#the only thing in my way. literally the only thing right now that’s in my way. this an invisible wall fully made up of my own necessary

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

I asked a few of my favorite hazbin writers this and only one answered and it was ok but I felt like it could have been expanded on so here's my take

Vox, Val, Alastor, and Lucifer react to your love language being baking/cooking

Vox

(Starting with him because he's the one thaf inspired this).

Vox came from the 50s and even though I firmly believe he is past all the ingrained gender roles and homophobia I think he still has some internalized misogyny. He wants to be viewed as the man in the relationship, the breadwinner, the provider. He can cook for himself but it's pretty basic food (except steak. Like every other man since the invention of the grill how to bbq has been hardwired into his brain. If his partner also grills ya'll fight over whose turn to cook out it is)

(Unrelated but as a lesbian who loves to grill, and is the designated grill bro, butch lesbians or cookout lesbians are some of Vox's favorite type of gays to chill with)

I firmly believe that's why even though he's a sub, it's so hard and would take time and trust to get him to let you top and enjoy it. He's so worried people will find out and judge him, that you'll judge him. His ego can be very fragile.

Especially if we go with the Vox used to be a cult leader theory. His power, image, and success are linked to his ability to appear in control. To appear to have all the answers and take responsibility. It's going to take a lot of time and patience to unravel all that and help him seperate his personal and professional image.

That being said, a partner who uses acts of service as a love language is perfect for him. He's a busy man, so he tends to be a gift giver type. The gifts are always well thought out and expensive. He wants it to be something you need, want, can get a lot of enjoyment from, and be worth the money spent, so he puts time and effort into them. Unless he's just showing off by giving you his card and telling you to go nuts.

So you taking time to make his coffee for him the way he likes, ordering lunch from his favorite places and having it sent to his office so he remembers to eat, or just texting him reminders to drink water or eat/take breaks throughout the day makes him giddy.

If you're his assistant or something, (and I believe Vox absolutely would have his partner working for him/with him), then it's even better when you take on extra work to try and help him. Organizing his schedule, sorting emails/mail, and proofreading things. Any small act you do for him, because you want to and care about him, makes his heart rate pick up.

It'll really make him overheat, glitching slightly, literal heart eyes, if he comes home after a shitty day and you're cooking for him.

His internal monologue is absolutely raving about what a good housewife you are for him, a hard working husband.

Bonus points if you cleaned too! Either way, he adores you even more now, letting you fret and coo at him, removing his jacket and tie, pouring him a drink and telling him dinner will be ready soon and you made his favorite. He's so tempted to bend you over the counter right now, but that would ruin dinner. After you guys eat though, he's having you for dessert. Man's gonna make sure you know how much he appreciates this by turning your knees to jello, good luck walking tomorrow, doll.

If you bake treats and bring them to VoxTek he's gonna brag so much. Literally the embodiment of John Mulaney's, "That's my wife!" If you bring them just for him, he's defending his treats like they're the last ones in Hell. He has literally hit Val with a fly swatter for even asking if he could have one.

(Unrelated but like, chubby vox maybe? You're cooking is too good)

Valentino

Val wishes he could cook better. He's some kind of latino, so I feel like the fact he can't cook very well is a sore spot culturally. He can make the salsa and chips and like, help with stuff, he knows how to wrap tortillas and tomales (I picture him as like Mexican or Puerto Rican but that's just cuz the town I grew up had a large Puerto Rican group).

It doesn't help that his eyesight is even more shit in Hell. He can't see what he's doing hald the time. It ruins his art hobby too. He's overall just more easily frustrated with his bad eyesight.

I don't imagine you guys dating per se. Maybe you're his sugar baby, maybe you're someone he hired to help him do stuff like clean and organize and you just sorta start doing other things to help him. (Again I'm not saying it excuses jackshit, but as someone who worked with bipolar people and people with mood disorder I kinda see the fan theory in him, either way I think all the Vees could be sort of trained to be better people, but especially Val. We already saw Vox do it.)

After all, he's usually in a much better mood if you do and that means less outbursts. The first few times you cook him something he teases you about being his housewife, tries to make it sexual. It's not really something he clocks as being an act of love because I don't think you'd realize it yourself at first. I think the more you got to see him when he wasn't stressed, lashing out, being abusive, you'd start catching feelings. ("I can fix him", delulu asses)

He loves to be in the kitchen when you cook once it starts becoming a regular thing. He can't see clearly what you're doing but the way you move around the kitchen and get what you need, even if you're an ADHD mess and do steps out of order or at random, he can tell you know what you're doing. He likes to smell the food too while it's cooking.

He will ask you to try and make some spicier/more traditional foods he grew up with, but he doesn’t remember all of the ingredients, and it just gets him more frustrated he can't tell you. If you look them up and surprise him with it it'll probably be the most genuine, human response you get from him.

He's shocked, silent, standing frozen in the penthouse as familiar smells waft around him. You present him a plate nervously, practically shaking hoping it's good enough. The first bite nearly puts him in tears. No one's done anything this nice for him? Why would you? Lowkey thinks you want something from him. It's gonna make him paranoid for a while so don't expect a verbal compliment but he eats it all.

Eventually though, one day when you're in the kitchen cooking, humming softly and swaying your hips, one set of his arms will wrap around your waist, the other reaching around you help with the salsa, or wrap a tamale, and he'll prop his chin on your head and mumble out thanks. Some praise, maybe. Would definitely tell you stories about eating these foods growing up.

It's the first step towards having an actual relationship with him.

Alastor

This man almost always insists on cooking. He isn't much of a sweet tooth either. You tell him one night you want to try cooking for him. Tell him you understand it's an activity he enjoys and relaxes too, (especially if you know it's something that reminds him of his mother), but you want to do something for him and this is one way you show you care.

It's gonna remind him of his Mama so much that if you didn't know why he loved cooking so much before you do now. He compromises. You pick the meal and gather the ingredients and do most of the cooking and he helps prep and does dishes.

He playfully critiques you the entire time about adding some spice too it or a little southern flair. Just smack him with the wooden spoon, gently. It's gonna make him laugh because his Mama used to do that when he wouldn't keep out of the sweets, or tried to add stuff to her cooking.

Once you start it becomes habit to help each other in the kitchen every night, trading off who cooks and who preps and does dishes.

If you do find baked goods he likes that aren't too sweet and send them to him as snacks, especially to Overlord meetings, he's so fucking obnoxious about his sweet little doe (doesn't matter if you are one or not) and how they spoil him. Especially rubs it in Vox's face (not him whining to his partner so they send him with treats too so he can also brag).

Only shares with Charlie, Rosie, Niffty, and sometimes Zestiel. If he's feeling generous, Husk can have a bite.

Low-key also has a thing for his partner behaving domestically even if he isn't exactly invested in traditional marriage.

Favorite activity though is dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz while dinner cooks, holding you close, in his room usually, so he can hear the sounds of the bayou. If he closes his eyes he can pretend this is how his life went and that his Mama is in the corner or sitting in her chair, watching him, happy to see him find someone.

He will literally kiss Vox willingly before admitting that last part though.

Lucifer

It's not that he can't cook, it's just....it's easier to just snap his fingers and make food appear. He's been in a depressed slump for decades man, he's lived off of the 'want food, no cook, only eat' mindset.

When you come into his life it's a complete overhaul. Despite what issues you have yourself you can recognize someone in worse state than you and immediately categorize and prioritize. First thing first, get this man's duck collection/obsession organized, thinned out, and under control.

Second, help him work through his issues with Lillith and Charlie. Encourage therapy, be a mediator between him and Charlie (and trust me she appreciates it. She knows her dad struggles, didn't know how bad, and still feels awkward). Help him socialize more, rebuild his connection with the other sins.

Get this man a work schedule!

Then it's on to personal habits. You help him get out of bed, you're both probably a little helpless in the sleeping on time category though. Help him get a routine again to keep out of his funk. Then you start cooking for him. It just happens naturally. You enjoy cooking, you enjoy showing people you love how much you care by providing good meals.

At first he's gonna resist and tell you he can handle that, you already do so much for him. He can cook or better yet he can just make it appear and you laugh and tell him it tastes better when it's made with love. He brushes it off as a joke too, you're both just being silly and obviously you said that to get him to quit fussing. Except, unholy hell does it actually taste so much better.

Lucifer hadn’t realized how bland and unsatisfying just materializing the food was. Maybe that's because he was so depressed and uninterested in what he ate, maybe not. Either way, your cooking is so much fucking better. He actually looks forward to eating now. If he gets caught up in work or has a bad day, you make sure to always bring him something, leaving it as an offering of sorts. It almost always works and entices him to eat at least once.

You cook, he does dishes, and he will not budge on that rule. He wants to be a fair man. He occasionally boots you out to do dessert, though. Apple pie is his bitch and you've never tasted one as good as his. He also makes good pancakes and some absolutely orgasmic angel's food cake.

Ironicall, devil's food cake is one of your go to recipes. Sometimes you both make a cake and take it to events just to watch people get confused as fuck when it's revealed the literal Devil did not make the devil's food cake.

Everyime you're in the kitchen together it's a disaster, you're both to silly and chaotic. You were making noodles one time and he threw flour at you so you smacked him with the noodle you were holding, leaving a line of flour and a speck of dough against his cheek. From there it escalates. It happens every time. Making cakes together, you're smashing frosting on each other. Making cookies, you're fighting each other to stop eating cookie dough.

Once, after you get fed up with him stealing her spatula to lick the chocolate off of, hovering above you with his wings, you pout and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to please give it back. He swoops down in front of you, booping your nose to smear chocolate on it and leaning in to kiss you, letting you have a taste of the chocolate batter you were mixing for brownies. While his tongue is in your mouth, drunk off the taste of you and chocolate you smash an egg over his head and let out a triumphant cheer, snatching back your spatula.

He's so stunned his wings disappear and he drops the last few inches to the ground while you cackle. His heart is pounding, his ears are ringing, and his chest feels like it's gonna explode. His eyes are literal sparkles. He hasn't felt this much joy, wonder, and love since Charlie was born. It feels like witnessing creation all over again, of the breathlessness he felt when he first saw Lillith.

You're laughter stops when you realize he's just staring at you awestruck and you smile, asking if he's ok.

"For once...yeah..Yes. I'm ok." He responds, genuinely. You kiss his cheek and resume baking. He watches you from the counter now, dreamily, thinking about how he's gonna marry you someday.

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #vox x reader #valentino x reader #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader

[bratfiction]

DILF!simon is rotting my brain rn and i need more<3

consider this a follow-up to this post.

