#head empty only virtue signalling

[seachanqe]

there's something so disconcerting about seeing a popular Hannibal/Will blog telling "proshippers" to fuck off in their blog description..... dude. my guy. hannibal/will is a "proship" ship.

#some people are so exhausting...... #head empty only virtue signalling #i hate the term anyway

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Hellfire (Priest! Miguel O’Hara x Demon! Fem! Reader) one shot

Oooooo Im very happy about this one. Based of the song from the hunchback of Norte dame. No idea how this got to the word count it did lol. Not proofread.

Religious imagery(Catholicism specifically), questioning of faith, the lyrics of the song does contain a certain that can be seen as distasteful/offensive, reader is a demonic entity (almost like a succubus), nsfw content but no smut (mdni), semi-dub con(???) (reader trying to convince Miguel to give into her, but it’s mostly teasing touches and stuff.), cursing, mentions of hell.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Word count: 2.6K

Masterlist

—

Confiteor deo

Omnipotenti

Beatae Mariae

Semper virgini

Beato Michaeli archangelo

Sanctis apostolis

Omnibus sanctis

—

With a heavy sigh, Miguel placed his rosary and his bible on his office’s desk. Another Sunday completed, all the services for the day were finished, along with clean up and the classes for the kiddos. It was now getting dark, the sun setting, leaving a beautiful painting of pink and orange hues in the sky. The church bells struck once, twice, three times, then one last time, signifying another hour having passed as Miguel put on his winter coat and gloves, because surely,it was still snowing outside , his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty ancient church. He stops at the start of the wooden pews, turning towards the front and placing his right hand to the top of his forehead.

“En el nombre del Padre.” (In the name of the father.)

His hand travels to the middle of his chest.

“Y del Hijo.” (The son)

To his left shoulder.

“Y del Espíritu…” (And the holy…)

To his right shoulder.

“Santo, Amén.” (spirit, Amen.)

Lastly, he brings his hand up and places a gentle kiss on the side of it, his eyes never leaving the stain glass portrait of the Virgin Mary that hung in the middle of the top of the stage as he said the prayer, before turning back around and exiting the church, a familiar sense of dread filling his chest as he closes the door behind him.

—

Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man

Of my virtue I am justly proud (et tibit pater)

—

Miguel couldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t sleep.

He rubs his large hands over his face, his eye bags have been getting darker lately, he’s been lacking energy, and thanks to the little sleep he’s been receiving, it was only making it harder for him to fight off the temptation of sin. But it’s not like he could have a full night's rest, not when… Miguel shook his head in an attempt to rid the vile and unholy thoughts. Maybe tonight will be different, that was the lie he told himself every night.

Miguel placed his toothbrush back into the little blue cup onto his bathroom sink, bringing up a small, white hand towel to clean off the excess water that was spread on his lips, and began to run down his chin and onto his neck.

what a delicious sight.

Once he finally finished cleaning up the water on his chin, he dragged the towel over his sink counter to clean the water he had spilled while brushing, before placing it back on its little hook and exited the bathroom, turning off the lights and closing the door.

Maybe he wouldn’t have the same problem every night if he didn’t look so tempting, only sleeping in gray sweatpants.

He does a once-over of his house, making sure all the doors and windows are locked. Before finishing stopping in front of his bedroom, freezing right before the threshold of the door. His hands go up and join together in a praying signal, whispering for protection under his breath.

Like that’s ever helped him.

—

Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than

The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd (quia peccavi nimis)

—

The second he took the step into his bedroom, he felt a shiver run down his back. It felt like the temperature dropped once he walked in, he swore if he focused hard enough, he’d be able to see his own breath.

Despite his fight or flight senses screaming at him to run, he continued to venture further into his master bedroom. A simple wooden cross with golden accents hung over his bed, his eyes fixated on it. Miguel O’Hara, was a man of faith, he had to be in order to be the priest of his community’s church. He’s poured his whole life, soul and being into his religion, having been raised catholic since he was a mere infant. So why was it that every night, when he’d stared at the cross over his bed, the one that was supposed to protect him, did he start to doubt?

—

Then tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there?

Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul? (cogitatione)

—

It always started the same.

He’d sleep somewhat soundly for a good amount of the night, once he was able to get his mind to stop racing.

He looked so adorable asleep, despite his colossal size.

He moves a lot, so his bed always becomes a bit disheveled, a pillow on the floor or a blanket halfway off the bed. Some light snores and some drool dripping out the corner of his mouth.

How could such a holy man be so delicious looking?

It was 3 am. Witching hour.

“Wake…”

“… up~”

“Wake up.”

—

I feel her, I see her

The sun caught in her raven hair

Is blazing in me out of all control (verb o et opere)

—

Miguel’s eyes shot open. Chest heaving as he takes rapid short breaths, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat. His eyes darting around his dark room in an attempt to find the source of the voice, only lifting his head as he did so.

He knew you were here.

Finally he finds a pair of dark glowing eyes at the foot of his bed, how did he miss it in the first place? He chalks it up to panic. A silence fell over the two of you for what felt like hours, an all too familiar sense of panic (and to Miguel’s horror, slight arousal) filled his senses. Finally, you break the silence.

“My my my… if it isn’t my favorite priest…” You said in a sing-songy tone, as you slowly climbed onto the bed, making Miguel’s stomach twist. He should push you off of him, he should banish you to the depths of hell, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it for some reason. He was paralyzed. You stopped crawling once you were fully over him. “Oh father… help me for I have sinned.” You said in a mocking tone, a shiver ran down his back once again as he let out a shaky breath, feeling your sharp fingernails trail down his chest, and stopping at the waistband of his sweats tugging at the band slightly.

—

Like fire

Hellfire

—

Finally coming to his senses, (much to your dismay) he finally pushes off you. Landing on the floor to the left side of the bed, with a small “oof” as he quickly scrambled to the over side of the bed in or to create distant between the two of you.

“Get out.” Miguel growled as he readjusted his sweats. You didn’t respond, rather, you brought your hand up to move some hair that had gotten into your face as you slowly walked around the bed and towards him. You looked how you always did when you would visit him. You could even be mistaken for a human if it weren’t for the horns, the wings and the long nails.

“Don’t act like that now, father. Aren’t you tired of this little game we play every night?” You asked with a head tilt, continuing to walk towards him as you spoke, your sentence coming out slow and drawn out, your tone nothing but pure seduction. Miguel closes his eyes as if they would deafen your words. Every step you take forward, he takes one back, before the back of his knees eventually hits the back of his bedside table, his hands going behind him to help stabilize himself to keep from falling back on top of it. “You pretend you don’t enjoy this-“

“I don’t.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then why, pray tell, are you hard, father?” You smirked as you spoke., eyes drifting down to a very visible bulge in his sweats. “Have I finally done my job? Will this be the night you fall victim to temptation?” You said in a surprised, yet smug tone. Miguel felt his face burn up, a hand going behind him in search of something. “I will say, you do look quite handsome on your knees. I can give you something so much better to worship than God. You just have to give in to me, give in, father. Give in. Give in. Give in. Give. In.” You chant those two words like a mantra, your eyes begin to glow as you got closer, you were at arms length now. Your steps and words came to a sudden halt.

—

This fire in my skin

This burning desire

Is turning me to sin

—

Your eyes narrowed at the rosary Miguel was holding up in front of you in an attempt to protect himself from you.

“That’s not a very nice way to treat your guest.”

“You’re lucky I don’t banish you back to hell where you belong.” His words make you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Oh please, you would never. You and I both know that. Now put that thing down so I can corrupt my favorite human.” You attempted to move closer, only for him to double down. “Tell me Miguel, if you were really gonna ‘banish’ me or whatever. Why haven’t you done so already? I’ve been coming to you for a few weeks now? If you really wanted to get rid of me for good, you would have done so already. You’re a priest for god’s sake-“

“Don’t you dare use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“I’m a demon.” You deadpanned.

He hated to admit that you were right, he hated that he knew that you were. He’s surprised that you haven’t gotten bored in this game of cat and mouse yet. Every night you would appear in his room at the sametime, attempting to seduce him while he spat empty threats at you. Why hasn't he just gotten rid of you yet? It’s not like he doesn’t have the power to do so or the equipment. Maybe he was going insane, maybe he was losing it, or maybe…

No. He couldn’t.

He can’t just throw away his whole life’s work just because a demon who happened to be conventional pretty keeps pestering every night. He couldn’t allow himself to give in to temptation. He wouldn’t allow himself to be corrupted by your glowing eyes that seem like they could stare into his soul forever, or your sultry voice that made his heart skip a beat, your plump lips that would pull up into a smirk whenever you’d question him, how the say you would tilt your head made him weak in the knees- oh how he wish he could worship your body on his knees like you were a goddess- no, fuck.

“Get out.” Miguel repeated, his voice becoming tighter, his knuckles turning white. He takes a step forward, you take one back and frown. “Get. Out!”

He blinks, you're gone.

—

It's not my fault (mea culpa)

I'm not to blame (mea culpa)

It is the gypsy girl the witch who sent this flame (mea maxima culpa)

—

It’s been a few weeks since your last visit, much to Miguel’s surprise. He should be relieved, he should be thanking the heavens up above that he was finally able to extract such a vile presence from his life, he doesn’t feel a pit in his stomach when he enters his own home anymore, it doesn’t feel like the temperature in his room is 20 degrees colder than it is in the hallway leading into it anymore, he doesn’t feel like like there’s this constant ghost lingering over his shoulder anymore. So why wasn't he at peace?

Your lack of presence was almost just as unbearable. In a twisted way, he became accustomed to it. Maybe this was another of your tricks, attempting to perform classic conditioning on him. Get him used to you by the constant attention from your nightly visits, butter him up despite his protest, making his body burn up with the way your touch lingers on his body too long, the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you lick your lips, the way the word father would leave your lips in a way that made it sound like you’ve just sinned and he was the only one who could help you reach eternal salvation again, just to pull it all away from him within a snap of a finger to see how long it would take for him to crumble. You were Pavlov, and Miguel was just the dog whose mouth started to water at the sound of a bell.

The church was empty besides himself, he was kneeling before the crucifix that was placed next to the portrait of the Virgin Mary, eyes closed, his hands folded together in a fist as he he dips his head down, nose touching his hands as he silently prayed for forgiveness for allowing you to slowly chip away at his self-restraint. He heard the large front door open, he didn’t open his eyes but his head came up as he spoke.

“I’m sorry my child, the church is closed.”

“I needed to see you though, father.”

Miguel’s eyes snapped open. He knew that voice all too well.

—

It's not my fault (mea culpa)

If in God's plan (mea culpa)

He made the Devil so much stronger than a man (mea maxima culpa)

—

“How-“ Miguel was stunned, not only have you reappeared after weeks, you were also standing inside of a church, his church. You looked so beautiful, you looked like an actual human, your nails, although still sharp and point looked more like acrylics rather then claws, you weren’t dawning your bat-like wings and your horns weren’t poking out of your hair, if Miguel had passed by you on the street, he’d be none the wiser. It only made him crack more, imagining what it would be like in a different world where there wasn’t shame and taboo keeping him away from you. Where you aren’t a soulless, heartless creature. “How’s you get in here?” He finally got the question out, his eyes narrowed into slits as he took a step back, almost fumbling his footing and tripping.

“We can enter churches if we find a weak point.” You stated as you made your way towards him, Miguel’s eyes dropped instantly to your hips, how they swayed with each step you take, his mouth went dry and he instinctively licked his lips. “I wonder what that weak point is?” You teased as you stopped in front of him, your lips pulling up into a smirk.

—

Protect me, Maria

Don't let this siren cast her spell

Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone

Destroy Esmeralda

And let her taste the fires of hell

Or else let her be mine and mine alone

—

He don’t know how it happened, one minute he was standing face to face in front of you, then the next, you both were in his office in the back of the church, you were sitting on top of his desk as he kneeled in front of you, his rough hands wondering and running around your legs, and he planted soft light kisses all over them. In between each one, he’d whispered a small pile of forgiveness from God, but he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

—

Hellfire

Darkfire

Now gypsy, it's your turn

Choose me or your pyre

Be mine or you will burn

—

“You never told me your name…” Miguel mumbled into your skin, his face buried against your inner thigh as he looked up at you.

“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce my actual name. Just… call me (Y/N).” You cooed as you ran a hand through his hair, before bringing it down to his cheek. Miguel leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. He was completely and utterly yours now.

“(Y/N)…” He whispered the name like a prayer.

—

Kyrie eleison

God have mercy on her

Kyrie eleison

God have mercy on me

Kyrie eleison

But she will be mine

Or she will burn

#Spotify #miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara au #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 fanfic #spiderman 2099

[bunitivity]

Sanji hemming and hawing to himself about his sudden inexplicable crush on Usopp in the kitchen late one night only for Luffy to walk in on him and hear everything. And he’s like great now everyone is going to know and tries to threaten him into silence despite knowing full well that Luffy cannot keep a secret to save his life. And Luffy is like relax I would never tell on you and I can keep a secret as long as no one asks point blank and who in the world would even ask him something like that if ever lol.

“Sometimes I forget that you can be mature sometimes.”

“Thanks.” Luffy grins as he picks his nose.

“You’ve the grossest man I’ve met.”

Luffy just laughs.

This turns into Sanji now confiding in Luffy about all his love troubles big and mundane whether it be about the fact that he accidentally brushed fingers with Usopp or some other lovesick Sanji nonsense. Luffy is not thrilled at first because of his short attention span and restless energy but fortunately Sanji quickly figures out just how to keep him around long enough to get things off his chest with just the right amount of finger foods.

So it starts with Luffy just sticking around just for the food and then because there’s something so fascinating endearing even about seeing Sanji actually in love. It’s so different from the way he usually fawns over women. So much more vulnerable and earnest and Luffy can’t just look away. So much so he even sticks around after Sanji has stopped feeding him snacks which is his usual signal that Luffy can go now.

He also finds that he really really likes hearing about Usopp through Sanji’s eyes because he’s usually right and true. Usopp really is the most amazing most perfect person ever. And he tells Sanji as much. Talking about the things he personally likes about Usopp. “I just really like his laugh and making him laugh and stuff like that.”

Sanji stops cold.

“Wait are you in love with him??”

Luffy’s first answer is “No” then “wait” then he thinks about it for a few seconds and goes “oh yeah I guess I am.”

“You guess??”

“Never really thought about it before.”

Sanji puts his head on the table. “I cannot believe this.”

Luffy blinks dumbfounded still licking his empty plate. “Hwat?”(what?”)

“I cannot believe you would do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“I trusted you!”

Now Luffy is truly and well lost. “Sanji?”

“Do you even know what any of this means?”

Luffy knows nothing. “I don’t think I understand anything.”

Sanji whips up his head to glare at him. “That means we’re love rivals!”

Luffy frowned. “You mean like you and Zoro?”

“No! God forbid! What I mean is that we can’t both like Usopp!”

”Why not?”

“Because he can only like one of us obviously.”

Luffy frowns. “Says who?”

“Says everyone!”

Luffy just wrinkles his nose and picks the crumbs off his plate.

“Which means!” Sanji continues. “That we can’t have any of these secret rendezvous anymore since we’re enemies now.”

“Nooo! But I love my little secret snack time with Sanji! They’re always so fun!”

Sanji’s heart gives an involuntary skip but then he twists his lips. “You’re just saying that because I always give you food.”

“That’s true but-“

“Get. Out.”

Then he very unceremoniously kicks Luffy out of his kitchen.

They don’t spend time apart for too long because Luffy is a fucking pest who won’t leave him alone and he plays dirty by sending Usopp as an intermediary to fix things between them and how could Sanji say no to him? (he does very loudly and harshly at first just to waylay any suspicions that he might be soft on him before folding almost immediately after). He might also have missed Luffy’s company just a tiny bit but he would sooner fall on one of mosshead’s stupid swords than admit to any of that.

Now that they know they’re both in love with Usopp their little rendezvous changes from Sanji just one sidedly talking at Luffy yapping away about his feelings to Luffy actively participating. He doesn’t talk as much nor wax as poetically about all of Usopp’s virtues like Sanji does but he does learn a lot about Usopp through him. The more childish and rambunctious side that Luffy brings out whenever they’re together and just falls that much more for him.

Also seeing the usual very unaffected and confident Luffy so aware of his feelings(and blushing! Something he never thought would ever see) just plucked on his heartstrings. Spending time with his quote unquote love rival turned out to be a lot more fun than Sanji could ever have anticipated.

