting evidence for the case, just a suggestion that you go watch Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood or read the manga. (52) Another observation from a post I saw, but, what an incredible way to reframe a lack of success. "I missed the bus. Truly, wonderful news for my haters." It's a silly thing, but I bet if you tried, it would lighten the burden of a lot of everyday "failures" into a much more average sort of vibe. (53) Awful, as in awe-ful, as in filling one with awe. Incredible how THAT one twisted over the centuries, amirite? (54) I think this definitely confirms the part where both Pal and Cam were in some sort of polycule-y thing with Dulcinea. (No, I don't think Cam and Pal are in romance or sex with each other, but I do think that some relationships defy the simplicity of the labels we have access to.) (55) His conversation with Cam, earlier in Nona, that Nona heard on the tape. That Cam would rather carry his soul than live in a world that didn't contain him. They're such a mirror for Harrow and Gideon. (56) Does that mean she's beyond even a Resurrection? (57) I want to start singing that old, old song. Somewhere, beyond the sea, somewhere, waiting for me… It's a river, not a sea, but I must wonder if Muir ever smirked at the thought of it regarding Dulcie and Pal here. But, this recontextualizes a TON. One, Pal not telling Cam before the Paul-ification that he'd spoken to what he truly believed was Dulcie. Two, his saying "beyond the river" in that same final exchange. Three, everything we've ever been told about the River in the narrative... (58) If what ends well? What does "well" entain?

(59) Daniel 10:6, Douay-Rheims translation as Muir is so fond of it: "And his body was like the chrysolite, and his face as the appearance of lightning, and his eyes as a burning lamp: and his arms, and all downward even to the feet, like in appearance to glittering brass: and the voice of his word like the voice of a multitude." Daniel, speaking of having seen an angel. I got goosebumps when I realized. (60) Cute is insufficient to the moment, Dulcie. And you well know it. (61) Has anyone guessed at what game they're playing? It's not proper poker that I can tell, because you don't play that many cards down in it and they're not betting per se. Also, they play more cards than they're described being dealt or picking up. (62) Pal confirming his suspicions as we race to the end. (63) One assumes, her playing unfair up front and interpreting his first clarification as a question. (64) It was never just about her use of Babs as a puppet, adding his name to clarify to the readers of Nona that it wasn't Ianthe's body on the page, it was her somehow retrieved cav. It was always for this. She was always Naberius. Fuck.