18+ CONTENT, MDNI -> themes & warnings: f!reader, heavier / plus sized!reader, mentions of weight gain, pregnancy + parenthood, simon is a handsy pervert (out of love) in every scenario, some sneaky bathroom sex.

many grueling months fly by and as expected, a baby is born. and yes— as cliché as it may sound, everyone and their literal mothers were right when they said all the discomfort and fussing would be worth it the second you see your pudgy, bundle of joy. a baby girl with wispy blonde hair and a scowl that could rival her father’s any day. she’s perfect. the spitting image of all the best parts of you and simon combined and oh, you’re crying again just thinking of it.

your shared world becomes a whirlwind of bottles and pacifiers and diapers, and neither of you would trade it for anything ever. not even simon who’s sure that your beautiful but screaming baby is definitely helping him go grey quicker as more time passes. until she’s eight months and mostly babbling instead of screeching— has rolls of fat on her arms and legs leading up to her tiny hands and feet, shiny eyes, and cheeks that make your hearts melt into puddles. again, she’s perfect. your whole family agrees, too.

as simon says, your whole entire fuckin’ family— he wasn’t too happy when they shared they’d be visiting. mostly because you already have too much to worry about and now being a pretty, little host is thrown into the mix. you don’t seem to mind much as you walk around the get together with the baby on your hip, checking on everyone to see if they’ve helped themselves to enough food while your baby giggles along. his two sweet girls.

“thought i’d never catch up t’you,” he gruffs behind you.

you hear the sound of him placing his can of beer down on the kitchen counter and before you can move on your feet to grab another out of fridge for him, he stops you.

“enough,” it’s not harsh. it’s breathy and amused— “just relax for a second, mumma. everyone’s fine, babygirl’s with your mum. breathe.”

breathe. maybe you forgot how to do that today.

at that, you melt against simon. you rest your dewy forehead against the stone wall of his chest and he’s quick to pat your head, to trail a hand down your back in a soothing caress. he doesn’t mean to reach the hem of your sundress. just happens naturally, and so does the way he grabs up your thighs that have gotten deliciously plump under the stresses of motherhood. filled you out in all the right places that he already loved so much. he could haul you up and have you right there— “simon, we can’t.”

“think we can do whatever we want in our house, dollie.”

you hate when he’s right, and you hate how you let him yank you into the bathroom down the hall of all places. the click of the lock makes whatever anxiety hanging around in your chest finally dissipate. you’re hoisted up onto the sink before you can bat your lashes at simon, and the next second you’re wrapped up in a nasty kiss he places on your lips. it’s nearly all tongue as you whimper into his mouth, tugging at his shirt while his own hands make quick work of your dress.

the material becomes bunched up around your squeezable waist, exposing your comfy panties to simon and leaving you half bare— “we’ve gotten too used to quickies,” you cant help but whine the words out.

you miss the days of him laying you down and making you cum until you just can’t take it anymore, and vice versa.

“i know, i know,” he attempts to soothe you through sweet, rough kisses. “gonna take good care of you soon, promise.”

you nod along to his words. only to softly gasp when he finally pulls your undies to the side.

simon always takes a second to play with your pretty cunt, rubbing a thumb through your messy folds and circling your clit how you like it. loves to watch your thighs lock up and hear you squeal his name like you used to when you first started dating— some things will never change no matter how settled down you two are. his cock aches in his jeans as you pussy drools around nothing. you’re about to open your mouth, about to tell him you two need to hurry.

but he’s already unbuckling his belt, eager to make you forget that there’s other people in the house aside from you two for even a few minutes.

#⌨️.kit's writing #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut

[princessbrunette]

thinking about calling pogue!rafe over because your hot water isn’t working and he’s acting all annoyed but he’s lowkey kicking his feet at the fact that he gets to be in your home. maybe even asking him to stay after your shower so you can cook him something as a reward and play house for a bit 🩷🩷🩷

ೀ 🐰 ‧ ˚ 🪽 ⊹˚. ♡

my favourite thing about pogue!rafe is that he acts soooo inconvenienced by your presence. he hates kooks, think they’re so stuck up — so he can’t help but feel to push you away. always referring to you as a ‘stuck up little girl’ whilst he’s only a couple of years older than you. he’d done some work on the house before, and whilst your parents are away you literally don’t know who to call to fix your hot water problem so you try him, pacing around your room.

at first during your call, he tells you he’s got a shit tonne of work to be doing on other houses and doesn’t have time to drop everything for a kook princess. he can practically see your little pout through the phone, but keeps up his attitude until you thank him for his time anyway, sadly throwing out a little “no, i understand it’s okay. i’ll probably just hit up that jj maybank. i heard he’s pretty handy.” and suddenly he’s changed his tune, physically sitting up from his slouched position to be all “shit, okay fine… fine. i’ll be there in twenty minutes just — just don’t call anyone else a’ight?”

he’s sulking when he turns up with his tool box and that muscle tank and shorts with paint and dirt on them — unable to stop sucking on your bottom lip because he’s just so big and strong. he’s ignoring your lustful gaze with everything in him as he walks through to your bathroom. “lets just get this out the way, yeah?” he drawls as he gets to work.

you sit on the sink and swing your legs, not leaving him alone as he works simply chatting his ear off, seemingly unphased by his blunt replies, finding creative ways to shut you down like reminding you “yeah, uh you’re my little sisters age.” however you seemed totally unscathed, only working harder to prove you’re grown enough to take him.

“should be workin’ fine now so uh… just wire me the money n’we’ll be good. doin’ overtime right now so i kinda just wanna go home.” he waves you off and you step infront of him.

“you’re finished working?”

“di’nt i just say that kid?” he drawls and you grin, dragging him to your lounge.

“perfect! look i really wanna thank you specially for bein’ so helpful to me even though it’s clear you don’t want to. let me cook you dinner. please? i got beer and uh… i’ll make it really good. oh please rafe, my parents are away and i’m all alone.”

he sighs like it tortures his whole being, but he couldn’t deny that your house was super nice — nicer to hang out in than his shitty little fishing shack that he calls a home. he’d heard the cops had been sniffing around for him wanting to talk about a little ‘altercation’ he recently wound up in and didn’t have the energy to deal with that. no one would suspect him in the kook princess headquarters.

he cracks open a beer and lounges on your couch watching tv as you prepare the food for him before sticking everything in the oven and heading upstairs to shower. he doesn’t notice your presence disappear until you’ve returned in the tiniest little night gown and damp hair, leading him to the dining room where you serve up his food.

“some real housewife shit, huh?” he can’t hold back his smile as you seat him infront of a hearty meal. you feel all warm at the implication, shrugging modestly.

it’s inevitable that you wind up in his lap after he’s eaten, having sat with him and flirted — leaning over the table with your tits practically spilling out. you can’t quite recall how you got there, in between telling him you had nothing on under the nightgown and him telling you that it wasn’t his fault that men had primal instincts or some shit like that — but soon he was pulling your dress up to your waist and stuffing himself inside you, roughly fucking up into you.

“oww, rafey!” you whine at how rough he’s being with you, not used to being treated like anything but a princess. he can tell it’s an act though, and you truly do love it from the way your walls contract around him.

“nah, nah you knew what you were doin’ inviting me here. what were — were you just sittin’ around with a fuckin’ wet pussy waitin’ on your moment to invite me round n’let you fuck on me? huh? that was this is?” he bucks his hips, holding onto you to completely take control from below, bashing you against the table with each thrust that was certain to leave bruises.

you whimper, pressing your body to his trying to win over some affection as you sniffle. “just got such a crush on you, rafe.” you mewl and he scoffs, taking that moment to pick you up in his lap and place you on the dining room table instead, gaining more control so he could keep rutting into you.

“sick’a you little kook girls tryn’a — tryn’a use me like im some little experiment that you can toss to the side afterwards.” he complains, gripping your hips and practically using you like a toy. if he wasn’t holding you up, you’d be completely limp.

“dont want you with other girls! not — not gonna get rid of you i just want you.” you defend, and finally he slows his punishing pace to catch his breath, staring down at you analytically with parted lips, dick twitching inside you at the confession.

“that right?” he deadpans and you nod, teary eyed. “that why you let me in this princess cunt raw? huh? no protection or nothin’? just… just hoping i pull out? ha…” he chuckles maliciously, starting to push in deeper once more, upping his pace just a tad. “yeah… yeah maybe i should nut right in here—” he caresses your lower tummy making you whimper, completely at his mercy with your legs split. “knock up some kook pussy. won’t just be a phase then will i? nah baby… nah you’d be stuck with me for life.”

he’s got a sick smile on his face, but what he’s not expecting is for you to grip the back of his neck, your bottom lip wobbling with a serious look in your eyes. “do it.” you command and his face drops a little, realising that maybe he was dealing with a girl that had it bad for him. that, or you’re trying to get some sort of revenge on your parents. either option made his dick throb.

ೀ 🐰 ‧ ˚ 🪽 ⊹˚. ♡

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #pogue!rafe

[wonysugar]

close the door | hanni pham

synopsis : you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she.

genre : fluffy smut!

pairing : non-idol!hanni x gf!femreader

tags : they’re in love your honor, lots of kissing and making out, cuddling, l-bombs, top!femreader, bottom!hanni, they’re both virgins, fingering, clit play, nipple play, neck kissing, hanni’s dogs are mentioned twice lawl, lots of comfort, lots of consent! they’re literally just lovey dovey girlfriends having sex for the first time aheheh

warnings : none :]

word count : 2.5k

a/n : if you’re rereading this and thinking “hey the synopsis changed and there wasn’t an author’s note before!!” well you’d be right I POSTED THIS IN A RUSH I’M SO SORRYYFKEJF

anyways!! this is just to say that this fic is inspired by the lovely writer that is sorry for tagging you twice ahh @facefullofsadness’s fic right over here :] sooo GO READ THAT FIRST! it’s truly lovely and i really enjoyed reading it, hence why i wrote thisskfke. thank you for readingg<33

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

you would die for your girlfriend, actually, even if you only started dating barely a few months ago. who could blame you? that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends prior to your relationship for so, so, so long. it simply started with a ‘hi! my name’s hanni! what’s yours?’ from her part at the innocent age of seven and just like that, years later, you guys were still inseparable. 

so really, your life-long friendship and months-long relationship were both with the same gorgeous and outgoing girl, and the only thing distinguishing those two was the label you used to describe them.