There’s an easy camaraderie underlined by something more as they fall back into their old routine. Expanding beyond their(Sanji’s) hopeless romance. Just growing closer and becoming more fond of each other.

But then everything comes crashing down all at once.

Sanji is just watching them one day. Luffy and Usopp being chaotic and fucking insufferable. He sees the way Usopp’s eyes shines and the way he smiles at Luffy and realizes oh he’s in love with him.

Sanji knows he should be happy for him. He knows Luffy would be if the shoe were on the other foot. But he just can’t. He feels utterly betrayed and so fucking devastated and Sanji just hates him. Any fond feelings that he might have been growing for his captain shrivels up and dies.

Luffy is surprised when Sanji suddenly shuts him out of nowhere. He can tell it’s way worse than it was last time but at least last time he had known why Sanji had been pissed at him. Last time he was at least talking to him if only to tell him to fuck off. Now there’s just this veneer of professionalism as Sanji keeps him at arm’s length as if they’re nothing more than captain and cook. Acting as if he’s nothing more than a subordinate who just works for him. Calling him captain in that cold and detached way and never by his name. And Luffy hates it.

So of course he has to confront him about it.

It takes a lot of cajoling to get it out of him but Sanji eventually gives and lays into him about his absolute betrayal and cusses him out for getting ahead of him and making him look like a fool because he might not know but Usopp was definitely in love with him. But then he sees the look on Luffy’s face and something in Sanji just breaks. 

“You knew.” Luffy tries to look away but Sanji pushes. “You already knew he liked you.”

Luffy finally looks at him grimacing. “Why does it matter?”

Oh that hurts. 

“Because that means that you two are going to date now and there won’t be any room for me.”

“No!” Luffy looks aghast and tries to reach for him and Sanji flinches away. “There’s always going to be a room for you!”

There’s something about the way he says that that has Sanji’s heart seizing up but surely not?

“Luffy do you…like me?”

And then he smiles like Sanji had hung all the stars in the night sky and Sanji has to clutch his chest to prevent his treacherous heart from bursting free and leaping right into Luffy’s thieving hands. Fuck.

“Of course.”

“And not in a friend way but-“

“Sanji.” He stills him so easily with just the strength his voice and a gentle hand on his cheek. “I love you.”

Hearing him actually say it does unimaginable things to Sanji’s heart he might actually keel over and die.

But then he remembers and he retreats from Luffy’s hand. “And you love Usopp.”

“Yes I love all of you. Sanji, Usopp and Zoro.”

“Zoro? Zoro?? Where the fuck did Zoro come from???”

Luffy gives him a funny look. “Zoro has always been there.”

“You can’t-you can’t just do this-date all of us at the same time!”

“Says who?”

There’s this question again. Does he really think he can just do whatever he wants whenever he wants? Of course he does. It’s Luffy.

“Because then it wouldn’t mean anything. If you really love someone you would want them to feel special and loved. You would want to put them before anyone and anything. They should be your everything. There’s a reason people look for The One.”

Sanji doesn’t like the way Luffy looks at him. Like he’s seeing Sanji hadn’t meant him to.

Luffy shakes his head and is about to say something more bullheaded and untrue but Sanji can’t hear any more of this. Of his wild fantasies. He doesn’t like the way it gets his hopes up. It’s just cruel.

“Just choose me.”

“What? But what about Usopp and-“

“I’ll always love him but Usopp obviously doesn’t like me but you like me and I like you so-“

“You like me?” The dismay that had been slowly building on Luffy’s face is immediately washed away and replaced by that bright brilliant smile and Sanji can’t help but blush as he feels all that adoration suddenly shine down on him.

“Yes. So instead of all these needless complications and love triangles -love squares?- We should just keep it simple and date each since we already know that we like each other.”

All that adoration and fondness abruptly ebbs away and Sanji is left standing cold and adrift.

“But-“

“Luffy,” Sanji takes his hands and forces himself to look into his clear and steadfast eyes. “Just choose me.”

Sanji sees the indecision in Luffy’s eyes and knows. He could never choose just him.

What else could Sanji have expected from the man who took the world by storm. Who seeks to stand atop of the world. Luffy wants to be the freest man in the world of course he wouldn’t just settle for Sanji. No one ever does. It’s so arrogant of him to think he could ever deserve all of the love and the attention of the man who is destined to be king of the pirates.

So Sanji lets go and walks away.

Of course it’s in that moment that he walks in on Zoro and Usopp hooking up and just screams.

#one piece #lusan #sanlu #zolusanuso #sanuso #lusopp #usosan #zosopp #zolu #usolu #usopp #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #sanji black leg #made a mistake on my previous post so if you’re seeing this again that’s why #had to repost bc editing tumblr posts on mobile is a nightmare #you can’t select all like wtf #strawberrycamel I owe you my fucking life for telling me about the fuckup I would not have fucking noticed thank you #i write sometimes

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

There was no banquet after the wedding. Instead, following a series of polite congratulations, Cassian's family returned to Brindleton and he followed Lady Catherine to his new home.

"I shall give you the tour and then leave you to settle in until evening," said Lady Catherine, politely signalling for Cassian to follow her.

"It is a most modern and attractive building," remarked Cassian. "I am so used to families living in their inherited castles."

"I do not care for old castles. They are such cold, crumbling and draughty things and often require far too much proximity to peasants," Catherine explained.

"This is the banquet hall. I like to ensure there is ample supply of food for guests at all times - one never knows when one might need to entertain."

"Do you throw many banquets, then?" Cassian asked hopefully. Catherine looked at him with a mild disgust.

"No. That would be unseemly. Banquets are reserved for special occasions and visiting dignitaries."

"Here we have the great hall -"

"Let me guess - this doesn't get used except for on special occasions or for visiting dignitaries either?"

"Indeed, though then it is only the most special of special occasions. Too much dancing and drink leads to vulgar behaviour. One must only engage in such activities when one can be certain of their guests' virtue."

"Oh, of course," replied Cassian. Catherine eyed him suspiciously as if sensing his sarcasm, but not entirely sure.

"On to one of the most important rooms - the chapel. We will attend church daily, of course, but the chapel is here for those additional moments where one needs space for divine contemplation."

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you... did you say we'll be attending church daily?"

"Yes. I believe it was stipulated as so in the legal agreement for our marriage," replied Catherine, surprised at Cassian's question.

Cassian sighed, "That one must have escaped my notice."

"The tapestry gallery leads off to our separate chambers. I am in the east wing while you are in the west wing. Each chamber comes with all the rooms one might require. I have provided simple furnishings, but you are welcome to add your own possessions. You are not to enter my chambers outside the designated times for marital relations. I would take you up to the top floor, but it is currently empty; I have planned that floor for children. It has space to comfortably fit four, but could accommodate eight. Of course, I do not hold too much expectation of the number of children we may have, given your advanced age, but it is always best to be prepared. That is everything I wished to show you for now. You may return to your rooms and I will expect you this evening for the first relations to consummate the marriage and begin preparation for the first child," Catherine said all of this so matter-of-factly that Cassian began to question whether he would even manage sexual arousal with such a woman. Still, he said nothing in reply but curtly nodded and headed for his chambers.

As he walked into his chambers, he was grateful to see a bar had been installed and immediately poured himself a drink - he was going to need a lot of alcohol if he was going to get through this consummation.

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval) | Start (Tudor)

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#sims 4 history challenge #great british sim challenge

[spoczkotszcz]

If you ever find yourself in a situation where someone is trying to use a checklist to impact your life and freedom, the below might be useful.

PCL-R is widely used to assess individuals in high-security psychiatric units, prisons and psychological screenings. This decides who should be detained and what sort of treatment you'd receive.

The checklist is a constellation of traits which you need to be aware of so as to not score them. Simply. This impacts your life. This is important. Do not allow people to box you in. You may be branded with a label that has a very real very tangible impact on your ability to access resources if you are not careful. It can have financial and social repercussions which will affect the quality of your life. In extremis you may lose your liberty. Avoid at all cost being labelled ASPD NPD or anything of the like.

Narcissism - this one is easy to avoid. Pretend you are shy talking about yourself. Pick a trait, such as having difficulty making eye contact that is easy to fake and easy to spin into a narrative wherein you are so concerned about what others think, but not in a positive or self obsessed manner.

Superficial charm - this one is also easy. Ties into the counter-narcissism narrative quite neatly. Make it so your fictitious trait is prominent (don't overdo it!) In your conversation. This can be shaking hands, unsure eye contact, a nervous twitch. Whatever.

Charisma / outward attractiveness -do not bother with this one. The innate human desire to trust and believe those they perceive as clean/attractive/healthy etc will only help you

Seductiveness -don't try to fuck the psychiatrist

Promiscuity -see above

Lack of empathy - ironically the easiest tell on this one is over exaggerated reactions. Do not grin broadly. Mute yourself. Go for a natural look. Do not overdo the shy/nervous/etc gestures

Feeling of emptiness -do not discuss the void. The void stays in the void.

Sadism- do not discuss. Bonus points if you organically introduce a narrative wherein you express that you feel horror at another's pain with very subtle body language and facial expressions to match.

Paranoia- if it weren't for your paranoia you wouldn't be reading this, and I wouldn't be writing this. By virtue of it being paranoia you won't talk about it with a head snooping doctor anyway.

Suicidal

Self harm

The suicidal x self harm traits are the ones you need to focus on and outwardly display so you may be diagnosed with a depressive disorder, if you are in a situation where they need to diagnose you with something. A depressive disorder will be much less impactful on your life. Of note is that the way you experience self harm and suicidal ideation is different than that of a depressive person. You need to be keenly aware of this. A depressed person does not get sexually excited by the prospect as an example. You will need to do research.

Female presenting people will also have an easier time with this and can afford to get a lot more lax and creative as femininity inherently signals emotional caring etc. in many cultural contexts. Obviously play it by ear, but do consider how you present outwardly. This includes other physical characteristics such as height and build. Try to be an inoffensive stereotype they can easily box in and feel smug that they've identified your "issue".

All other traits must be masked. Do not avoid discussing your past, but do lie about it.

#aspd safe #aspd friendly #aspd #aspd tag #aspd resources

[worldwatcher3072]

Embracing Consciousness:

The Power of Being "Woke"

In a world riddled with racism, bigotry, misogyny, and intolerance, the term "woke" has emerged as a beacon of hope, inspiring individuals to confront social injustices head-on. However, this powerful term has not been without its controversies. In this blog post, we'll explore the essence of being "woke" and the necessity of embracing consciousness to combat the negative forces that plague our society.

The Dark Side of "Wokeness"

As with any movement, the "woke" culture has faced its fair share of criticisms. Some argue that it breeds self-righteousness and performative activism. Indeed, the pursuit of virtue signaling and the desire to outdo each other in the Wokeness Olympics can divert attention from the very issues it seeks to address. However, let us not forget that the core of being "woke" lies in awareness and empathy, not in empty gestures or hollow statements.

The Real Enemy: Ignorance and Intolerance

On the other side of the coin lie the true adversaries - ignorance and intolerance. Racism, bigotry, misogyny, and other forms of discrimination thrive when people turn a blind eye to systemic inequalities and perpetuate harmful beliefs and behaviors. Being "woke" represents an awakening, an acknowledgment of these issues, and a determination to challenge the status quo.

Fostering Empathy and Understanding

At the heart of being "woke" lies the cultivation of empathy and understanding. By embracing the experiences of others and actively listening to their stories, we gain invaluable insights into the struggles they face. Only through empathy can we break down the barriers that divide us and build a more united and compassionate society.

Education as a Catalyst for Change

Being "woke" is not about flaunting buzzwords or empty rhetoric; it's about educating ourselves on the intricacies of social issues. Delving deep into the roots of racism, sexism, and discrimination allows us to develop a nuanced understanding of these complex problems. Armed with knowledge, we can challenge misconceptions and advocate for informed solutions.

Turning Awareness into Action

Awareness alone is not enough to dismantle the structures of injustice. To make a real difference, we must translate our consciousness into meaningful action. Support for marginalized communities, participation in grassroots movements, and collaboration with like-minded individuals can lead to tangible progress. Being "woke" demands proactive engagement, not passive indifference.

Uniting for a Common Cause

As the world becomes increasingly polarized, it's crucial to remember that the struggle against discrimination is a collective battle. Rather than letting the term "woke" divide us, let us unite under the banner of compassion and equity. By seeking common ground and acknowledging the humanity in each other, we can bridge the gaps that separate us and work towards a brighter future.

Being "woke" is not a one-size-fits-all label; it represents a journey towards consciousness, empathy, and positive change. While it is essential to address the negative aspects associated with the "woke" culture, we must not lose sight of its fundamental purpose - to challenge racism, bigotry, misogyny, and intolerance. Let us embrace being "woke" as a call to action, to educate ourselves, foster empathy, and unite in the fight for a more equitable and inclusive society. Together, we can build a better world for everyone.

#WokeCulture #SocialJustice #EmpathyMatters #Equality #Consciousness #Awareness #DiversityandInclusion #EducateYourself #UnityOverDivision #PositiveChange #EndDiscrimination #Advocacy #Compassion #RacismAwareness #Inclusivity #Empowerment #ListenAndLearn #FightForJustice #EmpathyInAction #BuildingABetterWorld

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 5.8.3 “They Remember the Garden in the Rue Plumet”

I hate this. I’m having trouble even participating in Valjean’s grief that Hugo wants me to feel, because the way this book treats Cosette at this point is so fucking bad it’s all I can focus on. There are absolutely ways of talking about the disparities that happen when one person has a whole life and a person they genuinely love has only them and nothing else; that’s a hard situation, that leads to tensions. But the way the narrative talks about Cosette is as if she makes no observations and has no opinions or thoughts other than how great Marius is. The narrative is absolutely bent her having no negative reaction to anything that’s going on, as if her head is perfectly empty.

Fuck you, Hugo.

Every time we see an actual record of her dialogue it becomes clear that’s not the case, but we’re not getting that this chapter.

I hate it so much.

Marius’s crimes here are at least deliberate on Hugo’s part:

"We have said that we would go to see our garden in the Rue Plumet again. Let's go. We mustn't be ungrateful.”

He’s using that devastatingly loaded word “ungrateful,” manipulating Cosette into going away to the garden and forgetting her father the way his grandfather manipulated him into forgetting his own. “Ungrateful” isn’t a particularly important word for Cosette--yet--but she’s happy to go out with him. It doesn’t occur to her that this is all a ploy to separate her from her father because why the fuck would it, that’s fucking nightmarish, and she’s seventeen or eighteen years old and not automatically looking for ways her new husband is lying to her and isolating her.

Was there, then, some truth in that comparison of the chrysalis which had occurred to Marius? Was Jean Val­jean indeed an obstinate chrysalis, who came to visit his butterfly?

This feels to me like a deliberate, ironic callback to the use of “ungrateful” above. A butterfly’s chrysalis is just like the rotting fish, or the wilted flower, and so on--it’s another one of those items from the convent passage about used up things demanding to be loved as if they were current, threatening their discarder with “ingratitude” for not needing them anymore. Marius has always been incredibly weak to that argument, so it’s pretty rich of him to say Valjean is a used-up thing that shouldn’t presume on old acquaintance.

I do really believe the text knows Marius is being fucking awful here. The problem is, the text knows he’s being shitty to Valjean--I don’t think it has any idea he’s harming Cosette. Which is terrifying: Cosette’s manipulative, underhanded asshole of a husband is trying to perpetuate on her the abuse that was done to him--for exactly the same reasons it was done to him: your father is a brigand! I want you all to myself! I want total control over you!--and all this book can think about is how that impacts her FATHER?

Fuck you, Hugo.

Valjean’s dialogue gets weirder, imitating the things he thinks Cosette wants to hear now: how she should buy herself pretty things because wealth makes everything better (is everybody gonna imitate Gillenormand this chapter?) and extolling the virtues of Marius, because he’s a subject she likes.... it’s bad. I hear the depression talking, obviously, but I wish we got some indication of how fucking weird it is for Cosette to talk to a father who’s trying to phase himself and his own opinions out of his dialogue. And, of course, he talks about the old days with Cosette, because he can only focus on his past with her, he’s cutting himself off from the future.