“bro i genuinely don’t understand why he doesn’t just… run away. cause— get this, there’s obviously a murderer in his house right? and what does he decide to do about that? just stay in there. like, okay.. like i’m aware they needed plot but lord, i don’t know at least make it somewhat realistic you know what i mean—“ was what your girlfriend said, on her bed as she sat down in between your legs and leaned her back against you, her head facing forward and resting on your shoulder.

you simply nodded along to her words as you played with her hair, trying your hardest to stay focused on the piece of media before you whilst also paying your utmost attention to her, despite her constant ranting and criticizing of the entire movie. you, having originally liked the film, were now conflicted about your opinion on it. it’s not like she was wrong, her very heavy criticism had to have come from somewhere, after all, but you couldn’t help but slightly appreciate the storyline. so, you weren’t really sure what you felt about it anymore.

one thing you were certain of, however, 

was that your girlfriend looked really good while passionately rambling. like, way too good. she had tied her dark hair into a high ponytail, it also looked wavy due to the rain that was pouring on you guys earlier, her messy bangs fell perfectly onto her forehead. and her smile? it always looked perfect. she always looked perfect. 

and since you apparently weren’t hiding your admiration well enough, she very quickly noticed it.

she giggled teasingly. her voice sweet like honey, her australian accent more prominent than usual, she spoke up, “hello?” before full-on laughing, “were you even listening to me?”

you could only kiss her, that seemed like the only appropriate response in the heat of the moment. she, of course, kissed back just as lovingly before pulling away moments after, a curious and confused look on her face. 

“no seriously, what is up with you?” she kept teasing, smiling stupidly as she kept her gaze lingering on yours for the following seconds, her eyes unconsciously drifting to your lips. “you look stupid.”

“and you look really pretty.” was what you whispered back to her, earning a shy smile and an exaggerated eye roll from her. immediately, you made your lips come into contact with hers again. it felt as if the world would stop spinning if you didn’t, like a slowly growing urge to keep touching her suddenly came over you and you needed to fill it.

“so.. so pretty.” you mumbled, so quietly that it was almost to yourself, before going back in. you allowed yourself to make the kiss deeper and slid her tongue across her soft lips as you demanded entrance. you could hear her let out slight noises, she clearly was not expecting you to do anything of the sorts, at least not right now. she was a tad bit confused, but let you in, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to kiss their girlfriend? immediately, your hands wrapped around her waist whilst you continued kissing her lovingly, your tongue roaming every part of her mouth.

it didn’t take long before your hands started naturally reaching under her top, caressing on her tummy and progressively going higher with each sound she let out.

you pulled away, slightly worried of going too far, “c-can.. can i continue, hanni?”

you were scared, terrified, even! despite knowing each other for years, you’d only been dating for a few months; those are two completely different things! it’s not like you see your completely platonic best friend’s naked body every tuesday. even then, despite dating, you still haven’t gotten that stage of the relationship. and on top of that,

the two of you were a proper pair of virgins. you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she. you didn’t want to seem like an inexperienced loser to her, you wanted to take care of her and make her feel good. what if that didn’t happen? what if you made it awkward between the two of you?? it was nerve-racking.

as if barging into your mind and reading your thoughts, wanting to reassure you, she grabbed your hand in a gentle manner before nodding. then, she spoke up, “can you close the door?”

“there’s.. nobody home, though?”

she giggled, “oh i know, it’s just that i don’t want the dogs to potentially walk in on this.”

you groaned dramatically, laughing and insisting that you were too lazy to get up and that her dogs wouldn’t understand the situation if they even walked in. she, in response, just tapped your knee with a cheeky smile, encouraging you to stand up.

“come on y/n, close the door. think about milly and mia; think about their innocence!” she exaggerated.

after playfully hitting her arm and laughing along with her, you got up, proceeded to close and lock the door like she asked you to and eventually walked back to her bed, sitting back on it and positioning yourself the way you originally were, her back to you again. 

“happy?” you asked in a fake arrogant tone.

she hummed, radiant, “yes, very happy.” before turning her head just right and kissing you again.

eventually back to the original rhythm of the kiss, you placed your hands back on her stomach again, slowly caressing and teasing higher and higher with time. once you reached her bra, you proceeded to impatiently unhook it, immediately taking it off of her.

her breathing got heavier with each second that passed, partially due to nervousness, probably. you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the case for you too. the more your hands carefully roamed her body, the more self-conscious you got, you truly had no idea what you were doing. 

then, as if something in your mind clicked, you had an idea. what if you just did to her whatever you enjoyed doing to yourself in moments like these? that could work.. right? maybe??

you glided your hand upwards, your finger lightly grazing her nipple. in response to the sudden movement, a lewd sound accidentally escaped from her pretty lips, her breath hitching. that sound was a small moan.

a small one, barely audible, yet it was still enough for you to feel the activation of every single neuron residing in your brain.

then suddenly, it’s like the concept of making love to her wasn’t as nerve-racking as it originally was.

“s-sorry..” she apologized, seeming slightly embarrassed.

you kissed her cheek, reassuring her, “don’t apologize, i wanna hear you.”

despite it being an accident, she seemed to enjoy the sensation of your hand on her chest, so you went back to teasing her tits and gently groping them before you eventually asked, “is it okay if i go further..?”

nodding in a keen manner, she swallowed her saliva, then breathed out her response, “yes. yes keep— keep going. please.”

well shit! even if you wanted to stop, it’s not like you could, not with how good she sounded pleading for you.

not wasting any more time, you proceeded to separate one of your hands from her chest and quickly slid it downwards; to the band of her sweatpants. now, of course, your other hand was still in its original place, working its magic, but you wanted her to feel more. so much more.

you wanted to convey every surge of affection you violently felt for her into pleasure. and, if there was one thing you surely knew how to do, it was kissing her. 

so, you started kissing on her neck, which she didn’t expect whatsoever, and still heavily concentrated on the hand you had on her breast. then, you pulled on the sleeve of her tee just enough to expose her shoulder and moved your mouth towards it, nipping and gently licking it.

your hand now fully slipped into her pants, you teased her entrance through the fabric of her underwear as you kept kissing her naked shoulder. you listened to her attentively and took mental notes of her reactions; so far, her breathing got heavier, her thighs slightly clenched around your hand and she was now frequently biting her lip. 

plus, her panties were wet. 

did all of that mean you were doing good? …perhaps it did!

and did her drenched underwear make you short circuit? perhaps it did as well!

“d-d’you feel okay?” you asked, before going back to slowly kissing her shoulder. she threw you a quick glance, chest heaving up and down. 

“s-so okay.” she giggled.

her smile being contagious, you found yourself doing the exact same thing, content with the answer she gave you.

soon enough, you traced your finger up her clothed slit before eventually sliding it into the undergarment she wore, making her shudder. after what felt like an eternity, you could feel her slick coat your digits from one swipe of the finger. 

it was tantalizing.

growing impatient, you quickly yet carefully settled your middle and ring finger on her swollen clit, making slow circular motions on it, looking at her in the process. full on whimpering, this time, she stared back at you, no longer embarrassed. she wanted to let you know how good you were making her feel, hence why she was getting louder with each movement you made, and it filled you with enough confidence and adrenaline to gently push her head towards you, leaning in for a kiss.

thankfully, she kissed you back, deeply at that, her eyes closed and her quiet moans muffled.

you pulled away after a few moments, “tell me if it hurts, okay?” you reminded her. she simply nodded, brain all fuzzy from arousal.

she grabbed your other hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. “g-go slowly.” she whispered.

“i will.” you affirmed.

slowly and gently, you slid your fingers into her core, making sure not to go too fast or too rough. thankfully, the wetness was making it easier for you, and probably for her as well. every time that your girlfriend’s breath hitched, that her hand gripped harder on yours or, hell, every time that her eyes closed, you stopped in your tracks and double checked to see if you were hurting her, so it took a little while for your digits to fully penetrate her. 

fortunately, she assured you that you weren’t, in fact, hurting her. some moments just felt more comfortable than others, is all.

once they were fully in, you gave her time to get used to the feeling, still double checking on her state every now and then. after a few deep breaths, she nodded.

“i-i’m ready.”

you started to pump your fingers in and out of her, taking in all of her as your speed slowly increased as time went on. naturally, as more time passed, you felt the urge to make her feel good get even stronger.

that’s when you decided to increase the pace, your fingers curling on just the right spot inside her, pumping faster and faster as your thumb played with her clit.

“is this okay baby—” you asked.

“f-fuck— yes y/n that feels good—“ was what she moaned out, cutting you off. a feeling of bliss progressively and clearly overtaking her whole body.

when you tried to look at her despite only being able to see her side profile, you could’ve sworn you saw an angel. her cheeks were slightly tinted with a pinkish color and her eyebrows were upturned, her whole face contorted with pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat. her eyes hooded with lust, hanni looked down at herself and attentively watched as you played with her. your fingers swimming in her slick, navigating in her folds the way a skilled sailor would the vast ocean, it was hypnotizing, and she realized how this was probably the way you got yourself off on a regular day, and she couldn’t help but moan at both the thought and the sensation. 

you made her feel good, you made her feel happy, loved. you always did.

amidst the chaos that was her messy bed, the setting somehow looked better than every piece of artwork you’d ever seen combined. the bed creaked ever so slightly, and she looked and sounded so beautiful, especially with the way the sun set directly on her parted lips at that moment. 

you were certain that your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“i love you so much, hanni.” you softly said, kissing the back of her ear whilst you kept fingering her. she couldn’t form proper words, so she simply tightened her grip on your hand more, as a way to say it back.

then, once you picked up a stable pace for a few minutes, her back arched against you, her breathing getting heavier, practically panting. her hand’s grip on yours getting tighter, you felt her hot breath hit your neck once she settled her head into the crook of it.

“y/n— baby i think i’m- i’m— mmh—“

that was the moment she reached climax, letting out a long and loud moan as she rode out her orgasm, bucking her hips against your hand before smashing her lips onto yours. quietly, she let a few i love yous slip out of her mouth between kisses, her hand resting on your head, fingers intertwined with your soft hair. 

you particularly made sure to say it back to her every time.

you pulled out your fingers and took your hand out of her pants. still coming down from her high, she smiled at you with tired eyes and kissed your cheek. you smiled back, looking at her lovingly.

“d-did i do okay?” 

she giggled, “..are you seriously asking me that? do you not see me right now?” 

you raised your eyebrows, playful, “for all i know you were faking it.”

“yeah, actually.. i was faking it, especially with how wet i was from the whole thing. aren’t i such a good actor y/n? it’s almost like i legitimately came really hard—”

“shut up.” you elbowed her, laughing. she gave you a cheeky smile before she got up from the bed, grabbed a pair of new underwear from her drawer and opened the bedroom door, heading straight towards the living room to pet her dogs. 