And then Marius escalates his slow campaign to ice Valjean out of Cosette’s life entirely, sending passive aggressive unwelcome signals through the furniture, talking about eschewing Valjean’s money. Again, Marius refuses to explain anything to Cosette, so she goes to Valjean hoping he’ll actually talk to her. Valjean, of course, upholds Marius’s bullshit and tells her nothing. Meanwhile, he takes the blame for all Marius’s horrible furniture moving, because obviously it’s better that Cosette think her father doesn’t care about her than letting her know that her husband is a fucking manipulative nightmare who’s ending the other most important relationship in her life via some underhanded bullshit with the chairs.

Between the two of them, they gaslight Cosette very effectively... and again, the narrative sees zero problem with that.

Finally, Valjean stays away two days, which is his own bullshit test of Cosette: she doesn’t realize it was two days rather than one, she doesn’t call him father when she inquires instead of the thing he asked to be called, she sends a servant (as is normal and customary) instead of coming herself--therefore it’s over, she doesn’t give a shit and she doesn’t get to have a dad anymore.

If any of this fucking book involved acknowledged that any of what happens in this chapter was shitty to Cosette specifically, I would be on board for it.

It doesn’t, and I’m really fucking not.

#brickclub #lm 5.8.3 #cw: abuse

[doingproblematicmedia]

Velma Wrapup: On Adult Comedy

Hey fam. I know this is mad late, but let’s be honest, trying to write a wrapup on Velma was about as painful as watching it. Enjoy!

---

So speaking of HBO, I just watched Marc Maron’s From Bleak to Dark, which is one of the funniest standup routines I’ve seen in a long time.

It was also deeply dark and pretty disturbing in places.

I mean, he didn’t hold back. COVID? Auschwitz? Terminal illness? Abortion? Disinformation? Antisemitism? Suicide?

All there.

And it was funny as fuck.

-

I’m gonna keep coming back to Kurt Vonnegut here, because I think he got to the root of comedy: that all humor is based on fear. “Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning do to do afterward.”

From Bleak to Dark worked because of this fear. We’re exhausted. The state of the world doesn’t seem to be getting any better, and it’s just hard to navigate being human right now. How on earth can you make this material funny?

And the answer is: by reaching deep into the dark places of the soul, plucking the strings of our agonies and worst fears, and dragging them into the light. Saying: Hey, I’m human, you’re human, and here we are trapped in the mess of our humanity. I see you. Hi.

And we laugh.

Because what else are we gonna do about it?

As both Maron and Vonnegut remarked, the jokes in Auschwitz must’ve been amazing.

-

I stumbled on this essay by Matthew Morgan on the state of modern irony, and it stuck a chord:

One feature of the free mind is an ability to entertain contradictory ideas simultaneously; at its most refined, this is an appreciation of the ironic, which Schlegel showed is borne of contradiction. Albert Camus talked about the Absurd as the search for value in a valueless universe. Humans are both the only known creatures who comprehend the meaninglessness of the cosmos and the animals most insistent on discovering meaning, demonstrating that irony is at the heart of the human condition. To embrace irony is, therefore, to embrace life.

Irony, the essay points out, strikes at the contradictions of our messy lives. Vonnegut was a master of irony, using it in such a subtle way that it sailed over many peoples’ heads. In an interview with Playboy in 1973, he famously stated: 

You understand, of course, that everything I say is horseshit...But it’s a useful, comforting sort of horseshit, you see? That’s what I object to about preachers. They don’t say anything to make anybody any happier, when there are all these neat lies you can tell. And everything is a lie, because our brains are two-bit computers, and we can’t get very high-grade truths out of them. But as far as improving the human condition goes, our minds are certainly up to that. That’s what they were designed to do.

Vonnegut’s comforting lies contradict the inherent meaninglessness of life; they give us something to hold onto. Something to reach out with, to show us that we understand each other. That we all want and fear. That we can form community with this shared understanding. An understanding based in irony. In the contradictions of life.

What does all this have to do with Velma? Bear with me. I’m getting there.

- 

Morgan’s essay also gets at what I think is an issue with a lot of current comedy:

...social commentary has been lost amid the exponential growth of shock-value comedy, the inanity of which is exposed by its label: rather than using shock to change values, the vacuous comedy of something like Family Guy values only the shock. This kind of humour merely consolidates one’s place within the in-group of cynical cool kids by sniggering at increasingly “offensive” jokes, a sort of lack-of-virtue signalling.

...The reason that shows like Family Guy are so empty is that they want to mock everything (because that’s detached and cool) while refusing to show us anything (because that would be old-fashioned and ridiculous).

And here’s where we get to Velma.

-

High school is a weird time. Lots of teenage media would have us believe that high school is when we come into our own: amongst the parties and rebellion and teenage love and heartbreak, we are tested, and emerge from this crucible as a fully-formed person. Nothing could be further from the truth. High school is messy, ugly, and painful. It doesn’t look like what it does on the screen. The idea that ‘high school is the best years of your life’ is oft repeated, which in hindsight is horseshit. But maybe we believed that deep down, back when we were in high school, and were terrified that we were doing it wrong. 

And so many of us emerge from this with scars. 

There is a lot of adult media about high school kids! Because on some level, we’re all still trying to process this time of our lives. Putting it into art, stylizing it or flaying it open, helps us to do so. And for teens watching this media, hopefully we’re saying: it’s ok. This is messy ugly and painful, but you’re not alone.

I think Velma is trying to do this. Velma goes to some serious lengths to dig into this messy high school experience. It also pokes at how the media treats the high school experience, which is awesome in theory.

The problem is, it falls into a very high school sort of trap. The kind of trap that we were supposed to mature past. The kind of trap that a lot of shock comedy hasn’t matured past.

As Morgan says, it’s that Velma wants to mock high school media - because it’s detached and cool. I remember this being a thing in high school. In order to be cool, you had to be detached. You could never show real emotion or real hurt. Everything had to roll off like water on a duck’s back.

Because showing real vulnerability wasn’t cool. Cool was not caring. Cool was being able to hurt others, without showing any hurt yourself. Velma wants to skewer the idealized version of high school we see in media - but instead, it just becomes another high school bully.

And all the criticism that has been levelled at Velma? It’s rolled off. Like water on a duck’s back. HBO has renewed it for a second season. 

It’s like watching your high school bully get elected class president.

-

I’m not gonna dissect the content of Velma, because enough people have done that already. The piles of shitty jokes, the weird meta commentary, the moments that don’t work, the moments that hurt - it’s all been compiled, and I don’t want to beat a dead horse (I’m the horse in this metaphor. Because dealing with Velma is painful). 

But I do want to say, it’s an exquisite study on how comedy fails. Fails to reach out, fails to plunge deep into its audience and pull on its worst fears. Fails to make us seen, fails to find a shared humanity.

Doug Walker, who of all people is qualified to comment on bad comedy, probably said it best: 

[Velma has] this wall of protective bullshit that's stopping it from being really funny or really clever.

And that’s that. There’s a wall. Velma is not reaching an audience, because it physically cannot. 

Is it the writers’ own fears that built this wall? Fears of being mocked? Wanting to be detached and cool? 

Because to make real connections, we run the risk of being hurt. Being hurt is a part of life. And the best comedy overcomes this. Says ‘Hi. I know you’re hurting. So am I. Can we make this less painful together?’ 

If Velma is to be believed, we cannot. All we can do is carry on hurting each other, with no connection or relief in sight. 

But as good comics have shown, we can ease the pain with shared laughter.

#doing velma #velma wrapup #legit I am so sorry this is mad late #I never wanna think about this show again tbh

[incarnateirony]

Nobody said it's conspiracy Patrick. We said you're a con artist. You have gone out of your way to try to attack anyone that gives away scripts for free. Coincidentally you always manage to trade money for yours. And then you claim that your obsession with other Scripts is just for comparative drafts but you delete the other drafts so it's not about that either with you it's just about how many scripts you can get in your hand and how much money you can get we figured you out mother fucker

The only grifter is the man who has pulled tens of thousands of dollars out of fandoms to mostly put scripts in his own closet. He just wanted real real bad for everyone to believe that the person who had chosen to do it for absolutely free for their entire fandom life was somehow the one grifting

That's why it bothered you so bad whenever anyone had a script that they gave away for free and why you had to immediately scream it was fake. We figured you out dude. You can't have an audience and you can't have people to con money out of if people are giving away scripts for free. That's what your whole damn problem with me is

It's all so very adorable that he says that's all I have. Oh I mean I had the entire prequel. I had the original ending yeah I had a lot of it. I also have videos and fanfiction and an actual server that likes me as a person rather than as an infosource which is probably foreign to you. And of course there's my meta which you are inferior on. And my ratings which you fail at. I mean I could keep going if you want me to list all of the ways you have tried and failed to be me. But we would be here for a while. No the only thing you have is scripts that you always manage to get after I do LOL. You don't even have meet and greets you got blown out of the water there dude

Stop projecting your grifting, empty garbage at everyone else. Get some real content. Make videos. Make meta. Do something. Don't just sit here grabbing duplicate scripts so you can steal people's money and then say that's all anybody else has. No that's all you've got left dude

Nah man you blew it. The second you deleted the old draft while claiming to be an archive several dozen new heads not even from my server turned. You let your petty bullshit dominate that account so the dupe script looks even dumber, now people are asking questions why they should keep paying you for duplicate scripts or releases a year behind me.

good question.

Your uncritical accusations of grifting and cult on others become clear as you lie to them and pull thousands from them for your own tangible, material gain. Your readiness to say "conspiracy" when someone just simply calls you a con man, because you want to find ways to devalue your critics, but it's running out dude, you've fucked up too many times too quick, people are catching on. claiming to give a percentage to charity doesn't protect you from the skimming and hoarding you've been doing. "I give to charity" shouldn't even be a shield you use. That's some corporate american virtue signaling right there. what's next, gonna file the scripts on your taxes?

#there's a message for all of you in the war room

[husbandohunter]

Dottore with short drabble “You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

Something angsty pls? Thank you!

Tainted Glass [Dottore x Reader/Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: Can you escape the prison you made?

(A twisted Cinderella story. The girl was covered in cinders because she was fatally addicted to drowning in flames.)

Warnings: angst, emotional abuse, violence, death

(A/n): To be honest anon, I didn’t know what the word ‘drabble’ means until I googled it. I uh...hope you don’t mind the length :> 

-----------------------

You fell back against the cold hard floor with your arms bent and head turned sideways. The stinging pain spreads across your cheek. It burns. But your mind was still trying to register what had just came into fruition. 

Why?

The thought was so foreign somehow as if you could hardly believe he was doing this. But then the scene plays in your head again. You froze, your gaze enlarged and clueless while staring at the pale ground as it slowly begins to darken in the seeping movement of his menacing, haunting shadow. 

"Insolent woman, you wretch!" He spat in a disgusted tone, "How dare you speak to me in such demanding manner? Have I already told you, only talk when you have something important to say?"

You didn't respond, rather you merely let the strands fall in front of your vision as you gingerly pressed your hand against the place where he hit you. 

I…don't quite understand…

Dottore glowers down at your hunched form. He was never a man known for the virtue of patience. This man, the one who calls him your husband, you learned a long time ago to not meet his eyes as they would signal a hint of dominance amidst his authority, especially during moments like these. You came to feel his eyes instead, they were usually intense and full of wrath, sometimes crazed and curious while looking at his finest creations. He always loved experimenting in his labratory. After all, it was the only thing that could truly make the madman smile.

What is it that I'm missing? Where did I go wrong?

And you would do anything to obtain at least a fraction of the love he had left in his heart. 

He marches onward with heavy footsteps, paying no mind to your well-being, "Tch get out of my sight. I don't have the time to entertain with anymore these theatrics."

At the sound of him leaving you darted your attention towards him, "Wait, come back. Come back, " you plea softly, "Hector…" But he ignores your call. The back of your fiance disappears behind the door and slams it with a resounding thud. He was gone. You couldn't save him.

"No," As a result, you burried your face into your palms and cried.

“I'm sorry.”

…

What is love?

Being raised in one of the most prestigious bloodlines of Fontaine, a life filled with riches since your parents were well known scholars throughout Teyvat, they provided you and your family with everything you needed. From exquisite dishes to priceless jewelry, yet even among those riches you never did find an answer to your question. They were tangibles and short-lasting, eventually leaving you with nothing until the glass of your heart was filled empty. They seemed to have cared more about their fortune along with the brightest child of their family line, your brother, a male heir, someone who fulfilled their expectations where you couldn't do so. And because he was able to give them what they wanted, he was loved.

I see, love is conditional.

Realizing that you possessed no talent to achieve what your brother had accomplished, you came to accept that you were undeserving of their love. Love was for the smart. Love was for the gifted.  Love was for everything you are not. There was no place for your kind and thus you locked yourself up in your bedroom chambers along with your fragile heart where no one would try to find you, picking up the books upon the shelves and getting lost in their fantasies. 

They told you many beautiful things about the world and many reasons why it was so tragic. Because they weren't real. The story begins with a princess who was a kind-hearted soul, deprived from the care of her evil stepmother and dreams of marrying a prince from a land far far away. They often end on a happily ever after with the princes finding her one true love. You've never seen anything like it. Where two people, despite the struggles they went through, loved each other unconditionally.

Unconditional love only exists in dreams.

Or so you thought to believe.

One day a man marched right at the doorsteps of your mansion. He was a student coming all the way from Sumeru Academia and had high hopes of building a business partnership with your father. The man was declined of course, you watched from the garden bushes as he was sent off back into his carriage. He stops abruptly and turns his head ajar to catch your figure, his inquisitive eyes were both striking and sharp. Like thorns of a rose that was ready to prick anyone who dares to come close. Even so, they made a very lasting impression.

Red eyes.

It was the first time that someone had looked your way.

Couple of months later, the government had arranged a grand ball where all nobles would gather and commit to building their social circle. Useless events. There was no reason for you to engage. While your parents were occupied with the latest gossips and your brother surrounded by fathers who were eager to marry their daughters to him, you snuck outside to the balcony and hid away from the crowd. Quiet at last. And as things should be. The moon was your only friend because she was just like you; half empty. Maybe that was why you still had a glimmer of hope for the other half to be filled. 

Part white, you inquired, pristine and untainted. From far away it looked similar to snow. 

"My, how pleasantly surprising."

While the other part was stained with black cinders.

You glanced over your shoulder to see a man leaning against the pillar. His mint coloured bangs were slicked back in a trendy fashion, complimenting the white suit he adorned himself with. The golden chains hanging around his ebony boots dangled and clanged with each step he took forward until the light finally reveals his face.

"You seem familiar," you say while squinting your eyes, "Are you the person my father rejected back in February?"

He quirks one brow and you were afraid if you had offended him. But before you could utter an apology, the man splits his lips into a toothy grin and bursts out into a maniac-like laughter. He was completely insane, you thought to yourself. Though he paid no mind to your discomfort and continued to dwell in his amusement, "Hahaha straightforward, I like it! So what if I am? Is it a requirement to be a noble for me to simply have a chat?"

"And if I may ask why?"

"Hmmm, why?" The man reaches for the balcony and presses his back there. He threw his head backward before drilling his ruby gaze into yours, "I too am not fond of annoying crowds. Those snobbish fools thinking they're above everyone else just because they have a couple of mora when that is all they are worth. It's almost too hilarious for my own good."

You could tell there was disdain in his tone. Mainly towards your father who were one of the many unkind nobles of Fontaine and was only liked because of his success. Gripping your hands upon the stone railings, you looked down at the distant trees below while the wind rustled them apart, "I can't deny that," you say dissapointedly, "It's common for nobles not to associate with lower classes as it could potentially ruin their image. Though I may not have been there but I'm sure you had much to offer in terms of your brilliance, erm, Mister…?"

"Hector," Hector placed a palm on his chest with a polite bow following suit, "Hector Dufour-Lapointé. It is a pleasure to make you an acquaintance Lady (Y/n)."

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" Hector smirks lazily as he danced around you, "I saw you before hiding behind the rose bushes back in your estate. Quite curious why you didn't attempt to say hello."

He even remembers that too. You fiddled with the fabric of your dress, "My apologies. I'm not use to socializing so much."

“Is that so? I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he complimented while shrugging, "This is much more entertaining than hanging in that insufferably crowded room, it was an unexpected occurence to meet you here of all places. However, I must say time can fly if I'm able to enjoy myself."

You shifted away from his stare, "You flatter me. We've only been talking for a few minutes."

"I have yet to realize it then" Hector's cheerfulness remains at stance despite your gloomy response. He leans forward like a curious child and tosses you a question, "Then allow me to ask, what brings you out here Lady (Y/n)? I don't see any reason when your family are such highly respected people of Fontaine." 