“hey y/n?”

“hm?”

“wanna bake brownies in a bit?” 

“uhm.. yes? what kind of question is that?? let me just go wash my hands first.” you replied, getting up and walking towards the bathroom before adding on, “unless you wanna eat very unsanitary cum-buttered brownies, of course—“

you heard her contagious laugh from across the hallway, making you smile to yourself, “you’re fucking disgusting— go wash your hands, you weirdo!”

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

#smut #kpop gg #hanni pham newjeans #hanni newjeans #newjeans smut #hanni pham #hanni pham x female reader #hanni x reader #hanni x fem reader #hanni pham x fem reader #hanni smut #newjeans hanni #female reader #kpop gg smut #kpop girlgroups

[rinneverse]

cw just a crumb suggestive. minors do not interact. happy aventurine release day!! hope everyone who wants him gets him in their first 10 pull :>

aventurine likes to think his jealousy is subtle.

but really, after knowing him for so long, there are tiny slips in his facade, minuscule cracks in the mask that clue you into how he’s truly feeling.

they’re not easy to spot. his character is carefully crafted to be as flawless as possible; he’s a phenomenal actor and he doesn’t like to expose his true nature.

but you know him—you know him in ways no one else has seen before. you’ve seen him come unraveled, breathless and slick with sweat. you’ve seen him on his knees for you, eyes glimmering with want as he worships you. you’ve seen the way his nose scrunches slightly when he laughs, the way his eyebrows pinch together when he’s deep in thought, the way his left hand is always tucked behind his back during a gamble.

“you so were jealous,” you jab at your boyfriend, coy smile dancing on your lips as he scoffs and turns away.

“was not. i can only listen to that angel prattle on for so long, you know.”

“no need to deny it, vennie.”

the gambler turns your way. he gives you a brief once over before approaching you. he pushes into your space, forcing you to step back until your back hits the wall. he crowds you there, arm coming up to rest on the wall above your head. you’ve effectively been trapped.

"i'm not denying anythin' baby," aventurine huffs, bringing his face to yours. his warm breath ghosts against your lips. you find yourself wanting to tilt your head towards him, to brush your lips against his.

you resist yourself. you know exactly what he's gunning for here.

(you know you won't last very long. he'll always get what he wants in the end. you don't mind one bit.)

"i could literally see you glowering at him. you're not too subtle, you know?" at least not to you. not when you've come to know him in such intimate ways.

"i was bored—and hey, let's talk about the way he was lookin' at you. i didn't appreciate it one bit. that's what has me so worked up, since you're so convinced i'm jealous."

"he was just having a conversation with me??"

aventurine gives you an incredulous look, bringing his free hand up to squish your cheeks. you let out an indignant squeak.

"that's not how i saw it, sweetheart. c'mon, indulge me here. if i were him, i'd be lookin' at a pretty thing like you the way he was too. but doing that right in front of me? ugh," he sighs dramatically. "how're you gonna make it up to me? you were givin' all of your attention to him and i just don't think that's fair."

"when do you ever play fair?"

"i am right now, aren't i?"

you shoot him a look that screams absolutely not. but you sigh anyways, bringing your arms up to loop around his neck. the hand that holds your face loosens, then slowly trails down your body, coming to rest on your hip.

with a coy smile, you let your lips brush against his, feather-light and fleeting.

"fine, fine. i'll make it up to you. my eyes are only on you tonight, 'kay?"

aventurine smiles, dark and full of sinful promise.

"good. i think i'll take my time with you."

#☆ oakie writes #aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #can u guys tell i rlly like making him jealous .. i think its fun #possessive avennie <33 ugh #queuing this so it posts when his banner drops for NA :> #۫ ִ ׂ💭 a kiss for queue ◟♡ ˒ ⊹ ݁ ִ ۫

[se4son-of-the-witch]

pretty when you cry pt 2 - matt sturniolo

in which matt gets a much needed wake up call

based on this request !

┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☾⋆ ┊ ⊹ ┊ ✯ ⋆ ┊

Enough was enough. You had come to this realization a few days ago. Ever since that night after the bar, you've been ignoring Matt. He's been begging to see you. To come over and fuck you then act like you weren't anything special.

However, this time you actually answered him. He had texted you, saying how much he had missed you and wanted to come over. Little did he know you were going to cut ties with him. Completely.

You've had enough of feeling like an object. Like you were just one of the many girls he could come to when he needed to get off. You were more than that. And you knew deep down Matt wouldn't want you seeing any other guys.

As you awaited his arrival, you paced around the room. You stopped in front of your mirror, taking a good look at yourself. You brushed your hair out of your face as you let out a deep breath. This was going to be a difficult thing to do, but you knew it was the best thing to do. 

A knock on the door thankfully took you out of your thoughts, making sure you were getting any second thoughts about your decision. 

You made your way down the stairs, bracing yourself for how awkward this whole interaction was going to be. You waited a second before opening the door, your hand hesitantly reaching for the handle. Behind the door, Matt stood on your front porch. He was wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants, which he knew made you go crazy. However, you had to push those thoughts aside and stand up for yourself. 

"Hi, sweetheart," he greeted in a low tone. 

"Hi.' You kept your greeting short, not wanting it to go south before you had the chance to shut down your little situation. You closed the door behind you, making Matt's eyebrows raise in confusion, and took another step towards him. 

"What, did you wanna go back to my place or something?" He smirked at you, trying to get some sort of reaction from you. 

You let out a deep breath. "I can't do this anymore, Matt." You made short eye contact, trying to keep yourself from backing out. 

"What?" You didn't say anything which made his face slightly fall. "We don't have to have sex. We could just watch a movie or something." He shrugged his shoulders, not even sounding remotely interested in just cuddling with you.

"No, Matt, I'm saying," you paused, "I can't continue this." You pointed between the two of you. He looked down at you with his eyes slightly squinted. 

"What did I do wrong?" For some reason you couldn't place it, his tone was off. Like he didn't actually care to hear what he did wrong. Almost as if he was trying to pity himself and turn the whole situation on you. 

"It's just unfair." A deep sigh came from your mouth, making him take a step back. The confusion on his face was now replaced with annoyance. 

"I don't understand." He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head at you. "You're the one who keeps coming to see me, yet it's unfair to you?"

His words made you scoff. "Don't even go there, Matt." The two of you stood in silence for a minute, anger beginning to boil in your blood. "I know I'm not the only one, Matt." His mouth slightly gaped, making you scoff. "You were literally talking to a girl the other day after we came home from the bar." 

"What? I can't have other friends? It's not like we're even together," he shot back.

"That's just it, Matt. We're not together, yet you talk to me like we've been devoted to each other for years."

"Well, how was I supposed to talk to you?"

You laughed. He sounded like a complete idiot right now. "That's not the point. And you know damn well if I was talking to anybody else you would lose your shit." He scowled at you, really letting your words sink in. "It's just unfair." 

"You don't know that."

"Trust me, I do." He looked away, knowing deep down you were right, he just didn't want to admit it. "I just can't do this anymore. I'm more than someone you use to get off when you're horny." 

He shuffled back and forth on his feet, trying to think of what to say next. "You know you mean more than that, Y/n." He stepped closer to you, trying to caress your arm. However, you took a step back, brushing him off. 

"Do I, Matt?" When he didn't answer, you confirmed that this was the best thing to do. "Look, I can't just be an object. Not to you or anyone else." You took a deep breath. "So after you leave tonight, don't try to reach out, because I'm not going to answer." 

Although it didn't show on his face, you knew how hard your words hit him. It's as if all of his blood drained from his face, leaving him pale with slightly wide eyes. 

"Okay, okay. I can respect that." 

"Thank you, Matt." 

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, Matt spoke. "Well, I wish you the best, sweetheart. Maybe one day I'll see you around?" His tone was hopeful, which made you slightly smile. 

"I can't say." And you were telling the truth. As much as Matt made you feel special, you knew it was an act. However, he was a great guy. He just didn't know how to properly show you that. "Good night, Matt." You headed towards your front door, stepping inside. 

"Good night, Y/n." You watched as he walked off your porch, and headed to his car with his head low in defeat. Although it was an unusual sight to see, it took a big weight off of your shoulders. You were no longer his sweetheart and you couldn't feel better about that.

┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☾⋆ ┊ ⊹ ┊ ✯ ⋆ ┊

a/n: no happy ending this time 😛😛

tags: @chrattstromboli @imwetforyourmom

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader

[lovesickonmybed]

What if Bully Ellie and the reader are exes and now Ellie just wants to make the reader's life miserable 💀💀 I will pay for it, bc I know she will be so mean to her but the moment a new girl wants to make a move on reader Ellie will lose it

better than me | 18+

masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | bully!ex!ellie x ex!reader

synopsis | ellie isn't handling your break up well, her jealousy and anger taking over in the worst ways

warnings | 18+ MDNI!! wedgies, bullying, insults, jealousy, toxic behavior, sexual context, masturbation.

word count | 2k

a/n | honestly i'm kind of debating turning this into a miniseries because i really like this concept and kind of want to see where i could take it but let me know what y'all think!! i wrote this in the middle of the night with zero editing so if you see any mistakes no you don't. i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

You and Ellie had a very messy breakup, one she couldn’t get over. So she started bullying you. It started your freshman year of college, only two weeks after the breakup. Ellie had gone up to you in the locker room at the school's gym. She looked at you with an angry glare, “Move, you’re in my way.” She glares at you with her arms crossed, she had never looked at you like that before. 

“Just go around, you can literally climb over the bench. I don’t wanna talk to you,” you say, the breakup still fresh for you. 

Ellie shoves you back lightly, not breaking her glare, “No. You’re gonna move.” This exchange had garnered them a crowd, a lot of the girls in the room glancing over at the pair. Ellie is stubborn but so are you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? This isn’t you, Ellie!” You exclaim, not even caring if you’re causing a scene. You’ve never seen this side of her and it upsets you. You’re not even expecting it when she grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, quickly pushing you face first against the cold metal lockers. She grabs the waistband of your gym shorts and pulls it away from your body, giving her access to your underwear. She wraps her fingers around your waistband and you beg as soon as you feel her cold fingers brush against your skin. 

“Ellie, whatever you’re about to do, don't do it, please! I-I’m sorry! I should’ve moved!” You plead with her to literally save your own ass. It doesn’t work. She grips the waistband, pressing her arm hard against your back to keep you in place.