"I'm not like them!" You retort instantly, causing the man to glance at you with skepticism, "I mean, I have nothing to do with them and they have nothing to do with me. That's just how it is. They already have Clement after all…"

Why am I telling him this?

"Ah your brother I assume. Yes so I've heard much about his genius mind. There were a few instances where he and I collaborated at Sumeru Academia," Hector speaks as if regarding to his unpleasant memories, "Although he never said anything about having a sister."

"We're not that close. And I'm not very fond of him," you confessed bluntly.

"Neither am I," Hector agreed with a scowl, "He claims his position using the knowledge derived from history books but never tries to think beyond the norm. That ignorant mindset of his will surely be his downfall one day."

"Ignorance can lead to anyone's downfall. If they turn a blind eye to the truth, so much can be taken from them," you paused shortly from rambling too much, "That's what I read in books at least."

"As expected of your lineage," he sighs whimsically, "Such avid readers."

"Well my family prefers documents and research. I've gone through them too but I will always love reading fiction."

"Ha! Seems you really are trying to be different from the rest of your family."

Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, you had already forgotten about the cold breeze despite your dress being less than ideal for the outdoors. The man, although he can be a little to blathering at times, was more than what seemed to be on the surface. At first you thought of him as someone here to take advantage of your relations to your father but he seemed so sincere when listening to your stories, so eager while expressing his thoughts and even made you laugh a couple of times. You didn't realize that the clock had already struck twelve as the guests were preparing to leave but you just weren't ready to do the same.

"Until next time (Y/n)," he takes your fingers and pressed a kiss on top of them, though you were more struck by how he addressed you without honorifics, "I look forward to speaking with you again."

A warm smile graces your lips as you cursty, "Likewise Hector. Thank you for listening to me. I know I must have taken a long time."

Hector sneered but you already learned that it was simply his way of expressing amusement, "Hardly. I was thoroughly entertained."

When your parents found out about your meeting with him, they made it clear that you would never see him again. Hector Dufour-Lapointé is what he calls himself but the real name behind this man was Hector Valliere who came from a village hidden in the west of Fontaine. Rumours said that he was chased out of his hometown by an angry mob, claiming him to be a madman conducting unethical experiments on humans. Shortly after his arrival in Sumeru, he abandoned his past identity and replaced it with a new one in order to enter the academy under legal supervision. Associating with a man of a suspicious reputation would only cause harm to your family's name. Though you could barely care much about their reputation. There was nothing for you to benefit from it.

Few weeks have passed and you evetually gave up on the thought of hearing from Hector. They were only fleeting moments, nothing more. Your routine would stay the same as you kept on plucking more books off the shelves, killing whatever time you had. However the activities you used to enjoy somehow lost it's flair and there would be a slight pain in your chest whenever you turn to a page with the princess as she is surrounded by her friends. What exactly changed? Your family still treated you the same. Did you suddenly grow bored from doing the same thing everyday? Why is it that you feel much more lonelier despite being alone for so long? It was hard to tell in a singular perspective. If only there was someone here to give you some insights on things you couldn't see…

A silver bird lands by your front window and you nearly fell out of your chair as it flapped their wings violently. A machine?! They dropped what seems to be an envelope within the thick bushes before taking off and buzzing into the evening sky. You switched off the lock and lifted the glass within a single movement, snatching the piece of paper so that the wind wouldn't blow it away. Hastily you opened it. Both curious and cautious of why would anyone send you mail in such a discreet approach.

Chère Mademoiselle (Y/n),

I can only imagine the shock of your expression once reading this letter. I'm only writing to you since I assume that your father had already told you those nasty rumours about my past. No matter. I trust that you have a good head on your shoulders to not prejudge people using such miniscule details. I wish to speak with you again. Unless you have other plans staying in that stuffy room of yours, meet me behind the clock tower at 11:00 p.m. Don't be late.

Bien à vous,

H.

"It really is him!" The happiness spreads all across your features as you clutched the letter to your chest. For some reason, your heart wouldn't stop racing. It was a simple yet thoughful action on his part but despite how short his greeting was, every word held the weight of a thousand sparks, "I…I can't stop smiling."

And without hesitation, you prepared to leave. No one noticed your absence.

-------

It was only halfway where you realized that Hector didn't give many details redgarding why he planned this sudden event. You caught sight of him standing under the roofs with his hands hidden behind his back. He had on his signature lopsided grin, brows uneven as he glanced at you casually.

"How very punctual, were you so eager that you couldn't wait?" He teases.

"I was surprised when your bird knocked upon my window," you inform, "Is it something urgent?"

"Not at all. I merely wanted to catch up with old times," Hector tilts forward to emphasize his suggestion, "Care to indulge me for a bit?"

You crossed your arms, "Then what is it that you're hiding behind your back?"

"Hmm?" He hums, "You mean this?"

"Ah!"

Roses. A bouquet of bright red flowers were presented to you, nicely wrapped in fabric. In the language of Fontaine, recieving them could mean multiple of things and you couldn't help but feel hesitant despite his thoughtful gesture, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Is it so wrong for me to be a gentleman? I thought it would be best to prepare you a gift after you put all that effort to come out in such a late hour," Hector mused to himself, "Especially when you had to make sure no prying eyes would catch us."

You let out a small laugh before accepting the bouquet, "I wouldn't go as far to say that."

"Oh?" Although it was hard to see, Hector managed to catch a glimpse of your flushed cheeks hidden behind the flowers. A darken smirk climbs onto his face at the inviting thought of what it could mean, "Tell me more."

The whole night you both spent walking around the empty plaza with only the stars as your guide. They paved a silver path reflected in the horizon above, free flowing like one of the many watercolour paintings hung in your chambers, uncertain where they may lead but you followed them regardless. If it weren't for Hector's inivtation you might have never known about the parts of your city due to the restricted lifestyle you lived. He listened to every one of them. The stories you had to tell when there was no one for you to talk to and the complaints about your brother whenever he wanted to snitch on your actions just to get the praise out of your father. You expressed your frustrations when speaking about your incompetences, joy after reading a good fairytale book written by your favourite author, there was so much to say that you were worried if Hector soon grew tired from them.

"Go on. I'm listening."

And your heart flutters again. Suddenly everything felt so light with each step you took, it was as if you walked across the stars in the sky rather than the heavy pavement of the ground you called your home. But even if happiness was a bliss, it tormented you. Because companionship made you realize how poor your were all along. That you had everything yet you had nothing, slowly withering away like the roses you held in your hand. Convinced that your existence was worth nothing more than nothing itself. Doomed to be dismissed and forgotten. Rotting away...Hector stays by your side as you cried softly into the night.

From a distance the bell rings and echoes just like the time before during Fontaine's grand ball. Hector shows you a secret route so that no one could find you.

"Will you write to me again?"

The request was so innocent, purely from genuine intentions and devoided of anything he had in mind. Hector would always laugh in these situations when things have gone unexpectedly yet pleasingly his way but held back knowing that it would be foolish to waste such a priceless opportunity. And so he gave you his smile, one full of secrets where you had mistakened it as a promise, "Of course my dear."

Every night you could no longer fall asleep since he had occupied your thoughts completely. Sometimes you'd dream of him and their tales would unfold similarly to the ones you have read. It gone to the point where the maids would have to wake you up during late afternoons due to the dramatic change in your sleep schedule. Though, you didn't care what they did to you. As long as no one found out about your secret rendezvous.

You never thought that there'd be a day where you would voluntarily give up reading your beloved fairytales. They were now replaced by a stash of his letters that have been accumulated over the past few months. You read them each day, pacing back and forth within the walls of your room, whispering his sentences as if he were the one saying them to you. He made you feel special. You were addicted to this feeling. Eventually you managed to memorize his words by heart. 

The pages of your diary were filled with notes. Like your very own  fairytale carved into reality. From the rose petal, now dried, to the hairpin he snatched from a distracted merchant and a single strand of his hair you found within your cloak after a warm embrace, all of these items, a remnant of the man you loved were taped up in these pages. Sometimes you could even feel his prescence because it was all you needed. It didn't matter if Clement threw insults about how worthless your existence was, your parents could lock you in this prison if they wanted to but they shall never take away Hector from you. Never. You swear it. He was your whole world and the prince who saved you from a life made of aching emptiness. You would do anything to keep him by your side. Anything to gain his affection.

Anything.

"I had a feeling that you were the culprit dear sister."

Your arms stutters as they clutched tightly on the scrolls you took off from the shelves. The light crept into the room like arms reaching out to clutch around your ankles, warning you for trespassing. You turned around dreadfully to see Clement pressing his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms folded and a wicked expression aimed at your pitiful state.

"Why…Why are you still awake?" You say in disbelief, "I thought everyone was asleep."

"Please. Not only are you shameless but hypocritical as well. You truly are a dissapointment to our family."

"Wait," taking a step forward, you stopped him before he makes his exit, "I'll put them back. Just don't tell father about this."

But like your parents, your brother was unkind. Clement doubles over and hugs his torso, cackling through his teeth, "Is that how it is?" He swipes his arm up and you see a parchment paper held between his fingers. 

"No!"

"Ma chérie (Y/n). I must say all this tenacious effort of sneaking in my letters to your window is becoming more and more tiresome. But of course, you are an exception. I want the scrolls you've mentioned the other day at my lair tomorrow evening. Make sure no one discovers this. I'm counting on you. Cordialement! Hector."

"No…" you whispered, feeling the weight of the world fall upon your shoulders as it shattered apart. Hector. If possible, you hoped that the pieces could just crush you right then and there. Your knees felt weak and a fright takes over but despite your turmoil, Clement didn't show a shred of sympathy.

"So this is why you've been acting odd lately. Pathetic," he flaps the paper tauntingly in his grasp, "I can't decide if I should be impressed or baffled by your actions. A secret romance with a criminal and the bloodline of Fontaine's most respected government associates? Even though you've hit rock bottom, you still decided to dig deeper."

"Clement you don't understand!"  Stumbling upon your footsteps, you desperately tried to convey your predicament even if it meant feeding his ego, "Hector is not the man you think. He was shunned by the people of his hometown, treating him as if he were nothing. They…They ignored him! All this time he needed someone to recognize his brilliance, someone to understand." Shakily, you brought your tensed arms to your chest and screamed a silent whisper, "Someone to listen but no one did. He must have felt so alone…"

Clement flinches when you suddenly clutched onto his biceps. When he looked into your eyes, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Hector is counting on me. I'm the only one who can save him. No one else. He needs me Clement, he needs me!" 

"Tch."

An ear-splitting scream of his hand against your face echoes across the room. It knocked you out of your stance and you bumped into the table, grunting while the scrolls to tumbled to the floor.

"Crazy woman, I'm embarassed to be related to you!"

While you were still trying to regain your balance, your brother had already ran off. It wouldn't be long before he alerted your parents, the clock ticking away like sand until the final hour leaves you with nothing but an empty glass. 

"No," despair swallows the strength away from your legs and you crawled towards where he used to stand, "Don't take him away from me…I need him…"

I can't live without him.

I can't live without him.

I can't live without him.

Tears begin to form by the corners of your eyes as you clenched your teeth. This was no time to cry. Balling your fists, you sprinted out of the room, pushing whatever stood in your way as if you were running for your life. 

And if you considered everything else, it wasn't that far from the truth.

-------

"Hector! Hector are you there?" After arriving upon his house, you began knocking on his door aggressively. The lock clicks and you were greeted by an evidently annoyed man gnawing his teeth together.

"Tsk. There better be a good reason-"

"They're coming for us! We have to go. Now. Before it's too late. My father is probably already waking and making arrangements for you to-"

"Enough, I can't even catch what you're saying," He pinches the bridge of his nose while you were still stuck in a frenzy state. He takes a step back and opens the door wider, gesturing for you to come inside, "Get in already. I have a feeling that this will be a long night."

Hector observes intently at the words you tell him.

Not out of concern but akin to the way he watches the insects react when he exposes them to a different environment.

He was a scientist after all. A madman in which you deliberately fell in love with, so much to the point that he was able to feel pity for once. How you trusted him wholeheartedly with all of your vulnerabilities, emotions and secrets like handing him your parts just so he could put you back together again. Tinkering was always one of his favourite hobbies and he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the thought of you being completely wrapped around his finger. 

Perhaps that was the reason why he loved you. Because he didn't love you. He loved you in parts.

"It was only a matter of time," Hector sighs. He sneaks his grasp into yours, knowing how much it affects you and puts on an invisible mask of deciet, "I already knew this day would happen long before anyone could have predicted it."

"You did?" With worried eyes you gazed at him, "What shall we do then?"

Knowing he hit the target, his lips begin to curl up towards his ears, showing his sharp white teeth that shone against the dim-litted room. Hector asks, "Do you love me?"

A silly question. You didn't hesitate to answer, "Of course I do. I've said it many times."

"Prove it to me," Forcing his forehead against yours, Hector commands in a dangerously low tone, "Kill your brother and only then you can truly be mine."

Your brain sutters, trying to absorb what he had just said. Kill? As in to take a life? It sounded wrong. But...was it wrong if the life belonged to someone who ruined yours?

Dumbfoundedly, you glanced into the bloody orbs of your lover, his black pupils thinning into knives while burning in the hellfire of his true colours. Hector runs a hand from the scalp of your hair, down to your cheek before gingerly sliding his fingers at your jawline. He pulled you close and whispered into your ear.

"Are you scared?"

Ah, this wasn't about your feelings. This was about him and your future and there could be no future you without him by your side.

You let your eyelids drop and leaned into his touch, "I could never be scared of you Hector. Whether it is within my power or not, I will make sure no one gets in our way. I swear it."

"Good," he continues to have you feed on his affection, "I knew I could count on you."

-----------

The news of your brother's death filled every headline Fontain had to offer. He was driven off a cliff while making a trip towards Sumeru. No one survived. The remains were so crushed to the point that authorities had trouble identifying their bodies. The only explanation they could come up with by observing the leftover tracks was that the horse must have gone out of control and ended up dragging the carriage along with it.

Ha. Serves him right.

Food poisoning. The vial Hector made was very effective. You made sure to bury it away from your mansion.

With no other choice, you became your family's next heir. Hector notifies you that he would be away for several months to solidify a unique connection with a man hailing from Snezhnaya. You didn't think he would arrive at your doorsteps with so much authority. Fatui soldiers followed from behind as the staff paved a way for them to enter. Your father was clearly displeased by his outrageous approach but he knew he was in no place to deny.

"Upon the agreement between Fontaine and Snezhnaya, Lady (Y/n) will become Harbinger Il Dottore's wife," the Duke announces, "This news will be publicly announced at the end of October."

Dottore? Is that what he calls himself?

As if claiming his victory, Dottore shoots your father a devilish smile. You could feel the dining table shake when he kept pressing his fist against the smooth surface, begrudingly congratulating you both for the new engagement. Your mother bursted into tears.

Was it worth it?

You watched both of your parents mourn silently in their own manner. Perfectly knowing that you were the main cause. But you weren't able to feel any sadness because in the end, you now had everything you've ever wanted. 

The inheritance.

Their attention.

But most of all, him.

And when you were convinced that this was your happily ever after, that fairytales were not just beautiful lies for the sake of comfort, you didn't realize  you were already living a life made of beautiful lies conjured by your own mind for the sake of your own comfort. 

"You're nothing without me."

Dried and calloused hands squeezed around your throat as you flailed your legs against the soft fabric of the carpet floor. He encases you in a straddling position, enjoying the sight of your tortured and clenched face. Hector…no, Dottore hated it when you disobeyed him. He despised it when his creations don't work the way he wanted them to and he had no use for things that are broken.

"G-hka--k..-"

"How many times do I have to remind you to not use my birthname. Do those ears of you even function properly? Or must I fix them myself?"

You gasped for air when he relaxed his grip. Vision a blur, you coughed a few times before he pulls your arm so that you lay flushed against his chest.

"Don't forget who saved you dear (Y/n). Because of me you were able to escape that miserable life you've despised for years. I expect the utmost gratitude on your part at all times, it is only fair that I punish you for not meeting my requirements, don't you agree?" Dottore lifts his hand up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your head to stare at your eyes, "After all, there is no one else in this world who can put up with you…but me."

His words were poison in which you drank like a woman starved. It made you feel numb to the pain the more you drowned in their alluring scent, the taste was sweet, a remedy for the bitterness of reality where the man of your dreams was nothing but a cruel monster. You came to believe that the reason why he treated you so harshly was because he was scared of losing you. You were caught in the trap of what seemed to be love and devotion when truly, you were just a toy to be used at a means end. He breaks you and he puts you back together, over and over again, filling in between the cracks formed in your glass heart with the phrases you loved to hear. Just like how he filled the other holes of your life where no one else did. You called it kindness. He saw it as entertainment.

Most people pay attention to the flower's beauty but they never acknowledge the thorns hidden beneath it's blossom.  That is why they bleed. They get hurt. Though, you didn't mind shedding blood if it was for his sake.

Because you would do anything for him.

You would do anything to bring back the memories of Hector Dufour-Lapointé and save him from the Harbinger that ruined his life. Your life. It wasn't his fault. You knew you could change him to what he was before because you were in love with him, that he might still in there. Somewhere.

Right?

…

Please come back.

Time continues to flow like the tears of your dying heart despite yearning for it to turn at the past. Dottore already left the room a long time ago but you didn't. Raising your head away from your hands, you peered at the door in front of you, begging desperately through a chanting record of despondence. 

Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back.

Images, they slipped through your fingers, slowly becoming more distant until your mind began to see them as illusions. Dreams. Things that were not real. Telling you that your life was a lie. 

"Come back to me…Hector."

Because the man you loved was withering in your memories and you couldn't do anything to save him.

A dry croak robbed you of your breath as you turned to look in the mirror.

Worthless. You were always worthless, it was what your parents told you since birth. It was what you became when he wasn't at your side because without him, your existence was worthless. You lied for him, you stole for him you, took a life for him. You destroyed yourself for him to point that it was hard to believe you were even looking at yourself.

Worthless. It's who I am.

And despite it all, you couldn't obtain his love.

(Crack).

Worthless things don’t deserved to be loved.

(Crack. Crack).

But what if it’s because I’m worthless, that he won’t love me back?

(Crack).

Your eyes jolted open, causing you to gasp sharply. When the sweet lies dispersed in your head and cleansed you of deceit, everything started to make sene. You came to realize why your wish was impossible all along.

Dottore...no, Hector, the reason wasn't because he didn't return your feelings. Neither was it due to the fact that he hurt you through his actions. Nor when he made you cry or scream for help before feeding you with more lies, thinking he would never hurt you again. It was none of those things.

It was because the man you loved this whole time was someone who could love no one but himself.

"Ha...haha," sucking in your breath, a sinister laugh escapes your mouth, "Hahahahahahaha.....!"

Everything was worthless.

You grabbed a nearby hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, watching yourself shatter into a million pieces.

There was only one thing left to do. 

------

"Ugh, where is it?!"

It was late into the night where every staff had gone to sleep. The Harbinger fumbles with his keys while standing at the door of his basement as he was too busy proceeding with his research rather than considering the thought of rest. Usually he acted upon them on his own will, performing various experiments for enjoyment. However, ever since the Snezhnayan court had requested him to look into the ancient arts of alchemy, Dottore was forced to carry it out before the deadline approached. Otherwise his position as Harbinger would be revoked.

"What a bunch of self-centered blockheads. Can't they understand that it take quality time to get quality results?"

Most of his important documents were stored on the otherside. Half of it came from his father-in-law's library. He had you to thank for that.

"Ah finally," he mutters, though still dissatisfied, "I should have a word with my butler for misplacing them."

Dottore shoves the key into the lock but instead of twisting the knob he noticed something strange. It was old and had yet to be fixed but somehow he didn't have any trouble adjusting his wrist. Then he saw there were a set of freshly made fingerprints upon the smooth metallic surface. However, the only person awake at this time would be him-

An intruder!

Dottore drops everything to the ground and yanks the door open. He skittered down the stone stairs while cursing under his breath. Using the delusion gifted by the Tsaritsa, the Harbinger activated his lazer-like pillars as he took advantage of their glow to light up the unlit room.

"What in the abyss...?!"

Except it wasn't dark.

"All of these scrolls, I recognize them," without sparing a single glance, you spoke nostalgically towards the bookshelves, "It brings me so much memories..."

Dottore clenches his teeth together as his eyes shone an angry red, you were holding a torch dangerously close to his hard-earned collection, "What do you think you're doing?!" He fumed, "Put that out, AT ONCE! Don't make me repeat myself!

"They're precious to you aren't they?" You finally shifted to face him, "More than me."

"What has gotten into you?" He was about to hurl at you until he saw your torch lowering, causing him to retreat. You were strangely noncholant and he couldn't help the feeling of disturbance. Accepting that he didn't have the upperhand, Dottore decided to use a different approach, "(Y/n)."

The sound of your name falls from his lips. You faltered.

"I'm sorry for what I have done. I know I was dishonourable to you, as your husband and lover, and that you didn't deserve to see me so aggressive. You have every right to express your anger, my dear. I was in the wrong."

It was only a mask. You knew it well. But seeing him with softened eyes and a tone so comforting, made you desperately wanting to run into his arms so he could wipe away your sorrows just like once upon a time. To live happily ever after.

Hector.

Dottore runs his fingers through his hairstrands in frustration and sighs, "However the Tsarista needed me to do something very important and I can't seem to fulfill her request no matter how hard I try. It angers me. If I don't finish this, there would be no place for us to stay."

"Hector..." you sniffled quietly. He looks so much like him right now.

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you?" He consoles, yet his weapons still remain, "I only intended to make you happy and there's nothing I won't do to achieve that. How about I show-"

"Enough."

Dottore froze upon your sudden command. He didn't sense a hint of subjugation and it seemed that you had perfect control of your emotions. How very inquisitive. Did you grow immune to the style of his voice? In such a short period of time? The facade he had on was now replaced with a growling animal-like expression. You looked at him dissapointedly. His Harbinger self returned. Hector was no more.

"Ha, you're the same as always. Even before the time you became a Harbinger. The same man that I fell in love with but it is me who will never be the same again," For a moment you averted your gaze as if trying hard to swallow your own words, "Remember when we first met at the balcony? That I told you my favourite books to read are fiction? I knew they weren't real but deep down, I wanted to believe in them anyways. And you know what? They did come true, to some degree..."

As the memories come flashing back, he defenselessly watches your expression contort from sadness to a calm contemplation and finally, enraged disgust, "But you only ever brought me pain and I'm sick of it!"

Swaying the torch to the side, Dottore flinches forward but he didn't dare to come close when your current state was unpredictable to him, "I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME," you wail, I just wanted to be loved, bringing a clawed hand against your forehead and trembling upon contact, "It's all that I ask for..."

Dottore narrowed his brows. Perhaps he may have gotten too far.

"But I know it's impossible. The world is a cruel place and there's no point in trying anymore. That is why I'm going to set us free."

"...What do you mean?"

You shut your eyes closed and tossed the flaming torch to the ground. A horrified expression takes over his features. It didn't take long for the fire to begin spreading amongst the room.

"NO!" Dottore yelled powerfully, he frantically darts his gaze at all directions as they continued to flicker and blend into his precious documents. You stood still and watched him grab the ones that were intact, savouring the most he could but they slip out of his arms every time he moved. Dottore glances behind him to see a rising cage of hellfire. Then he turns to you.

" 'Til death do us part!" you laughed maniacally.

The madman looked back with angry dismay, "You're out of your mind!"

Abandoning whatever he held in his hand, Dottore spins around towards the staircase. He covers his face with his sleeve and did whatever he could to prevent the fire from touching him. However, he accidentally stumbled on his footsteps and something fell off the heights, knocking him in the face. He grunts painfully.

"That will leave a scar," you smile while he clutches at his injury, "I can break you too.”

Just like how you broke me.

Knowing that you've managed to leave a mark of your existence on him in someway, you peacefully watched your lover wobble between the hell you created. But the hell you knew was not made of scorching heat and thundering flames. Hell was empty. Hell was a void. This feeling was far too gentle to be considered hell. If he can't return your love, then at least let these caging arms bask you in the warmth you’ve always desired.

Lifting your head, you looked towards the ceiling and closed your eyes.

Ah, this cannot be death.

#genshin impact #genshin impact dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin dottore #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #fatui #genshin headcanons #tragedy #angst #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #genshin impact dottore x reader #genshin dottore x reader #nya-writes

[bunnyhoney111]

hi darling!! i'd love to support you! i bet your writing is wonderful!! maybe do a jj x chubby reader smut? where they're at a party and y/n gets hit on and jj gets jealous? anyways, i'll be here to cheer you on!!

Jealous

pairing- jj maybank x plus size! reader

warnings- smut, edging, orgasm denial, choking, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving)

word count- 1.8k

when you're chubbier, most people assume you don't get hit on- and that is far from the truth. usually it was little comments about your ass or your tits, and other times it was getting catcalled on your way home from work, being followed home after a shift and feeling backed into a corner.

tonight though it was just innocent flirting, telling you how cute you are and let's be honest you were tired of being called “cute,” because you're hot and you wanted to be told that. so while this random touron rambled on about how pretty you are and rubbing the back of his neck nervously you just stared at him with blank smiles, clearly uninterested.

at least that's what you thought. you'd thought the huffs and sighs between every sentence he spoke and only nodding as a response to him were clear signals that you were wholeheartedly uninterested in the boy in front of you.

however, jj was sat staring with hardened posture and icy eyes in your direction. envy bubbling in his chest and a sneer on his face. before you could process what was happening, jj was making his way over to where you were standing near the keg of beer.

“can’t you tell she's not interested buddy,” he placed his hand onto the boys shoulder, turning his body to face him. “we were talking, bro.” the boy said, rolling his eyes. jj looked over to your bored face with a smirk as you ruffled your hand through your hair. “jj, its fine.” you huffed out walking closer and removing jj’s hand from the boys shoulder.

“look how bored she is, clearly you're not that busy.” he nodded his head toward you, taking in the way your clothes hugged your curves and he could feel himself getting hornier by the second. “man just give it a rest, she has somewhere she needs to be.” jj grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the chateau, not without sending a sneer towards the boy and spitting at his feet.

“sorry b-brian?” “blake.” he called back towards you as you walked away. jj couldn't help but laugh but he was pissed, clearly. his grip around your wrist tightened and he pulled you closer to him once you reached the porch.

spinning you to face him and pressing you against the side of the house, he greedily looked you over. “why'd you defend him y/n.” you rolled your eyes at his possessiveness, pushing at his chest to make him back away like you were unbothered but you couldn't help rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the ache in between your legs, god it was hot seeing him jealous.

jj's eyes burned holes through your pupils and when he reached his hand to lightly squeeze at your throat, your mouth fell open with a quiet moan that only he could hear. his rings pressed into your pulse and you felt the slick between your legs begin to coat your panties.

he let out a dry chuckle, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours. “i don't want to see your ‘harmless flirting’ again.” he pressed himself against you and you could feel his hardened member press into your thigh, mere inches away from where you wanted him.

pressing his lips to yours harshly, his tongue softly brushing yours, he pulled away, lightly tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. you whined at the loss of contact and rolled your hips out to meet his clothed dick and he just hissed, squeezing your throat harder, mindful not to hurt you.

“not out here baby, c’mon. i don't want anyone seeing what's mine. especially not blake.” he flipped you back around and slapped your ass as you walked through the doorway to john b’s house. he all but pushed you toward the guest room that he claimed as his own.

as soon as the door was closed he had you pressed against the door and in a domineering tone he was teasing you, “you like making me jealous, doll? you see what you do to me?” he grabbed you hand and pressed it to his dick through his shorts, “fuck.” he groaned at the feeling and leaned his head into your neck, biting and licking at the skin.

his hands found the hem of your shirt as you continued rubbing him through his jeans. he pulled your shirt up, lifting your hands above your head and like clockwork his hands went to your tits, squeezing lightly but clearly unhappy at the bra that blocked his hands from feeling your perfect breasts.

“doll, that feels so good, but if you keep going i might come in my pants.” he said pulling your hand away from him. he slipped his hands around your back, expertly undoing your bra and letting it fall to the ground. his face scrunched up and he let out a pitchy whine at the sight of your exposed chest, immediately going to work.

sucking and nipping at the raised buds before moving back to your neck and shoulder, palming the other softly, he had his other hand on your lower back pulling you close to him. your body was arched off the door, your head leaning against it and your eyes closed. the heat between your legs almost becoming painful, you were so desperate for his touch.

you pulled his hand off your breast and guided it to where you needed him most, almost bucking your hips into his hand when it enclosed over your clothed heat. “fuck, sorry baby. i can't believe i've been neglecting the spot you need me,” he rubbed his hand against you through your clothes making you let out a small moan at the touch.

“please jj, please touch me.” you practically begged, panting heavily as his lips reconnected to the tops of your breasts, sucking small hickies onto your flushed skin. he undoes your shorts and pushes them down your legs, you stepped out of them immediately.

his hand fingered the waist band of your underwear, his lips puling away to press to your lips as he swiped his fingers through the slick, rubbing at your clit making your knees almost buckle. “fuck, who are you this wet for, huh?” he slid a finger into you, curling slowly making you cry out. “you! you, you jj, oh god.” your eyes were clenched tight, head falling into his chest.

he pulled his hand away, grasping your chin, your juices spreading across your cheeks as he pulled your face to look at him. the loss of contact made your stomach tighten, and you whined loudly. “you sure it wasn't blake who made you this hot and bothered.” he sneered at you and you knew this would be a long night.

“no jj, please. i need you, you- you made me feel like this.” you desperately attempted to reason with him. he just shook his head and led you to the bed, pushing you down onto the mattress. his hands slid up your thighs and pulled your underwear down slowly.

he leaned his face down near your heat, spreading your thighs and you could feel his breath fanning against your wetness. “oh please jj, i’m sorry ok? please just touch me.” your fingers interlocked in his hair, attempting to push his head down but he grasped your wrist, kissing your pulse point.

“patience is a virtue, my love.” he said biting down on your inner thigh lightly. he finally line's himself back up with your aching heat and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing slow circles, and he lickes a stripe through your folds, your wetness coating his chin and lips.

“god jj, that's- oh god, ‘tso good.” you pant out, breathy moans leaving your lips at the feeling of his tongue. he removes his thumb from you, licking and sucking at your clit and pressing two fingers at your entrance, sliding them in with ease.

you let out a pornographic moan, probably alerting people outside. “fucking christ! jj, please don't stop.” he continues curling his fingers at a steady pace and licking and sucking at you.

you could feel yourself getting close and he could tell as your thighs began closing around his head and your legs began to shake. he quickly pulls away, wiping his mouth, and you cry out at the empty feeling. “no!” you cried out, throwing your head back against the sheets. your thighs pressed together for friction but he pulled them apart.

he unbuckled his belt and then unbuttoned his shorts letting them drop so he was now only in his boxers, and pulled his shirt over his head. he pulled his dick out of his boxers and stroked it a few times before rubbing it through your folds. you gasped quietly, opening your eyes to look at him and propping yourself up on your elbows. he pressed himself into you, letting out a loud, deep groan at the feeling.

he let you adjust to the feeling of him before swiftly pulling out and slamming back in, his hands gripped at your hips, his head thrown back and beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, and his abs glistened under the yellow light of the side-table lamp.

the way he looked in that moment was more beautiful than any other time you'd seen him. he was panting hard, grunting and moaning with no control, and slipping himself in and out of you at a fast pace making the knot in your stomach build.

“fuck y/n, i’m- i’m so close.” he said through strangled breaths, your chest was heaving. feeling yourself get closer to the edge you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, tightening around him.

he caressed your hips and waist as he worked you both closer to your highs, one hand reaching to squeeze around your throat once more. this was your boiling point, sending you over the edge with a cry and you fell back onto the bed, letting him work himself over the edge and ride you through coming.

he pulled out of you and stroked himself a few more times before cum shot out onto his lower abdomen. he swiped two fingers through the mess and brought it to your lips and you sucked them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and swallowing when he pulled them away. he wiped himself clean with his discarded shirt.

“you're so pretty when you cum,” he said, sweetly rubbing your thigh with his thumb. he laid down next to you and immediately brought you into his arms. your head laid on his chest as his fingers ran along your thighs, hips, and curves, soaking in every inch of you.

he pulled the covers over you both and finally drifted to sleep, wondering what this meant for your relationship.