“You should’ve listened to me when I told you to fucking move,” Ellie borderline snarls before pulling hard on your waistband, the cotton fabric of your panties forcing its way up and between your cheeks. You yelp in pain and instinctively try to run, causing Ellie to pull even harder, forcing you onto your toes in seconds. You try every trick in the book to escape the pain but it’s no use, she has you right where she wants you and you’re not going anywhere.

She pulls and pulls at your panties, hiking them up to your shoulders before letting go of your waistband, laughing when you whine as it snaps back against you. She continues to hold your body against the locker, pressing herself against you and gripping your hair painfully. “You better listen to me next time I tell you to do something you fucking loser,” she threatens before letting you go and shoving past you to get to her locker. You look around the locker room with embarrassment, looking down at the ground and trying to hide your face with your hair as you grab the rest of your things from your locker before running out of the locker room and back to your dorm. 

You encounter her again a week later, you’re out in the quad talking with a girl from one of your classes, her name is Layla. You’re both sitting on a blanket she brought, talking about an assignment, cracking jokes here and there. You’re having a great time, smiling bigger than you had in a while, cheeks flushed when she compliments you. It’s bliss until Ellie comes along. She’s walking back to her dorm after an annoyingly long lecture, she’s got an overpriced iced coffee in her hand that she bought from the campus coffee shop and a pissed off look on her face. 

She’s speed walking, wanting to get away from everyone and everything when she spots you and Layla. You’re leaning in and giggling, smiling like you did when you were with Ellie. It makes her heart ache and before she even realizes it she’s walking over to the both of you. Her mouth feels dry as she’s standing in front of you two. She looks down and feels nauseous as you both look up at her.

“Uh, can I help you?” You ask coldly, glaring up at her. She looks nervous, and it’s slightly amusing to you to see her like this. Your date grabs your hand reassuringly, aware of the incident that had happened a few weeks ago. 

“What are you doing?” Ellie asks, her mouth moving quicker than her brain. She mentally facepalms after realizing what she’s said. It’s obvious what you’re doing and Ellie fucking hates it. 

“We’re just…hanging out. Why do you care?” You respond, looking away from her, focusing your eyes on a bird flying around in the distance. 

Ellie shuffles her feet and racks her brain, trying to come up with a response. “I-I-” She cuts herself off, still trying to find the words.

“Can you just leave us alone, we’re just trying to hang out and enjoy some fresh air. We’re not bothering anyone, okay?” Layla says, speaking up for the both of you. This angers Ellie even more, she doesn’t want to hear a word Layla has to say. She’s seeing red, jealous when she knows she has no right to be. She wants to act logically but she can’t, she acts purely on emotion as she tosses her coffee at Layla. It sends you both gasping in surprise scooting back, but not near quick enough to avoid the splash. You groan as you realize your white shirt has been covered in Ellies drink. Ellie is just as shocked by her actions as you are, she’s quick to run off, wanting to get back to her dorm as quickly as possible. 

You and Layla scramble to figure out what to do, using the blanket to dry yourselves. All you do is make the stains on your shirt and light wash jeans even worse and you hang your head in embarrassment as she walks you back to your dorm. You let her borrow some clothes and your shower stuff as she goes and gets herself cleaned up, you can’t lie she looks pretty good in your clothes even if it is just a black t-shirt and some sweatpants. You have your turn to shower and change and when you finish up you go back into your room to talk to Layla.

“I’m so sorry about that, I had no idea she was gonna do that. She hasn’t been herself since we broke up, she’s all mean now, it’s weird…” You apologize, sitting down on your twin bed next to her, brushing through your wet hair. 

Layla looks at you and smiles reassuringly, “It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for her now, if she can’t get over it she should talk to you instead of acting like such a dick. It’s not like you knew she’d do something so ridiculous.” You lay your head on her shoulder and look down at your lap. 

“I just feel bad you got caught up in this shit, she shouldn’t be messing with anyone else. I mean, she’s mad at me, there’s no reason for you to get caught in the middle of it,” you sigh. Layla once again grabs your hand, rubbing circles into your skin with her thumb. 

“She’s mad at me too for taking you out on a cute little picnic,” she chuckles, resting her head against yours. You feel comfortable and happy with her, but there’s a part of you that feels like something is missing. You push down the feeling, it’s not something you feel like addressing in the middle of such a sweet moment. You push back your memories of Ellie and let yourself smile as you and Layla cuddle up together. She stays over for an hour, cuddling with you and talking about class and getting to know each other better, you’re grateful she doesn’t bring up Ellie again. When she leaves she promises to return your clothes when she sees you again, you couldn’t care less if she did, she looks better in them, anyway. 

Ellie is freaking the fuck out when she gets back to her dorm room, completely out of breath as she had run the entire way there. She’s thankful Dina isn’t there as she collapses onto her bed hyperventilating. She hasn’t always been great at impulse control, everyone who’s known her has known this. But she didn’t think it was bad enough for something like that to happen. She knows she’s going about everything wrong, there’s no way she’s getting you back acting like that, but she doesn’t know how to get her shit together. 

“I’m so fucking stupid oh my goddd,” Ellie groans, grabbing her pillow and screaming into it in frustration. She’s embarrassed and angry and still feels pangs of jealousy as she thinks about you and Layla giggling together in the grass. Ellie had never taken you on a picnic, when you dated it was mostly arcade and movie dates, she hadn’t even thought you’d want to do something outdoors. She overthinks it, convincing herself you broke up with her because she never took you on a nature date. It’s a stupid, irrational thought, and Ellie knows that, but she doesn’t care. She needs to let herself spiral before she can pick herself back up and make a plan that doesn’t make you look at her like she’s a complete jackass. 

“I need to apologize, tell her I’m sorry for the wedgie and the coffee and fucking up her date…her date with that girl who doesn’t deserve her but whatever…” Ellie mumbles to herself, pulling at her hair stressfully. She thinks back to the wedgie incident, she completely humiliated you and it got her wet. Your pathetic little noises, how you were at her mercy like that, it just did it for her. She scrunches up her nose, trying to convince herself to stop thinking about it like that but it doesn’t take long for her to soak her panties once again. 

“If I take care of it, I’ll stop thinking about it,” she mutters as she tries to convince herself it’s okay to get off to the memory. She slips off her jeans and slips her hand under her panties, starting off by flicking her clit, whining pathetically at the sensation. She slips two of her fingers inside her soaked cunt, pumping them in and out slowly as she uses her thumb to stimulate her clit. She continues working her fingers in and out of her cunt as she bites her lip to keep her noises to a minimum. All she can think about is how pathetic you sounded as you took your wedgie, she replays the noises in her head, loving how you sounded. You never sounded like that when you had slept together, that was a side of you she didn’t get to see until she had your waistband in her hand. It doesn’t take her long to cum, whimpering out your name as she reaches her climax. She lazily works her way through her orgasm, wishing it was your fingers instead. She feels guilty afterwards, mumbling to herself that she’s not doing that again.

She forces herself to get out of bed and into the cramped bathroom she shares with Dina so that she can wash off her shame. Little does she know that you’re in your dorm room doing the same, pumping your fingers in and out of your cunt shamefully as you use your other hand to pull your panties like Ellie had. The feeling of powerlessness, pain, and humiliation had all combined into pleasure in your brain. You halfway moan Ellie’s name when you cum, cutting yourself off when you realize what name is leaving your lips. “I’m never doing that again,” you promise yourself as the shame bubbles up inside of you. For once you’re grateful for your roommate to come bursting in the door, you let her nonsensical rant about whatever show she was watching distract you from the lingering thoughts of Ellie’s hands on your waistband.

#ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams smut #ex!ellie williams #bully!ellie williams #bully!ex!ellie williams #wedgie kink

[jqnehr]

les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 19

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : wow ok so this one is, once again, 16+ only. ANGST. copious amounts of angst im telling you. mentions of suicide (literally the first line ☠️), graphic depictions of attempted murder by hanging, andré is massive asshole and you will see why, graphic violence, this is a very heavy chapter so you have been warned, fluff and suggestive stuff (wink wonk) at the end to make up for it all <3 word count : 21k (i have no words.) note : twenty one thousand damn words later and here we are. y'all asked for it!! but i also promised it so. ANYWAYS, if the end seems a bit rush that's because i have a massive headache right now and i need to sleep RIGHT NOW. enjoy y'all <3.

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part eighteen⋮ masterlist ⋮ part twenty

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

Your mother committed suicide. Perhaps that was the first fracture in the foundations of your life. A fissure that was leaking, but you conveniently brushed it off. A problem unsolved will only grow in size, but you never let that occur to you.

What they don’t know can’t hurt them. A rather generic, overused saying—but, nonetheless, it held quite surmountable insight towards your mother’s day-to-day life, for it was a common one of hers, perhaps her favourite. When one is an outcast in society, with nowhere else to go but the Fleuve Cendre, one would be quick to find out the true, ugly nature of the impoverished realm sitting below the comforts of Fontaine, and how each day is swift to morph into one of a battle for endurance, survival. The Fleuve Cendre is a dismal place, and despite some of the genuinely good individuals dwelling there, it’s rather a haven for the more shady, the more illicit.

Bootleg organisations and fraudulent gatherings is something commonly seen, commonly encountered, commonly conducted—and commonly turned a blind eye to. Those with no ill-intent, and yet no authority, have no other choice but to overlook such crooked arrangements, for fear of their own safety, and their families’—if they have any. The overworld’s influence down within the sewers is weak; bribery is rampant, the hush money always so generous. Ex-criminals with no place in society above aren’t necessarily welcome below, but nor can they be turned away—on the surface, to any old law-abiding citizen of Fontaine, the Fleuve Cendre doesn’t seem all that bad; it appears to be well-maintained, the law is enforced and kept by the inhabitants—and people don’t like to think about it any more than what it seems to be at face value. Such applies for every other aspect of life also. Ignorance is bliss. 

That’s what the overworld citizens enjoy. Bliss. And that’s why, during your youth, you made it your life’s goal to relocate to the overworld. To try and fit in, become one of the uppity, ‘righteous’ law-abiding residents. Live in a nice apartment, stroll about the grassy slopes of your region’s landscape, admire the vast views. Maybe get a Vision, and go explore the underwater world many renown for its otherworldly beauty. 

You would’ve—and at the time of your first especially tragic, life-altering incident of walking in your own mother swallowing a cyanide pill, you knew that things were never as simple as your mind presented it to be. 

Your mother had grabbed your upper arm with a vice-like grip, digging her nails into your flesh, hissing, “Burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulbert will—” she hacked out a cough, “—get to you.”

How she managed her final words out with such vivacity and resolve even as she died is something you didn’t know whether to admire, or to resent. She left you shaking violently all over once her hand slumped from your arm.

Once you told Daniel, you and him immediately rummaged through your mother’s office, turning it upside down, gathering all the papers and ledgers and records you both could find involving her illegal dealings and set them alight, honouring her dying wish. Of course, you both read through them before you threw a match at them—throughout your childhoods, your mother had been dealing with gangs, Treasure Hoarders, even the Fatui, as a way to make a living and feed you both. Smuggling of illegal substances, unauthorised trading of alcohol and firewater for Fatui roaming about Fontaine, and even exchanging of highly-confidential governmental information to the Fatui, for a hefty price. All dealings that put your mother and her two children in grave, grave danger if she were ever to bail on them, sell her clientele out, or be caught by the court of law, which, to you—and as your brother also agrees—explains why your mother was very distant.

Your father disappeared when you were three. You and your brother were born out of wedlock, anyway, and considering what your brother has told you about the man before he took off, he wasn’t the most pleasant of fellows to your mother. Your mother once drunkenly shrieked that he left because you were born a girl, and it all boiled down to you, essentially, tearing her relationship with your father apart due to your birth. When she sobered, she expressed no memory of ever shouting such an awful thing at you, leaving you to pull away, to accept it, wounded.

The woman never treated either of her children with motherly love. She hardly ever inquired either of you of your whereabouts in the Fleuve Cendre, apparently uncaring of your safety. The sewers is an unkind place to most, but there is a sense of familiarity within—everyone looks out for each other, which explains how the only type of parental love you ever received was through Elias. But he was more of an uncle. A genuine old man, you’re thankful to him for teaching you many life lessons when the one person who should’ve, never did. It was a morbid stroke of luck that he died just when you were old enough to fend for yourself. Perhaps that was the final push towards you actually shifting to the overworld.

Your brother soon followed, and then he met Elvira. It was nice to see him appear so much freer compared to what he was like when barely scraping by down in the Fleuve Cendre. It took a few years until your brother and Elvira, his girlfriend at that time, finally agreed to marry. You remember him jokingly asking when you were going to get engaged, to which you waved off and dismissed, telling him not to pressure you about it. 

Despite destroying all known records of any of your mother’s illegal dealings, a premonition stayed with you throughout the years after—what if there was something you’d missed? Something incriminating, damnatory—where it could end you both up in prison, just for being the primary culprit’s only living offspring? Yes, it would most certainly be inculpating. Hiding such criminal transactions and such would absolutely earn you a spot down in the Fortress of Meropide. Why, your mother had even committed treason by tipping off members of the Fatui about highly confidential matters involving the country’s government and judicial system. How she obtained that information, you’ll never know—and you don’t want to know. All you do know is that her shady relations had, essentially, left you and your brother in a tight spot for, as it would seem, the rest of your lives.

Perhaps moving to the overworld was an attempt at an escape from such. 

Where—when—did things go wrong?

Long before you got your job at Chioriya Boutique, you were juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet. Such is the life of an individual without the certifications and required amount of education to pursue any real career—such is the life of an individual who has never had control or a choice over that. Such is the life of a woman who has grown up in the dejected world of the Fleuve Cendre, one without much opportunity. 

Entering the Akademiya? What a painfully pathetic pipe dream that is for a peasant who lived her childhood in the slums. The Akademiya is for the elevated, for the brilliant of mind—and, most importantly, for the deep of pocket. 

Those three things you did not have. And you still don’t really have them. The fuzzy memory of your aunt bequeathing her books to you is so vague now, you barely think of it anymore. But, that is still the seed that was planted towards pursuing your fantasy of entering the greatest university in Teyvat. It is a shame you had to give it up.

Either way, you’ve never really gone about your life resenting the circumstances you grew up in—in fact, you don’t even have an opinion of your mother anymore. You and your brother don’t bring it up. Your lives had improved so much, and it seemed to only get better.

That’s when you met André—confident, witty André.

Your first meeting was at a wedding anniversary party thrown by a mutual friend. It was a rather humble occasion, with only about thirty guests in total, where the atmosphere was hospitable and warm. Although you were never really a people person, this event was one of the few places where you felt genuinely welcomed. Amiable chatter came easily, and thus came the introductions.

“Mademoiselle [Name], allow me to introduce you to my dear friend here, André Banville.”

He was tall, swarthy, and had kind eyes. They were a deep brown, black against the orange glow of the chandelier overhead, but they were not cold, and they sparkled. He wasn’t the most handsome man you’d ever met, but there was something about him that just pulled you in. It pulled everyone in, like he was a welcoming gravitational field, drawing all those around into his orbit. This was clear—for many had greeted him and struck up conversations with him, and he was like the beating heart of the party, despite being a guest, and the hosts had no problem with it. In fact, the couple cheerily chatted away with him, and André never failed to make those around roar with laughter.

You had held out a hand for him to shake, but he surprised you by taking it and placing a gentlemanly kiss to the top of it. “Good evening, Mademoiselle. It is lovely to meet you.”

A wash of heat had enveloped you, and you stood stunned for a moment. “I—erm—why, thank you, good sir. How do you fare on this fine evening?”

André had released your hand and straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets, pose languid, and it was such a smooth, fluid motion, you blinked at the strange attractiveness of it. His curly dark hair flopped down over his forehand, brushing against his eyes, and you noticed he had long, pretty lashes. Slightly envious, you had regarded him with curiosity and fascination. He must be of Natlanian or Sumeruian heritage. 

When he smiled, it brought his dimples to light. “Well, when there’s champagne involved, I’m always happy.”

His companion beside him, the one who introduced you, let out a hearty laugh, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Hoho, good one, André! Now, where’s Stephie?”

André shrugged, and turned back to you. His friend clapped him on the shoulder once more as he turned and left you both alone, chortling, making his way back through the crowd to locate the woman he mentioned, presumably his wife. André inclined his head towards you. “So, what do you do for a living, Mademoiselle?”

You blinked, oddly surprised at the question. You hadn’t expected him to carry on a conversation. Attractive, likeable people didn’t usually do that with you. “Uh. I just work a few jobs in the city. I’d like to become a seamstress, maybe work at a renowned boutique one day.”

That had made his brows raise. Someone passing by offered him a flute of champagne, of which he immediately accepted with thanks. You were offered no flute. And then he surprised you further by extending it out towards you. “You are good with a needle and thread? Do you like to design clothes?” You, flustered, accepted the glass of champagne, blushing at his kindness. It had left you quite tongue-tied. “I—oh, n-no, not really—it’s, well…I like making the designs, you see? If I were to be corny, I’d say, ‘I like bringing them to life’.”

André had grinned. “Quite poetic of you, Mademoiselle. Say, would you be inclined to mending a tailcoat of mine for me? Of course, I will pay you. It’s really quite urgent, you understand, as I have an event I must attend soon and it needs to be fixed for the evening—”

“Of course I can,” you had agreed before thinking better of it, despite being surprised at the abruptness of his request. Besides, you could have used the extra money. “If you want, I can come pick it up.”

“I will deliver it to you.” He had reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a mini notepad and pen. “Here, just write your address or place of work down for me, and I’ll get back to you.” Any normal woman would have second guessed it and pulled away from immediately providing a man she’d just met her address, but none of that occurred to you. This man was charming, polite, and had eyes anyone would like. To you, he seemed perfectly genuine.

But, you realised soon after his attempt on your life, that was the very thing about André Banville. Perfectly genuine. Perfectly charming. Perfectly polite. Had mastered the art of acting with the eyes. Only ever reached out to you if you had something he wanted, something he could use.

You two got along like a house on fire. André had such a knack for putting everyone around him at ease. Conversation was quick to flow naturally, and soon you had divulged him of your origins, of your past, and of where you wished to be. No judgement shone in his eyes once your story came to an end, and all previous qualms you had about befriending this man had swiftly faded.

The eyes are the window to the soul. That is what you thought back then. And, back then, you looked into André’s and saw sincerity you hadn’t witnessed before.

That was the push off the brink. You were merely a guileless, worriless youth back then, still just a fledgeling spreading her wings in the outside world—in this scenario, that being the overworld—and you were much less practical than you are today. Back then, you daydreamed and fantasised readily, believing there to be nothing but happiness in the wake of your future. And that proved true, for a time.

It became easy to forget all the important things when around the things you loved and people you liked. André grew to be one of your closest companions, one of your most trusted friends, and a man you envisioned the rest of your life with. You introduced him to your brother, and Daniel heartily shook his hands and they, too, became good friends.

André was such a joyous addition to your life. The gods had finally decided to smile on you, you supposed, contentedly watching André and Daniel share common interests and laugh together over a good glass of wine. Elvira enjoyed his company also—and you all quickly became like one big family.

You were all so easily deceived.

He must have thought it hilarious. All of you, so effortlessly duped into his little bubble—one you, in particular, walked so readily into. But it turned into a cage, and it became impossible to leave.

Because you didn’t want to leave, until it was too late.

You still remember your second meeting like it was yesterday—the two, short knocks at your door, your excited leap from your seat on the couch, the quick once-over in your hall wall-mirror just to check that you’re presentable, and the slightly-rushed opening of your door. 

There André stood, with one of his hands in his pockets in that same, the other holding a paper bag—presumably with his damaged tailcoat inside it—that signature pose of his that screamed nonchalance, a languid posture almost indolent, like he had all the time in the world to get whatever he needed to get done, done. 

And that alluring, tanned skin of his, those deep brown locks spilling over assured dark eyes, rimmed with long lashes you covet. André exuded confidence, seemed so secure in himself, but never with that self-absorbed vibe you frequently detected from others with the looks and money and reason to flaunt. André was no flaunter, no bragger. People did the bragging for him. If you were his friend, you had something to boast about.

His popularity in Fontanian high society was growing steadily. Women and girls flocked to him. Everywhere he went, he was the life of the party. A true social butterfly, with the skills and talents that everyone admired, that everyone wanted.

“André,” you greeted, smiling, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow him to enter. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Quite so, quite so! That’s a pretty blouse you have on there, [Name]. The colour makes your eyes pop.”

“Why, thank you.” How you had managed to get that out without stuttering, is still beyond you to this day. “Care for anything? Tea? Coffee? It’s not even noon yet.”