#jj maybank x plus size reader #jj maybank #outer banks #outer banks jj #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #obx #obx jj #obx x reader

[football-writing]

Trent Alexander Arnold - you deserve the world and more

Warnings: some sexual innuendos, teasing, overall birthday fluffiness

a/n: so i got a request for Trent but i don't actually know him that well? anyway watched some videos, thought his accent was cute and i don't mind the request either way so... here we are :p sorry it took a bit longer, i was quite busy with school unfortunately :(

"HAP-"

"Don't even start Trent, I will break up with you." You sat up against the headboard of your bed, a pointed finger raised toward his figure as he entered your bedroom, although it did nothing to add any significance to the empty threat.

He pouted as you interrupted his attempt at singing happy birthday to you. Granted it was early in the morning and his terrible singing was probably not the best thing to wake up to, he still figured you'd deserve some love on your birthday. Besides, he loved when you'd get all embarrassed at his antics, especially if your cheeks flushed and that shy smile played on your lips. He simply thought you were adorable.

"Please? I made a crazy remix just for you." He pleaded with you, but your glare - albeit playful - told him not to push it.

"Alright well, you'll hear it next year then." He joked as he sat down on the edge of the bed, propping himself up on his elbows before nodding his head at you. "Get dressed, baby, we got a lot to do today."

"Do we, now?" Your tone was teasing, but really you were curious as to what he had planned. It was Trent after all - the boy always planned everything to perfection.

"Didn't think I didn't have anything planned for your birthday, did you?" He raised his eyebrows at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

You only hummed amusedly in response as you got out of bed. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to sit and wait on your bed while you got ready; he'd been round yours countless of times and knew his way around, being perfectly capable of entertaining himself while you showered and did your hair and make up. It was no surprise that when you were done and walked back into your room, he was sprawled out on your bed, watching summaries of last night's football matches.

Still, his eyes were on you as soon as you walked in in only your underwear. "Dang girl, I thought it was your birthday but this sure is a present for me." He flirted as his eyes wandered over your body. The comment earned him a roll of your eyes as you continued your way to your wardrobe, but the blush that adorned your cheeks gave away the impact that it had on you. Surely, you'd have to be used to it by now, but all his flirty remarks and admiring gazes still made butterfly erupt in your stomach.

"It's nothing too fancy, just wear something you're comfortable in." He said as he noticed you weighing your clothing options.

"How comfortable are we talking here?" You pondered out loud as you ran your hand across some shirts, trying to pick one.

"Well, not sweatpants-comfortable."

You let out a laugh at that. He knew you all too well, and if you could, you'd spend the whole day in your sweats. Instead, you opted for a white turtleneck with a black slip-on dress. It was comfortable yet cute, and matched perfectly with your doc martens. It was coincidentally also one of Trent's favourite outfits of yours.

"Dang! You tryna impress me here?" Trent hollered as soon as he saw the outfit you'd put on, immediately shutting off the tv and walking up to you.

"Depends. Is it working?" You asked as you teasingly smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Perhaps." He fiddled with the straps of your dress, twisting them beneath his fingers as he avoided making eye contact with you. The blush on his cheeks betrayed him though; you had as much of an effect on him as he did on you, even after dating for so long.

it was evident too, when you drove to wherever he was taking you, his hand firmly on your thigh the whole time.

"Alright, we're here. I know what you're thinking: 'Trent, we're at the park', but it's gonna be fun, I promise." He said as soon as he parked the car.

You only held your hands up in defense as both of you got out, Trent walking over to your side immediately. The piece of cloth in his hands made you look warily at him, which he took quick notice of.

"I just wanna keep this a surprise, okay? I need to get some things from the trunk and I don't want you to see just yet. Please can I put the blindfold on?"

And if it wasn't for his stupid puppy eyes and perfect smile you would've said no. But alas, here we are, as you reluctantly let him blindfold you. You could only peak down and see the toes of your shoes, but the rest was total darkness as you relied on your sense of hearing to know that Trent was rummaging in the back of his car. Then, your sense of touch took over as Trent's hand appeared in yours, guiding you for a small walk before telling you to wait on the spot as you once again heard him rummaging around.

"You know, in any other situation this blindfold might've been fun, but I'd really like to take it off now." You hummed. Patience was never one of your virtues. And although you couldn't see Trent, the sound of his choked out breath at your innuendo made you bite back a cheeky smile.

"It's done, you can take it off."

And you did. Your eyes needed some time to adjust to the bright sun, but once they did, a gasp fell from your mouth. He stood before you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, a picnic blanket spread out on the grass with various items laid on it. A quick glance made you realise how much thought he put into this: there were chocolate covered strawberries, grapes, some of your favourite snacks and a bottle of wine to share. He even brought a speaker so you could listen to music. The scene in front of you looked like it came straight out of a movie.

"Trent, this- this is just- I mean, wow." You stuttered out.

"Let's just enjoy ourselves, yeah? You wanna start with the strawberries?" He asked with a proud smile on his face, before gently kissing your cheek as you were still completely awestruck.

And so the rest of the day was spent sitting at that little spot in the park. You'd fed each other strawberries, giggling as Trent got chocolate on his chin, eating all your favourite snacks and reminiscing on the past year. The whole time he's just sitting there, admiring you and everything you've achieved this year, telling you time and time again how proud he is of you. It's a day well spent, and as the cold evening breeze picks up, you're moving closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. His hand comes down on your thigh, then, just beneath the hem of your dress. He'd momentarily slip his pinky finger an inch or so underneath it, rubbing gentle circles on the now exposed skin.

"This has been amazing, Trent. Really, I appreciate it so much. just goes to show I picked the right guy, don't it?" You're giggling as you look up at him, but the confession is as genuine as it gets.

"You deserve it, baby." He whispers as he looks down into your eyes. And it's true. The whole world knows how much you deserve it. All you can do is smile brightly.

"God, I love you so much." You confess in a rushed whisper.

He doesn't even have time to respond that he loves you more before your lips are already on his, kissing him passionately to emphasise the truth in your previous statement. He kisses back with just as much intensity, his hands holding your face as he smiles in the kiss. It doesn't take long before his tongue slips in your mouth, slowly and teasingly, and you can only press yourself further into him as a response to his actions.

As much as he wants to continue, give you exactly what you want, he's awfully aware that you're both still in public. He also has another surprise for you. So he reluctantly breaks the kiss, much to your dismay.

"I- uhh. I actually have something else for you." He admits as he starts going through the basket, taking out a small box.

"Trent, really, this is too much."

"Open it baby." He says as he hands you the box. Your hand reaches up to cover your mouth as you gasp loudly, looking up at him in disbelief as soon as you open it and see what's inside.

"No way. Is this-?" You can't even form a proper sentence.

"Your birthstone and mine, yeah. I heard you talk about how much you liked the idea of them, so I thought this would be really cool. And it would look really good on you."

His confession makes you well up slightly as you roam over the necklace. It's delicate and dainty, the two birthstones sitting right beside each other in a beautiful pendant. It's absolutely mesmerising to look at, and it's the perfect gift to top off a perfect day.

"Do you want me to put it on for you?" He's whispering as he kisses your forehead, and he can feel you nod against his lips.

You turn around so he's got access to your neck. It's convenient because he won't notice the tears that silently fall from your eyes. This would go down as your best birthday ever, and it's all because of him. You couldn't have wished for anything more in life than to be by his side, and you're hoping the rest of your future together will have you feeling this pure happiness, forever. You're having to look up at the sky to stop the tears from overflowing even more.

He's careful as he puts the necklace on, brushing your hair aside, fingertips grazing over the warm skin beneath your ear as he does, rubbing your arms once he's done, signalling for you to turn back around. He kisses your shoulder before resting his chin on it as he realises you're not ready to face him yet, quickly trying to wipe away any stray tears as you try and compose yourself.

"It's okay, you don't have to hide from me baby. You deserve the world and more, you know that." He's smiling gently as he whispers from his position behind you, his arms wrapping around you too as he gently sways you from side to side.

"I'm just- this is just so nice. Everything you've done for me." Your voice is strained, and it sounds like you're holding in a sob at his kind words.

"I love you." He's whipsering as his lips find their way to your shoulder, and your neck, and cheek, peppering them in tender kisses to bring your wonderful smile back on your lips. Your head leans to his, indicating that you're okay again, saying the three words back to him once more. He's letting you go then, just so you can turn around and look him in the eyes again. He's grinning, and the mischievous glint in his eyes makes you look at him skeptically.

"Actually, I have another surprise for you."

"Babe I don't think I can take another surprise."

"You're gonna like this one, though." He's full on smirking now, and you call out his name in warning.

"Yeah, it's gonna take all night long." Your mouth falls open in shock at his vulgar comment, groaning out a quiet 'oh my god' as you slap his chest, while he's full on giggling as he falls back on the blanket.

That one comment is all it takes for you to fall back into your usual joking, teasing routine. And it's all you could ever ask for.

He is all you could ever ask for, and so much more, too.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold oneshot #trent alexander arnold fanfic #trent alexander arnold imagine #trent alexander arnold x reader

[delimeful]

my virtues uncounted (6)

warnings: panic attack, fear, arguing

there will probably be an epilogue after this, but we're nearing the end of this story! :)

-

Virgil floated into consciousness with surprisingly little pain, considering the last thing he remembered was bleeding out from a stab wound.

He wasn’t entirely sure how the others’ returned after discorporating-- they weren’t much in the habit of randomly sharing vulnerabilities-- but for him, it was always rushed, his reformation slapdash at best. It was probably part of being Anxiety: he couldn’t stand the idea of being ‘out of it’ for long, not when anything could be happening to Thomas with his influence muted.

So, he would come back to himself with whatever injury that killed him barely knitted back together, and grit his teeth and bear it for the next few weeks while it slowly healed. One of his recurring nightmares was the Light Sides finding out about it, using it to keep him out of commission to ‘help’ Thomas. It seemed… less likely, after meeting them.

Meeting them. Right. He’d done that.

A low thrum of panic in his gut chased the lingering sleepiness from him, and he pushed himself into a sitting position as quickly as he dared, figuring that he might as well test the boundaries of his lack of stab wound pain before he snuck over to check that the core parts of Thomas had all made it through okay. Or before he encountered Remus again.

The first thing he registered was that there wasn’t any pain, none at all.

The second thing was that everything was proportionally huge around him.

The third thing was that these absolutely were not the Dark Side commons.

His heart rate spiked immediately as he whipped his head around, staring at what could only be the Light Side common area. He’d only caught a glimpse of it before, with the whole ‘bleeding out’ thing, and it looked impossibly different from where he stood on the living room table. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the way Thomas was so much closer here than in the Subconscious, like the difference between shallow water and the depths.

He shook himself. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in how much easier core Sides had it. There were bigger things to worry about, literally. He hadn’t discorporated, he was in the Conscious part of the mind, and he was tiny-- through no doing of his own.

Oh. They wanted revenge.

Virgil kicked away the assortment of tiny blankets around him and got to his feet, blood rushing in his ears. He’d been an asshole to them while they were stuck in the Subconscious, so they were returning the favor. Why else would they have healed him and turned him pocket-sized? It was the only explanation that made sense.

The commons were just shy of completely disorienting while empty, so he certainly wasn’t going to stick around for something as overwhelming as a Side to appear. He hurried to the edge of the table, eyeing the drop with no little trepidation. Was he lighter like this, or would he land heavily on the carpet below and break half his bones?

He shouldn’t risk it. No point in doing half the work for his captors.

If he could get a running start to the other end of the table, he might be able to make the jump to the couch, though. From there… maybe pushing a pillow to the ground. Could he even move a pillow at this size?

Another shudder worked its way through him, something small and terrified in the back of his mind shrieking at the way everything around him had changed. Had this been how the others had felt? He shook his head, stepping back from the edge and turning to face the other end of the table. He couldn’t freak out yet. Not until he was safe.

There was a distant phone alarm, the generic sort that Thomas had come to resent after using it for his morning alarm for months on end. Virgil felt a chill of foreboding pass over him, and a heartbeat later, he heard the telltale woosh of one of the core Sides rising up next to the table.

Their shadow fell over Virgil, impossibly large, and he bolted.

There was a voice, but he couldn’t pick out the words past the blood rushing in his ears, his own breathing, and the panicked rush of thoughts that came with picking flight. He focused on the jump ahead instead, the length of table ahead of him growing shorter and shorter until he was nearly to the edge, muscles tensed to leap.

The light around him being blocked out was the only warning he got before his view of the world was suddenly cut off. Half a second later, his momentum was halted by a collision with something soft, warm, and alive. He recoiled as sharply as he could, but there were already what could only be fingers curling around him, his stomach dropping as he was lifted clear off the table’s surface, his center of gravity shifting against his will.

If he hadn’t been panicking before, he certainly was now, his breaths coming shallow and shaky, barely bringing in any air as black spots started to dot his vision.

He was in someone’s hand. They could do anything to him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it, would probably deserve it, but it would hurt and couldn’t they have just let him discorporate--

The low, calm voice that had been rumbling in the background paused for a moment, and then they were moving again, his nausea growing as everything moved too fast around him, like a car someone else was driving but a hundred times worse.

And then, abruptly, there was solid ground under his feet again. The hand opened around him.

Virgil dropped to his hands and knees immediately, pressing his forehead against the table to both quell his dizziness and find something to ground himself. He was hyperaware of the warmth emanating from the hand that still bracketed him on one side, like a shield or a threat.

The Side was still talking, though Virgil still couldn’t quite parse the words. Despite his incoherence, the hand didn’t even twitch, no underlying threat to whatever it was they were saying to him. His breathing settled a bit despite himself. The implied promise that they weren’t going to outright attack him shouldn’t have been so reassuring, but it was.

His head slightly clearer, he slowly pushed himself back up to sit back on his heels, looking up to see who had found him.

It was undoubtedly Logan, though he’d never seen those glasses and tie at such a warped scale before. He could have figured it out earlier, if he’d just been listening; neither Roman nor Patton tended to be so carefully enunciated with their words.

Logan’s words, right. He was counting, which confused Virgil for a moment-- was this an experiment? Something to see how long the local idiot spent caught up in a panic attack when he was supposed to be a survival instinct-- until he caught on to the way Logan’s chest rose and fell along with the numbers. A breathing exercise.

He was kind of surprised, in that pleasant ‘pessimist-proven-wrong’ sort of way, but it figured that the Sides up here would offer even their captive literal time to breathe. He let himself follow along with the pattern for a few more moments before clearing his throat roughly and forcing himself to speak.

“Hey.”

Logan paused, looking down at him. “Hello.”

There was a short, slightly awkward pause, in which Logan seemed to flounder while Virgil refused to apologize for being kidnapped and reduced to doll size, even if he’d just had a completely image-ruining breakdown over it.

“Are you alright?” Logan finally settled on, his gaze piercing as it swept over him as though searching for injuries. “I apologize for not warning you, but I needed to stop you from recklessly endangering yourself. I didn’t intend for my actions to trigger a panic attack.”

“Yeah, who would freak out over some little old thing like being picked up by a giant hand,” Virgil snapped back sharply, his sarcasm coming out a little less biting than usual after such a draining attack. “It’s not like I’m the embodiment of Anxiety or anything.”

“You are Anxiety, though.” Logan shifted, the motion jarring his hand slightly, and Virgil barely managed to contain his flinch. “And as such, I’m surprised that you would entertain the idea of unnecessarily trying to fling yourself off of a considerable height at your size.”

Virgil squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. “Unnecessarily?”

“Clearly? I cannot imagine why your first solution would be to attempt something so risky, though it’s possible I’m missing some vital context,” Logan replied, his face scrunching up slightly in confusion. “Perhaps the others--,” he lifted a hand.

“Wait!” A surge of panic forced Virgil to his feet, but it was too late. The summons registered, and Creativity and Morality wasted virtually no time in rising up, both of them instantly looking to him instead of Logan.

“Anxiety!” they both cried, and they didn’t sound mad, but that didn’t really mean anything, did it?

They crowded forward, and Virgil couldn’t keep himself rigid this time, his whole body jerking back and bumping into Logan’s hand.The mixed signals-- hide versus get away-- left him frozen, cowering under that pitiful defense.

“Anxiety?” Patton tried, and the concern in his voice was enough to convince him to look up and meet the other Side’s gaze. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

“I’m stuck in a room with three giants, what do you think?” he spat automatically, his shoulders hunching up like they could protect him.

Patton’s mouth twisted in a sympathetic sort of way, and he moved to sit, scrunching his body down slightly so that he was more-or-less level with the table. “It’s all kind of overwhelming, huh?”