“No, no, I’ve actually got to run.” André glanced around for a moment before pointing at your dining table, a paper bag in his hands. “Shall I put this over there?” “Oh, here, I’ll take it from you.” You quickly approached him and reached for the paper bag. He swiftly handed it over, before giving you a wide smile. “Sorry I can’t stay. Let me get you coffee to make up for it.”

You blinked. He’s…asking me out? On a date? No. You both had just met barely a week ago. Sure, you had spent the rest of the evening chatting away, getting along like old friends, and he had said he was looking forward to seeing you again—but, surely it wasn’t that much to read into. 

“Uh—sure, if you’d like. You really don’t have to.” I can’t be a bother and make him grow tired of me! You’d never had the most interesting of personalities, and you weren’t beautiful or rich, so you didn’t have much going for you.

André had never seemed to care.

“What do you mean? Getting you coffee is the least I could possibly do for you.”

“Oh…but you’re already paying me Mora—”

“Right!” He snapped his fingers at your reminding words. “Here. I hope it’s enough.” André pulled out a little brown pouch from his jacket pocket, the coins inside clinking in his palm, and he placed it on top of the paper bag that sat in your hold. “There you are. Coffee next week on Tuesday, if you’re free?”

You blinked several times to rearrange your thoughts, still reeling from the Mora so casually handed to you—practically thrown at you—and it made you wonder if he was wealthier than he let on. He never dressed in very expensive wear. It was neat and formal enough, sure, but it never looked exorbitant. “Erm…alright. I really do hope I’m not being a bother.” “If you were bothering me, [Name], I wouldn’t have offered, and I’d have long let you know, don’t you worry about that.” The man grinned and stepped past you—and even ruffled your hair lightheartedly on his way to your door. You had hurriedly put down the bag and pouch of money on your coffee table, scurrying over to see him out. André turned and gave you a friendly wave goodbye. “Again, thank you for agreeing to do this small favour for me. Really, you’re a lifesaver. Well, then, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Mademoiselle.”

With one final grin, off André went, hurrying to attend to whatever errand demanded his attention, leaving you dazed, flushed, and thrilled.

You had mended his tailcoat with the best thread you owned, making sure the seam you sewed the hole back together with was completely invisible on the finished product—just as if it was bought right from the factory. The hole was really quite big—it looked torn, as if someone had either grabbed it to wrench its wearer back, or some kind of item had snagged it and ripped it through in hurried attempts to get away.

It had made you hum to yourself in contemplation, holding the material up to the light and studying the serrated rip of the material. Thankfully, it’s salvageable. All you had to do was slightly snip at the jagged ends and sew it back together. Good as new.

It didn’t take you long to complete. Only an hour and a half, at best. That meant you had to wait about a week to return it to André…and a week you had to wait until seeing him again.

Stupid girl! You had immediately berated yourself at your train of thought, blinking back to reality. You just met him. Slow down!

Despite your attempts to brush it off, the week had dragged on by endlessly, almost driving you insane. You had tried to occupy yourself with other things—visiting your brother, having nice chats with Elvira over a few cups of tea, busying yourself with your jobs, going on a spontaneous cleaning spree in your apartment, finally getting around to washing those curtains of yours. All nice, useful distractions, but they didn’t fully distract your thoughts for a week. It had left you slumped on your couch, staring up at the ceiling, still with your rubber cleaning gloves on. 

This is bad. You’d never been in love before, so you were sure this was just a fleeting little crush that would fade. Never mind him being the first man to actually treat you like another human being enjoyable to be around—you were sure (at least, according to the silly romance novels you had liked to sit down and read occasionally) that this would pass eventually. Yes. That’s all it is. You’re not a teenager anymore! Grow up! He probably doesn’t give a damn about you at all!

If only you had known how right you were.

André had knocked on your door that following Tuesday, beaming that same smile of his. One that was quickly becoming your favourite to see. Ugh, I can be so cringe at times.

“Well! I hope you’re ready for our little outing.” Were the first words he greeted you with upon you opening your door. You, in fact, were all dressed and ready to go, bubbling with excitement on the inside. “I suppose so. Ah—here, your tailcoat, it’s all finished.” You handed over the neatly ironed and folded tailcoat in the same paper bag he had given it to you in, strangely nervous about what his reaction would be. 

You had no reason to worry, however, for he instantly lit up and accepted the item with an even bigger smile. “Wonderful! You really are a lifesaver, [Name]. Let’s take a look at it.”

André had pulled out the tailcoat, carefully unfolded it, and inspected the cloth with an intent eye. He held the material where the hole was, before flicking his gaze to you, eyes twinkling. “Goodness! You’d never have even known it was there!”

You had looked down bashfully, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear at the compliment. It made your blood sing. “Oh, thank you, André—but, truly, it’s the least I could do. Nothing to it, really.”

“Nonsense! I am highly impressed, you can’t even see the seam. Now, come along—you’re owed a latte and an éclair.”

“An éclair! My goodness, you spoil me, André.” You had smiled, shaking your head, locking your apartment door behind you, placing your keys back into your purse and adjusting its strap on your shoulder. He offered his arm, surprising you even further. “Well, my word! Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman?” “Something I pride myself in.” André had grinned, patting your hand fondly. “Now, what is your favourite café?”

That day, after wandering around town and just getting to know each other, André invited you to accompany him to the ball he was attending in two days’ time. 

“I—” you broke off, blinking, completely caught off guard by the suggestion. “Well, I would love to, André, but…I don’t have any proper evening wear for such an occasion. And, I don’t have an invitation.”

“No need to worry your pretty little head about that factor, [Name],” he had teasingly responded, tapping your forehead. “For I have a plus-one invitation. And, I have chosen you to be the one I escort.”

“Well, that’s great—but, as I said, I don’t have a ballgown. I don’t even have that much makeup, and only two pairs of earrings.” Such are the perks of being rather impoverished.

“And as I said, you don’t need to worry.” He paused before a building, and swept an arm up towards it. “Tonight is quite an important night for me, so having you as my partner is rather detrimental towards appearances.”

“I—I see.” You gaped up at the store’s marquee—Gaëlle’s Couture. At that time, well before Chioriya Boutique opened, ‘Gaëlle’s Couture’ was the number one boutique in Fontaine. Not only was Gaëlle’s Couture a true fashion emporium, but it also had a salon within it. So, it was convenient to purchase and have your selected gown or clothing fitted, and then get your makeup done. 

“Are—are you sure about this, André?” You managed out, blinking up at him. “This…place is very expensive. You’ve already spent more than enough on me for a lifetime.” “Rubbish! Consider this one more favour you’re doing for me.” He turned and led you into the boutique. You were too dazed to protest any further. André winked down at you. “And, at the end of the day, I really don’t think you could possibly deny an excuse to get all dolled up, no? No woman would, as far as I know.”

“Uh, well…” you mumbled, warily looking around at all the colourful clothes and dresses and shoes on display, uncertain. Everything looked and smelled so expensive—that even if it wasn’t you spending any money, it still felt like getting a tooth extracted. You had never liked other people spending money on you, anyway. It always made you feel like they had one on you, as if you thus owed them something from then on. “I really don’t know, André…”

“Tut tut, hush for a moment, [Name],” André shushed you and turned to the staff member who had approached you both to assist you with anything.

“Welcome! How may I help you today, Monsieur?”

“It would be wonderful if you could find a proper ball gown for this lovely young woman here.” He gestured to you, smiling. You kept your eyes carefully trained on the carpeted ground of the store. “You see, we have an event coming up in a few days, and she doesn’t have anything appropriate to wear.” “Of course! That shall be no problem.” The woman smiled at you warmly, turning to lead you both to the women’s formal wear section just over in another aisle. “Please, follow me.”

André patted your shoulder and pointed to some couches over the side. “I’ll be over there, waiting for you. Pick out whatever you’d like. Don’t worry about the price.”

“Are you sure—”

“Go, [Name].” He nudged you in the direction of the awaiting staff member. “Dress up to your heart’s content.”

Defeated, you nodded and turned to the woman standing by, plastering a polite smile on your face. “Well, then, please lead the way.”

The dresses you tried on that day were all beautifully crafted, intricately designed, and costly. Of course, they were certainly worth every penny priced, but you felt very out of place trying on such expensive and luxurious wear. You, a commoner, hailing from the murky depths of the Fleuve Cendre, donning dresses fit for a queen? You, a rather destitute young woman, who once wore tattered old garments in need of a good wash and mend, now all dolled up like a noblewoman? It was unfathomable to you. It was a dream come true, yes—you had practically become the epitome of a ‘rags to riches’ girl like in those fairy stories—but you felt out of place, undeserving. You had read somewhere that what you were feeling was called ‘imposter syndrome’, and it really aptly described your sentiments toward that occasion.

You eventually decided on a deep sea-blue gown that had the most gorgeous gradient—the bodice was that azure hue with jewelled, hand-embroidered flora needlework, and the hems of the bodice were laced, with pearls woven into the filament. The blue faded down into a silver, with an almost moon-like shimmer when the light hit it right, and the skirt fell about your legs so fluidly, so naturally—and, above all, it was comfortable. 

You selected a pair of blue heeled satin slippers, and the height of the shoes’ heels were not so elevated as to hurt your feet. It was perfect.

The staff member, Cecily, had clapped her hands together and put them over her mouth in wonder once you stepped out from behind the dressing room’s curtain. “Mademoiselle, you look breathtaking!”

You thought the dress was wonderful, not yourself. “Aha, thank you. It really is an exquisite gown.”

“Oh, but it’s like it was made for you!” Ah, yes, the flattery—all a subtle sale’s pitch to get me to buy this product. It’s probably the most expensive dress in here. You didn’t say anything in reply to the woman’s compliments. “Every eye will be on you at the ball, miss.”

“Haha. If only,” you answered dryly, fluffing the dress’s skirt, letting it swish about your legs. I really do like this dress though. The gown’s palette also struck a strange sense of familiarity in you, as if you’d seen this very colour scheme somewhere—or on someone—before.

“My word!” A masculine voice exclaimed, and you sharply turned to see André gaping at you. “Now, ain’t that a dress!”

You suddenly felt quite bashful, and rather naked, even though the garment was perfectly modest. “Does it…look alright?” “It’s as they say, [Name]—the dress really does make the woman.” He strode forward and grasped your shoulders gently, spinning you around in a slow circle, taking you in. “This is perfect. Have you chosen a pair of shoes? Let me see them.”

“Uh, yes, I thought these suited the dress.” You lifted the skirt up a bit and extended a foot, letting him see your chosen pair of heels. “Not ostentatious, you know? Comfortable, practical, makes the dress shine…”

“You really do have taste in fashion! This combination would never have even entered my head. I’m useless at this kind of thing.” Then, he turned to Cecily standing aside. “What do you have in terms of jewellery?”