With a simple glance from the moral Side, Roman followed suit and Logan settled back on his heels, having already been kneeling. Virgil stared between the three of them, his skin prickling with nerves.

Behind him, Logan’s hand moved. Virgil immediately crouched, ducking his head down and lifting his arms in an ineffective attempt to ward off whatever was happening. There was a beat of silence, and when he glanced up, he found that Logan had simply retracted his hand, apparently convinced that Virgil wasn’t planning on a repeat of his escape attempt. Or that the three huge Sides surrounding Anxiety was enough of a cage in itself.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Jack and the Beanstalker,” Roman lied, doing an impressive job of sounding confused and harmless. “You’re not in the Subconscious anymore.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in Virgil, one that he didn’t bother to stifle. “Yeah, right. I’m not an idiot, Princey. Remus got you all twisted up over what he did and I was an asshole and now you’re paying the favor forward, I get it. You don’t have to lie about it.”

The three of them exchanged complicated glances, ones that admittedly looked more upset and horrified than conspiring, but Virgil refused to buy the act.

“We’re not lying to you!” Roman insisted, making Virgil scoff. Patton’s face started to take on that kicked-puppy cast, and Virgil averted his gaze, feeling hot anger bubble up in him at Patton’s involvement. How was any of this right and moral?

“I live with Deceit, you’re not going to fool me. Just get whatever you’re going to do to me over with,” he forced out, grimacing when his voice wobbled slightly at the end.

“Anxiety.” Logan leaned forwards, meeting his gaze with utmost seriousness. “Perhaps it will help if you understand our motives for your current state. Can you tell me how much you remember from our escape?”

“Remus found us and turned me into a pincushion,” Virgil deadpanned, a hand moving to settle over his gut. He knew now that he probably hadn’t discorporated, but he could still barely believe that there was no pain there. Core Sides could just do that? “And then you three decided to turn me pincushion-sized, I guess. How is that not revenge?”

“It was to save your life!” Roman cried dramatically, looking very put-out. “And to keep you from going back to the Subconscious and my brother, y’know, the guy who was tormenting us for fun!”

“To save my-- we can’t die!” Virgil snarled, pushing his complex feelings about Remus down in favor of twisting the fabric of his hoodie in his hands. “You trapped me up here, no room, no powers, no height, and you expected me to be grateful?!”

“We weren’t trying to trap you,” Patton interjected, looking between him and Roman worriedly. “And we aren’t going to hurt you, I promise.”

Roman, who had drawn himself up in outraged offense, visibly deflated. “Patton’s right. You know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

Virgil hesitated despite himself.

“The problem of your current stature is one that we know how to fix,” Logan took the opportunity to add, fiddling with his tie. “Once you summon your room to this level of the mind, you will be able to find security and power within it, and we won’t bother you while you recover your lost energy.”

“Woah, woah,” Virgil held his hands up to stall further explanation, feeling thrown off. “Who said anything about putting my room up here?”

Roman raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What, you want to be that size around a vengeful Remus?”

“I wouldn’t be this size if you hadn’t meddled!” Virgil snapped, scowling fiercely

“We weren’t going to just let you die,” Patton burst out, looking downright distraught. “You saved us. You didn’t want to rise up and you knew it would make your friends upset, but you did it anyhow. It wouldn’t be right, to just… not try to save you back!”

Virgil gaped for a moment, his next prepared retort completely upended. “No, I… that’s my job. Of course I did that. You don’t owe me for it.”

“Anxiety, Roman prevented your discorporation because he wanted to help you. Not to repay a perceived debt,” Logan informed him, his words stiff but genuine.

Roman shot Logan a look, heaving a dramatic sigh before turning back to Virgil. “All of us wanted to help, Gloomy B. Jones. Who wouldn’t choose to revive a party member who nearly perished heroically on a quest?”

In what universe was Roman calling him a hero? Inside his hoodie pocket, Virgil pinched himself, his confusion rising when everything refused to turn out to be a dream. Even a terrible plot twist like that would be more understandable to him than whatever was happening right now.

For that matter, they couldn’t really be implying what he thought they were implying.

“You really want me to pull my room up here. And be a… a core Side.”

Looking from face to face, he found no trace of anger or mockery, only earnestness. A genuine offer. He shook his head, his heart somehow racing even harder.

“What about when I have to do the other part of my job? The part you guys all hate me for?” he reminded them harshly. “I bet you won’t be so keen on my presence then.” He could easily imagine how well that would go over. Could a Side be cast out from both parts of the mind?

Patton shuffled forward a bit, his hands flapping like he wanted to reach out reassuringly but knew that Virgil would absolutely lose his shit if he even tried. “It’s like you said, kiddo. You want to keep Thomas safe, and we want that, too!”

“You’ve more than proven yourself willing to compromise when it counts,” Logan said, and then added wryly, “Statistically, the three of us already spend a fair amount of our time arguing before we come to a decision anyways.”

“Seriously?” Virgil asked, and Logan gestured to the necktie emphatically.

“That’s right! You may be as contrary as your jittery little heart desires, and you’ll still be in excellent company,” Roman piped up, gesturing to himself magnanimously. After a moment, he let the posturing fade into something more serious. “Anxiety, we don’t have to agree on everything for you to deserve better. Won’t you at least give us a chance?”

Virgil scrubbed his hands through his hair roughly, turning away despite his misgivings. Apart from that first incident with Logan, they hadn’t grabbed him, hadn’t even touched him despite knowing that he couldn’t do anything to stop them. At some point between that first disastrous meeting and now, they’d stopped treating him like an enemy.

He’d have to go back down there and explain at some point, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of not being repressed was one that seemed almost too good to be true. Deceit wouldn’t be happy, but maybe this would be the proof they all needed, that separating the Sides and hiding some of them from Thomas wasn’t working as well as they pretended it did.

It could be an opportunity. It could be… good.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to where they’d all been waiting, “I’ll pull my room up. I’ll-- I’ll try. That’s the best you’re going to get.”

And as the others cheered or smiled victoriously, he felt like maybe it was worth a shot after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides g/t #sanders sides fic #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #remus and janus are mentioned #g/t #mvu #my virtues uncounted #my writing #writing

[libermachinae]

Cradle

Available on AO3 Summary: Post-battle roll call. Notes: For @soundwaveweek, prompt was ‘poetry.’

---

The MTOs were stressed. He could understand that, and in fact had little choice but to. Coming online in a crashing shuttle was a less than ideal way to begin life, and the hours of listening to gunfire and artillery going off just outside their prison-slash-shelter almost guaranteed the sorts of injuries no tool could fix. Soundwave had no idea whether the silence that followed the Decepticon victory would have been a welcome reprieve or the most hellish stretch of the experience, but his torch cutting through the crumpled hatch had broken its hold on them, and now they were frantic.

Their thoughts cut him like millions of grains of sand caught up in the exhaust of a shuttle launch. There were questions, the standard Who is that?, Am I going to die?, and Is that supposed to happen? Then the observations, It’s dark, It’s light, He’s blue, He has a gun, and I have a gun.

Mostly, though, they were giving off impressions that could not be condensed so neatly into words, not without at least a few days’ practice to understand the ebb and flow of language. Without it, Soundwave could feel the crush of the darkness, the burning slice of the light. When he announced himself on arrival, his voice came back to him thirteen different ways, shivering or sliding or in boxes, an impressive feat for a group whose sum total life experiences were the inside of a dead shuttle and each other.

The volume increased as he approached them, both due to proximity and their own increasing anxieties. Their thoughts were loud enough to be knocking against his helm, adding to the cacophony the echo of his own internals, but he soldiered on, approaching the first cradle, its occupant staring at him with a mouthless expression that nevertheless seemed to snarl.

“Designation,” Soundwave demanded.

“Megatron.”

Hisses and whispers and flares. Soundwave wished he could turn down his sensitivity, but with all the cassettes investigating other casualty reports, he couldn’t risk making himself that vulnerable, even if it meant he would be taking a splitting processor ache to berth with him that night instead of recharge.

“Your designation,” he said, with no patience to start with.

The MTO stared at Soundwave, optics glancing first over his face and then the length of his frame. He started to speak, aborted the effort, attention straying to his comrades before snapping back to the officer. His thoughts were bright, sour, and runny, becoming more disorganized the longer Soundwave stood waiting for an answer. Now he was tearing through his data packs, the disorganized folders spilling open with instructions on how to shoot, who to shoot, which way to run—

“No designation,” Soundwave concluded, feeling a part of his psyche slump with resignation. “Serial code.”

The uncomprehending stare slid again to the other MTOs, whose own thoughts echoed the globular confusion. A few of them were in the same process of upending their entire storage libraries, and although any one of them could have accurately pinpointed the coordinates where their plummeting ship had disappeared off the edge of the battle map, not one of them could provide him the very basic information he needed to complete this task and leave these soldiers for the recovery teams to salvage.

Soundwave made a quick visual inspection of the MTO, who tried to lean away—not far, given that he was still suspended in the cradle—now that his defensive bluster had dried up. No printed serial code, nor was there on the MTO beside him, a quiet mech who barely glanced at Soundwave as he came close. No serial codes, either printed or coded.

“Any identification markers?” Soundwave asked the room at large. A flicker of movement: Soundwave looked down to the mech at the end of the starboard row, the one installed opposite the sole casualty, aside from the ship itself. His thoughts had been quieter than the rest, colorless and inflexible in a way that had suggested a concussion, but Soundwave’s question had provoked a brief flare. He was looking up: on the ceiling above his squadmate was painted the number 2.

That, unfortunately, was something that could be plugged into a database, checked against the shuttle manifest and production logs, and be used to reverse engineer a serial number. Success, though, depended on this being a legitimate deployment, and certain signs were suggesting the opposite, though none so definitively as to trigger a full investigation. Soundwave put out a recall signal to Frenzy and Ravage, wary of how isolated the shuttle’s final resting place was, and tuned his sensors up higher…

Only to immediately turn them down again as the minutiae of the newbuilds’ thoughts flowed like acid rain through fresh gaps in a roof. He could read the rudimentary threat assessments they were running on him and taste the swell of emotions too new to differentiate yet; the bravest among them had started to free curiosity from the mass, and they plugged it into every observation they made, building questions on top of each other until the thoughts were heavy enough to bend under their own weight. Within the shuttle, everything felt compressed and heavy on top of him.

“Calm down,” he commanded, and winced at spikes of anxiety impaling him from multiple directions.

What a waste, he thought as he recovered from the burst, of his time and their lives. Nova Point was captured, the Autobot base overrun, and Starscream’s choice to put him on recovery meant vital logistics standards were being delayed. The already lengthy identification process would easily be doubled if this much of his processor remained dedicated to his hypersensitivity sensors, and he was vulnerable as long as the soldiers’ thoughts were filling his audio feed. Soldier was even a generous word for the mechs he’d been tasked with risking his life for. Their minimal data packs and emotional instability would make them ill-suited to the promotions occasionally offered to MTOs. They would be getting hauled out of one wreck only to be pressed into another, one that would more likely than not reach its intended destination.

Soundwave did not fault Megatron for leading a chunk of their forces off to the distant front lines on other worlds, but he did long for his leader at times. Megatron would know what was best, whether to forge ahead with the recovery efforts or leave them here to—

“A new row of unlit lanterns is marched in, And I can’t remember what my world looks like In the dark.”

The recording was poor quality, torn from a processor moments before it went offline. Soundwave kept hoping to find the rest of the poem, but bots who survived that time were few and far between, and they guarded their secrets fiercely. Because it was short, he let it play out, and when it finished the attention of the MTOs had narrowed.

“What was that?” the first one asked.

“Untitled,” Soundwave said, which wasn’t entirely accurate. He had a recording of a secondhand account that referred to the poem as ‘The Chain Runners,’ but had never been able to confirm it. He could have asked, but then he would have to tell Megatron he kept the old poem, and that wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have yet.

“But what was it?” The MTO jerked in his cradle; despite the clatter of plating, it did nothing to free him.

“Identification: a poem.”

The complete absence of understanding was a hole Soundwave could have fallen into. A couple accepted that as an answer—a poem must have been another form of marching order, the only communication style they had been brought online to understand—but the others prodded him with their curiosity, audials straining to catch another blip of that strange voice.

“That wasn’t you,” one of the others said.

“Negative,” Soundwave said. “Speaker…” He stopped, remembering how the first MTO, now gazing at him with useful curiosity, had snarled the poet’s name. Had that been out of a sense of pride? A desperation to answer the question, using the only scrap of information they had? Or had it been in worship, choosing his lord’s name to be his first word to the real world? The clashing, violent thoughts did not readily bear an answer to Soundwave, but they did give him pause as he considered his response, long enough that the MTOs’ anxiety rose up once more in a wave.

“What’s it mean?” one of them asked.

“Definition subjective,” Soundwave said. He still had so much work to do. “Silence requested.”

“It’s a code.”

“Negative.”

“Then it’s gotta mean something.”

Soundwave grasped uselessly for words, wishing Ravage were there already. He was better at this. Soundwave wasn’t good at conversation, but most of the time he could get out of it by virtue of the fact that the people he ran into were either his subordinates and afraid of him, or at about equal level and jealous of his proximity to Megatron. It was so rare for him to enter a room without his reputation having already made the rounds for him, he had no basis for navigating this.

He couldn’t come up with anything, and the longer he let the silence drag out the louder the background of thoughts grew to compensate. At a loss and desperate for relief, Soundwave dove into his archives and pulled a file at random, plugging it into his speakers without even scanning the contents.

“The revolution failed because the lords were unamused. The smoke that rose from the burning corpses of their clerks Soured their palmful drinks, And the chants which rose to their balconies, Calling for their heads, Were out of tune with the afternoon symphony.

(The first chair would be tossed out at intermission, And the crowd would suck closed empty fuel lines While inside, the lords sipped in peace.)”

Even with his speakers playing at a high volume, the relative noise inside the shuttle dropped instantly. Their minds were still working, turning over each word like they could find the meaning hidden underneath, but without the fear of the unknown it was quieter and reflective.

“If you still say your knuckles ache, Lay them here, on my knee. I cannot take from you That pain, But I will map the seams of your palm. I will memorize you, Memorialize. I will chart your construction And between your seams find…”

Crunching data while listening to Megatron’s voice was second nature by now. Soundwave stood in the center of the wrecked shuttle, seeking out the identity of the MTOs, while around him they leaned and twisted in their cradles, hunting down the poems like the twinkle of an enemy across a battlefield.

#maccadam #transformers #soundwave #soundwave week #my writing #oneshot #cradle

[powered-universe-official]

Breaking the Dam

Electrode, 29. Big Break 2 of 2

Electrode crosses their arms and looks over the thirteen Heads. “You all know what I’m about to ask.” They deadpan.

“Yeah, we do.” Disembowler spits out. “And my answer is no.”

“I don’t know what you’re going to ask.” Sandman pipes up, but cowers at the look Disembowler gives him.

Electrode sighs. “V’s been resting for the past few days, because they’ve done more work than all of us combined. Monitoring every fight from beginning to end, combing through every bit of footage they can before the next one. Dealing with me.” That gets some half hearted laughs. “So because they are resting, I have to be competent. Sandman, I was going to ask who was willing to participate or lend forces for the States fight.”

Sandman tilts his head in confusion. “Why would we do that?” He genuinely asks.

“Because the States Hero Agency currently holds some of the toughest S tier heroes, as well as the most S tiers. There’s also more area considering how it’s not one city but the entire Boswash metropolis. It’s not a requirement to join, just a request. So Disembowler, you may leave.” Electrode explains before gesturing to the door. Disembowler stands up, nods to everyone, and leaves. “The rest of you have a choice. Leave if you don’t want to join at all.”

There’s a moment of pause, and Teach, Marquess, and Monsoon stand up. Teach and Marquess leave without a word, but Monsoon stops by Electrode for a moment. 

“My losses were too large for me to risk them or me. I’m sorry.” He whispers, and Electrode nods. He lost thousands within his circle that day. Electrode wishes that they could have done more.

Electrode looks at those remaining. “Who will only give forces?”

Skeleton, Sandman, and The Blade raise their hands.

“Who will only fight?”

Gay-man, Nightmare, and Lullaby raise their hands.

“Both?”

Endless Wrath and Fissure King raise their hands.

Electrode grins. “Good to know. They’re already ready, yes?”

The five who offered those within their circles nod. “They’re all in the same place.” Fissure says. “Easier to bring them through the fissures if they’re all in one place.”

“That makes sense. Are they all hooked up?” Electrode asks.

“Not entirely. They have the cameras set up, but not activated or securely attached.”

Electrode nods, running a hand through their neon green hair. They take a deep breath and sigh, moving their hand to rub at the space between their eyes. “Okay, so we have about an hour before we need to head out. Fissure, can you and Gay-man get the cameras operating?”

Fissure and Gay-man nod.

“Good, get going on that and be ready ten before we start. The rest of you, we’re gonna talk strategy.” Electrode orders, and the two disappear into a black and purple fissure. The rest of the Heads circle around Electrode and listen as they detail the plan. It’s much the same as all the other attacks, with the exception that Electrode and Virtue will be on the field, and that it’s a much larger area. 

It takes most of the hour to explain the plan in detail to the other Heads, plus all their questions and clarifications. Once it’s all done, Electrode calls Supernova and Virtue down again, and they get ready to send the signal to Fissure King and Gay-man.

“Are all of your cameras working?” The group nods. “Good. Let’s head out.” They send the signal to Fissure and Gay-man, and Supernova opens the portal and they step out to the middle of New York City, surrounded by empty department stores and streets. The crackling so distinctive to Fissure King sounds, and a couple hundred thousand people step out in unorganized masses. The thirteen Hands of the thirteen Heads quickly find their way to their respective leaders, preparing to fight for their lives. 

The large mass of villains stand in silence, slowly dispersing around the empty city, waiting for a sign of any hero. The wind whips through the desolate streets, setting Electrode’s nerves on edge, and that’s when the first explosion rumbles through the city. Wrath’s distinctive dark orange and black flames wrap around her, only her striking red eyes showing through the flames roaring around her body. Her Hand stomps the ground, liquidizing the asphalt around her and letting it wrap around her until it resembles armor.

The Heads and Hands speed off into the streets. Electrode looks back at Virtue, who’s wearing the same style of armor that Electrode is, although theirs has detailed falcon’s wings on the back, matching their tattoo. Electrode holds out a hand to them, which they take. Electrode sends a small pulse of electricity down the suit, activating the face shield that also resembles a falcon.

Virtue goes to say something, but there’s another explosion closer to them, and Electrode whips around to see a building start to collapse. From behind their mask, they see it all.

Electrode watches as the chaos unfolds for the first and final time. All thirteen Heads, all thirteen Hands, fighting the best of the best, and winning. An empty metropolis on the East Coast of the United States, lit up by the gilded flames of S-tier heroes. A final, burning statement to the world. This is who protects you. 

They feel a hero rush towards them, loud and screaming. Thinking that he could get the drop on a “Powerless” villain. They don’t bother looking at him, eyes glowing a vibrant yellow that only they can see before all the neurons in his brain stop firing simultaneously. They turn on their heel and walk to the fallen body of the hero, anti-gravity boots bright against the dark asphalt and concrete. They look at him with no emotion. Electrode wonders if he really thought he could touch them.

It’s as they’re distracted that they hear it.

“Cato!”

They turn on their heel and see Virtue making a mad dash towards them, feel the panicked spike in their body, feel Virtue shoving them down as another hero barrels into their best friend, and the pair disappear in the smoke and ashes. 

“Virtue!” Cato Electrode yells out. Too little too late. They’re gone.

They’re dead they’re dead they’re dead they’re dead they’re dead they’re dead

Another hero (so many heroes-) steps out from the other side of them, smirking (they’ll make that smirk go away-). “This is why you Powerless fuckers shouldn’t get in the business of the Powered.” Her eyes are filled with misplaced superiority as the fights around them stop. Villains are watching, waiting to see what Electrode would do. Heroes are grinning, waiting to see Electrode beat up.

Electrode lets out a primal, wounded scream, and the villains scatter. Large arcs of electricity burst from every part of their body, striking everyone in a fifteen foot radius. The hero who had been insulting them (insulting Virtue-), is thrown back with a large, charred hole in the center of her chest. Other heroes are spasming on the destroyed ground, dead. There’s a few villains who didn’t make it far enough, but Electrode can’t find it within them to care. 

They’re dead they’re dead they’re dead they’re dead they’re dead

The limp body of Gemini and what used to be the body of Airael. Bug getting torn to shreds.

More heroes come to figure out what’s going on. They can feel it, every single miniscule thought, every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. They latch on to every spark, and light them on fire.

Heroes are screaming, begging, crying, falling, dying. Dying dying dying dying. They’re dead they’re dead they’re dead-

Electrode can’t breathe. A shock of surprise kills of every spark they had been holding onto, and the world around them goes quiet. Gasping, Electrode looks around wildly to try and figure out what is happening, and sees Leto.

No.

They see Zephyr.

Her eyes are red and puffy, but full of fear. Great gusts of air are billowing past her, and they realize that she has taken the air out of their lungs.

They fall to their knees, and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ to her. The edges of their vision start to go dark. There’s a familiar voice calling out their name, familiar hands desperately holding onto their face, their hair, their shoulders. Familiar eyes.

Electrode smiles, truly smiles, for the last time.

-

There was no funeral for them. Not even a burial. Not even a headstone. No, Virtue screamed and cried as everyone dragged them away, struggling to reach out towards the one person who understood their pain. To the body that was just left there to rot and be eaten away by animals and reporters. To their best friend. 

Not even Leto Zephyr took Electrode’s body. She only took Virtue back to the warehouse, telling them that they needed to destroy the lab. Virtue nodded at the time, but the moment the hero left, they were sealing all entrances to both the library and the lab so that it looked like neither had existed in the first place. Just like the both of them had planned. 

Virtue took a backpack and a duffle bag full of both their and Electrode’s things. They took the CD. And the make up. All the cash they had. Some clothes. All the tapes from the cameras (before also destroying said cameras). 

It threw them back in time to nine years ago, where it was Electrode- no. No it was Cato back then. Leading the both of them away from a house now so steeped in death that blood was weeping from the walls. Electr- Cato, so calm and collected. Now it’s Virtue’s turn to be calm when against the worst of odds.

Take the stash of forged papers, made last week in case shit went down. They also take Electrode’s.

Virtue is about to leave when they pause, and go back to Electrode’s room. Underneath their bed is a small box with their notes on their mask and boots, as well as the prototypes for both. Virtue takes the box. 

They’re walking onto the plane when the announcement arrives. Supervillain Virtue has disappeared. The smile that crawls its way onto their face is bittersweet at best. Electrode may be gone, but they didn’t die in vain. After all, this is only the beginning.

-

First   Previous

#the powered story #the powered universe #the powered finale #virtue #the heads of the circles #the hands of the circles #electrode #leto marcella #zephyr #cato

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Handmaiden🌹1

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Alright, here’s another medieval AU ft. King Steve. His darkness will build as we go and we’re gonna ride those vibes, thots. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Madeline was the fairest woman you’d ever seen. Her strawberry blonde waves flowed like water down her back and shoulders. Her jaw was etched by the gods themselves and her lips were soft to the eye and as you guessed, the touch. Her eyes were like gems and her figure was graceful and lithe. Her voice was a melody and her laugh like the pluck of a string. 

How could she not be perfect? Porcelain and precious. She was a princess. The eldest of Eddor.

It would be unnatural not to envy  her. Not to compare your ordinary features with her extraordinary ones. Not to measure your circumstance against hers. You had grown up in her shadow. Once a playmate, now a maid. You served as her closest companion and attendant. A mere servant, you were but another accessory among many.

Your jealousy was not spiteful. Many a peasant lived a life worse than yours. You did not complain or want. It was the order of things. The world as it was.

She was serene, often intimidatingly calm. That day, you could see the nervous tension in her cheek. Not many others would notice but you did. You didn’t blame her. She was to meet her betrothed at last. A man more than ten years here elder; of the few men grander than her in prestige; a widower and king.

You stood just a few steps away, hands folded and head slightly bowed in deference. If she needed you, she would call to you. You were glad for the camouflage of your low standing. Among the foreign court, on such a significant day, you were nothing; just another witness.

Your journey was long. A month at sea, a fortnight in a draughty northern castle, a week upon the road, and finally you were in the capital; Halder’s Arch. A night spent awaiting the first meeting and a further hour for the king’s appearance. The other servants were growing restless; Madeline’s ladies, too.

 It would be a sad and heartless act to send a princess out upon her own. Sybil and Lucille were the only noblewoman to accompany Madeline. They were to remain at the foreign court and seek their own suitors. Her guards, her priest, and her physician were also among the party as well. Her retinue was finely outfitted.

Finally, the doors shifted and the armoured guards hit their staffs on the stone to announce the arrival. As the hall opened up, you held your breath as Madeline did the same. She raised her chin slightly and rose with the rest to receive her betrothed. A line of lords preceded their king, hidden by the group of men.

The Princess of Eddor was announced first. Her crest bearer spoke loudly for all the people to hear. Then it was the king’s turn. Steven, first of his name, son of Stewart, ruler of Anglhem and its territories. The lords broke and formed two rows as they stood at attention.

King Steven strode between them, as proud and stoic as the princess he would wed. You kept your chin down but watched him below your lashes. His dark blonde hair was thick above a trimmed beard. He wore a simple golden crown without stones, his jacket a turquoise brocade slashes with citrine. A chain of golden links hung from his shoulders with a single sapphire upon it. 

It was simple but bespoke a man of intent; of standing. His simplicity said it all. You suspected he dressed for the occasion; a very deliberate impression for his future wife. The capital, the castle, the lords, did not suggest a ruler without extravagance.

The king stopped before Madeline and bowed to her; she curtsied to him in kind. He seemed pleased as he took her hand and kissed it. His eyes flicked all over as he considered his new wife; his second. The first had come to a tragic end during a summer plague not two years past.

“Princess,” He greeted. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to meet you at last. The painter did you an injustice for no canvas could capture such beauty.”

“And you, my king,” She said evenly. “I did hear of a handsome and noble king but the accounts do leave much untold.”

You were always rather amused by such empty courtesies. These words were rehearsed and recited without thought. It was what was expected. A princess could not come off as appalled by her suitor, even if she were, and a king could not be disappointed in a princess, even for a crooked nose or blotchy complexion. It was all an act. You did not envy the fallacy of status.

Your eyes wandered as the royals went about their performance. The audience was rapt and marvelled at the perfect pair; a stately king and a beautiful princess. You bit down to keep from grinning wryly. Your amusement was stifled completely as your eyes were caught by a pair most unexpected. 

As Steven was offered a chair to sit with his queen, his gaze strayed from her. You withheld your surprise and assured yourself he was merely distracted by the portrait behind you or perhaps a nick in the stone. It couldn’t be you. Servants were like windows; transparent.

His brow twitched and he looked back to the princess. Her ladies were dazzled by the king’s stature, the lords were pleased by the princess’ grace. All seemed to be in a trance; all but those who held their attention. 

Madeline held her veneer only because the cracks could not be noticed by strangers. Steven’s matched hers though you saw no flaw. You only saw a man sure of himself because he knew what to say. To him, it was a ritual, each step another closer to the end.

You straightened at the subtle signal from the princess. She wanted wine. You went to her and took the ewer from the table beside her. You filled the king’s goblet first and presented it to him with a bow. He took it and you repeated the steps for the princess. She thanked you and you didn’t miss the king’s eye. He was watching you. Why?

You resumed your vigil along the wall with the other servants. Your gown differed from no other. The blue-grey wool was plain enough that it could’ve been another stone in the wall. Your cap hid your hair and no ornament sparkled at throat or wrist. You lowered your head as the king turned his goblet in his hand and gazed over at the princess.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. It was preposterous. He hadn’t looked at you for any reason but what you offered; a cup of wine. How could one ignore a figure right before them? You did long for it to be over for the sake of your weary mind. Your travel had left you endlessly exhausted. It was clearly affecting your judgement.

Yet, you peeked up again and the king squinted over at you. You blinked as he grinned and leaned back. He drank from his goblet and returned his gaze to Madeline. She presented him the letter sealed with her father’s crest. He accepted it and she seemed not to notice his wandering eyes.

Maybe because they did not wander. Maybe because he had been thinking and they averted to follow his thoughts. Or he was listening and did consider her words as he considered the room. 

You twined your hands together behind your back. You were trained, you were patient, you were attentive. You could bear yet another royal meeting. You could cling to your duty and see it through. You only had to resist the nagging fatigue that caused your mind to drift. 

You needed to focus as the princess’ goblet was empty.

🌹

The wedding was already well-prepared. Both parties had settled their arrangements long before that fateful meeting. Steven and his advisers had the date, the feast, the ceremony, all plotted carefully for the next week. Madeline had her gown in her trunk and her virtue intact. Or so it was written in their betrothal.

The princess seemed pleased with her husband. That night she watched herself in the mirror as you brushed out her hair. She touched her long neck and her fingers trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a wearisome sigh.

“Do you think he was taken by me?” She asked. “He was cordial but a marriage cannot survive on cordial.”

“I’ve never known a man who wasn’t taken by you, your highness,” You dragged the bristles through her lush strands. “A king could not hope for a better princess.”

“Oh, so they say,” She preened. “I am told he sent his painter to at least a dozen courts to paint their princesses. Then he was presented with their likeness and he chose me himself.”

“And you were deemed the worthiest to share his crown then,” You said. “I see not how he could be disappointed.”

“And I cannot say I am,” She smiled and batted her lashes. “He is very handsome. I feared when they said he was older than me.”

“He doesn’t appear to suffer from it,” You assured her. “His step is as sure as any youth.”

She was silent as you finished brushing out her hair and you parted it. You began to braid her long tresses before she found her voice again. When she was thoughtful, she was often plotting.

“And the wedding night?” She ventured quietly. “Do you think he will be pleased with me then?”

“I… am certain he should be,” You said stiffly. “I see not how any man cannot be pleased with his wife in such a way.”

She giggled and played with the buttons of her sleeping gown. She eyed you and looked away guiltily. You tilted your head at her and tied up the end of her braid.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Oh, you know,” She stood and turned to you. “I was always told servants were more experienced in those matters, but you are always so modest.”

“As I have served you loyally, when should I have had time to take experience in such matters?”

She laughed and pulled a stray thread from your cap. 

“Much too loyal,” She chided. “Let us retire for the night. This kingdom is still strange to me and I do wish to know it better before I am bound to it entirely.”

🌹

Madeline was not to see her betrothed again until the wedding day. Their separation was tradition and ensured the legitimacy of the marriage. Thus, the princess could only emerge from her chambers when she was assured the king was engaged and the corridors were clear. 

On the first day after their introduction, she took to the gardens, dewy with the early spring dampness. The second she explored the wing within which her rooms were. On the third, she was warned to stay in as the king was to attend to the wedding’s final arrangements. She was irritated by her exile but not unhappy. It would end soon enough and this would be her castle to reign as she wished.

As you had since you were children, you slept beside her and woke before her. You touched her shoulder and advised her to wake but she stirred only a little. You dressed and left the lanterns unlit as the sun streamed in through the windows. You hid your hair beneath your cap and allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you adjusted your skirts in the mirror.

The best way to rouse the princess was food. You closed the heavy door behind you and greeted the guards who stood in the corridor. Lawrence and Hal were selected by Madeline’s own father and had served her since she was a girl. You knew them well and they were little disturbed by the mousy maid upon her duties.

You carefully counted the corners as you still found the castle unfamiliar and confounding. The day before, you’d become so lost, you had to ask another servant how to find your way back. You loathed a repeat but it was likely as you already felt entirely displaced.

You came upon the lower floors where the kitchens resided. You were confident that your destination was close but found yourself in a hall you’d never been before. A round door was open to the cool morning air and voices mingled with the scent of horses. You cursed under your breath and looked back over your shoulder. You must’ve turned the wrong way at the stairs.

You were kept from righting your course as the voices grew louder and a shadow appeared in the doorway. A lord, vaguely familiar from among those who had accompanied the king, strolled through as he laughed over his shoulder. You skirted against the wall and bowed your head in deference.

You peaked up through your lashes as he was followed by another. You recognised King Steven as he yawned behind his hand.

“You disturbed me so early for--” He complained but paused as his eyes fell upon you. “...nothing.” He finished slowly as he nodded at you. 

He carried on as he caught stride with his companion who reprimanded him for his grumbles. They were bawdy and the king took no offence to the remonstrance. You kept your head down until you heard them turn the corner. You wondered little at the reason for the king’s visit to the stables; you only wanted to retreat before the stench lurked in any further.

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #dark!fic #dark fic #the handmaiden #mcu #marvel #captain america