“Plenty, Monsieur. Would you like to have a look?” She gestured to another section of the store, where pendants and earrings and even tiaras sat sparkling in sturdy glass cases. “I have a pair of earrings in mind that would go impeccably with the dress.” “Well, then, lead the way!” He’s awfully excited about this. It made you feel excited, glad—just as much as it made you feel restless. I suppose…it wouldn’t hurt to indulge a little.

Cecily rounded the counter before the encased jewellery and unlocked one, gingerly extracting a pair of dazzling cerulean earrings from the display case. “These are of carefully-hewn sapphire, with pure silver surrounding it. I believe it would go wonderfully with the dress, and would suit Mademoiselle here flawlessly.”

“What do you think, [Name]? Aren’t these perfect? Come, try them on.” André tilted your chin up and accepted the trinkets from the woman, lightly pressing one of the earrings’ hook into the piercing of your earlobe, locking it in with the little rubber screw-back. He swiftly added the other one, before stepping away from you to get a good look.

Cecily nodded enthusiastically. “I knew they were perfect!” “Stunning!” André exclaimed, looking like a proud father, even though he had to be at least twenty-four. “It’s minimal, but that’s all you need!”

You accept the mirror presented to you by Cecily and observe your reflection. Wow…these earrings are so pretty!

“Now—makeup!” André clapped his hands and swivelled around to face Cecily. “Anything in mind?” “Absolutely—allow me to get the pamphlet.” She left you both standing together in front of the jewellery display cases, heading over to the salon area. There were already about three other women getting their hair and makeup done.

“You will look truly breathtaking on the night, [Name],” André energetically said, patting your shoulder. He’s more excited about this than me. But, you weren’t exactly complaining. You found his enthusiasm cute.

“Oh, you flatter me,” you responded, bashful, fidgeting with your fingers. André looked down at the motion, and lit up. Oh no. “Ah—of course! You must get a manicure!”

“What the—André! You’re getting a bit excessive! Just imagine the bill!”

“Who cares! I’m not worried about that! Just think—don’t you think getting your nails done will fully complete the look?”

“Oh, but how will I repay you? The entire cost for all of this is sure to be worth more than a full year’s pay!”

“Why are you so worried about the price? If I was you and spending someone else’s money, I’d be going all out.”

“Well, I don’t like spending other people’s money! Buying all of this will probably send you bankrupt, and for what?” André shook his head in mock-exasperation. “All of this will pay off, don’t you worry. Loosen up a bit! Aren’t you having fun? Don’t let your stinginess get in the way of letting loose every once in a while.”

That had silenced you. It left you thinking: I really am having fun, if I think about it. And he’s kind of right…why shouldn’t I forget about my financial troubles for a little while?

It would be your first time going to a ball. Why aren’t you excited? Why can’t you be excited? So, you decided to stop fretting and enjoy your time here, essentially getting a makeover.

You finally nodded in affirmation to him. “Alright. I’ll get a manicure.” André beamed at that, those dark eyes now a delighted chocolate brown. “Wonderful! Ah, here she is.” He turned to the approaching Cecily, who held a brochure in her hands. “Miss, would [Name] here be able to get a manicure?” “Ah, I’m sorry, but we don’t do nail tech here.” Cecily looked rather disappointed. “I’ve raised the suggestion to Madam Gaëlle many times, but she has yet to get around to actually following through with it.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame.” André looked rather deflated. “We’ll just have to settle for some makeup for now, then.” He faced you once more. “Have a look through that booklet there. Do you mind if I leave you here for a little while? I’ve got a small errand to run. It won’t take too long at all.” “Ah, alright.” You nodded, accepting the flyer extended to you from Cecily. “See you soon.” And in a flash, André was out the door with a wave, and you were left in Cecily’s care.

“Well, I really do like these earrings, Miss Cecily.” Now with the extrovert gone, you had to force yourself into conversational mode, as if your social interaction battery wasn’t running on very low.

“I think they look marvellous on you, Mademoiselle,” Cecily replied, and she gestured towards the salon area. “Shall we? You can have a seat and peruse the pamphlet for a little while, if you’d like. Would you care for any refreshments?” “…In this dress?” You looked down at yourself. “Are you sure that would be alright? I don’t want to spill anything on this gown. It looks like it took years to make.”

“Haha, you’re not too far off on that one,” Cecily laughed, pulling out one of the recliners in front of the vanity’s mirror for you to take a seat in. “It is one of the Madam’s best works. I’d tell you the price, but I don’t want you to faint.” You appreciated Cecily’s easy-going nature and talkative temperament. Unlike most people, she didn’t tire you out with gossip. “I like your honesty. I felt quite like fainting when I tried this dress on. The quality of the material is enough to make even the wealthiest of nobles have a heart attack.”

The woman chuckled, rearranging some of the cosmetics on the vanity’s top. “Quite so, honestly. Alright, you have a look through that and I’ll get you a…?”

“A hot chocolate would be fine, thank you, Cecily,” you smiled up at her, in the mood for something sweet. She quipped an ‘okay’ and went off to wherever, leaving you to it.

You opened the pamphlet to the blue-themed makeup looks and flipped through them, looking for something less extravagant than what the flyer had to offer. You didn’t want anything with bright, overdone eyeshadow and blood-red lips. You wanted something minimal, as the gown was already eye-catching enough.

You flipped the page, and stopped at a look that had the perfect shade of blue, and the way the eyeshadow was styled was flawless. With some blue pigment lightly dusted into the inner corner of the eye, the middle of the eyelid was left unshaded—instead, clear, glittery eyeshadow coated the centre of the lid, for the outer corner of the eyes, the same blue daub was dusted into a wing out from the eye, the black kohl of the eyeliner sweeping up with it. False lashes were part of the look, curled up nicely with generous layers of mascara, and it gave the perfect hooded-eyed, siren sort of look that was all the rage nowadays. This is perfect! But will it suit me?

Blue suits everyone, no matter their skin colour, you surmise, and you decide on this look. The lipstick was a glossy nude tone, with accents of pink to give the mouth a flushed look. Whoever the makeup artist is here, they’re a genius!

Not exactly minimal, but not gaudy either. Just your thing.

You liked extravagant, loud makeup looks—but if you went for one here, you’d look like a clown. The dress had already completed most of the look—lavish and almost showy, and therefore excessive amounts of makeup weren’t necessary. 

Once Cecily returns with your beverage and gets started on your makeup, she is quick to compliment your choice.

“You really should work in a boutique someday, miss. Maybe you could work here. Madam would snap you up.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someday.” You couldn’t say you were ready yet. You had to get yourself fully sorted out yet.

“Well, if you’re ever in need of a job somewhere, come here and I’ll vouch for you.” “Thank you, Cecily. You’re very kind.”

By the time she had finished your makeup, André was back. 

“Wow!” He exclaimed upon seeing you, eyes wide. “By the gods! You scrub up so well!”

“Haha, thank you.” You were unsure if that was a compliment or not. Or maybe you were just sensitive. “Now to take it all off after hours of hard work. I’m sorry, Cecily.”

“That’s quite alright, miss. It’s my job. I’m not offended!”

“You don’t have to take it off, [Name].” André shook his head. “It’s getting onto evening now. Shall we go get dinner? Somewhere fancy, so you won’t look out of place with that makeup on.’

“You’ve already spent far too much on me—” “Ah, ah, ah! What did I say about stinginess?” He waggled a finger in front of your face. “Stop fretting. Now, if you could wrap all of this up for us, Cecily, it would be much appreciated.” “Of course.” She turned towards the changing area, looking to you. “Shall we, miss?” “Yes, absolutely.” You had begun to grow tired of the dress, as it was rather tight around the bosom. You also wanted to go home, but you also wanted to spend more time with André. So, you could bear it a little longer, you supposed.

Not used to having such heavy makeup on, after André paid the bill (you looked away from the sight as if witnessing something grisly occur right before your eyes) and you both headed out, it felt like you were walking around with a pie stuck to your face. 

But it was a sensation you could grow accustomed to, you supposed. For the first time, you felt pretty.

・・・・

The months following were what you considered, at the time, to be the best months of your life. André fit into your small family like a glove, like it was so natural; meant to be. He always made time for all of you—you especially. That gave you hope. It wasn’t long until you were ready to admit to yourself that you were in love with the man.

However, every woman was. At the ball you attended with him, the ladies flocked to him like flies swarming to a carcass. A morbid, unpleasant comparison, yes—but it’s one you’ve always used, even to this day. Especially today. Now, it’s more or less used in spite.

The spotlight on him left you in the shadows. It wasn’t the best of a first-time experience for attending a ball. Sure, you had the odd sleazy miscreant approach you and ask you for a dance, some of which you accepted, but it wasn’t enjoyable. It made your spirits drop, seeing André practically forget about you.

But you didn’t mind all that much. You supposed it was natural. He had to entertain his little fanclub, if to get them to leave him alone. And he took you home, so it really wasn’t all that bad in the end.

After blissful occasions of him taking you to see all the sights on Fontaine you’d always wanted to see, delightful times of ice cream down by Fountain Lucine and late night chats under the soft glow of a streetlight, you were sure you were both meant to be. Why else would he spend so much time with me? He must like me too, right?

Your confirmation came soon enough. It was over some Fonta at a table in Cafe Lutece one pleasant Friday afternoon. André had said he needed to tell you something, but you didn’t get your hopes up. He probably got a promotion at his job he talks about. A long-awaited and well-deserved promotion, by the sounds of it.

André had never really specified where he worked and what he did, but he did say that it was office work. You were surprised at his words, not having expected him to have that kind of profession.

“I thought you’d be the more physical-labour sort of type.”

André had raised his brows. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Well…you’re just not the kind of guy who sits around all day, you know? You’re always on the move; doing something and going somewhere.”

He had chuckled, ruffling your hair. André always seemed fond of doing that. You never hated it. “That may be so, but I’m not fond of lifting boxes or crates all day, [Name]. No, it’s much more comfortable at a desk.”

You couldn’t help but agree with that. But you could never picture him toiling away at his desk, swamped with paperwork. It’s just something you could never see, and for the first time, you had found that you didn’t believe him.

You never pried any more on the matter, though. If he didn’t want to tell you or talk about it, then you respected that.

That brought you back to that day—that wonderful day. Where you were peacefully sipping at your Fonta when André dropped a true bomb on you.

“I like you.” He had said—so casually, as if he was remarking on the weather. As if it was a normal thing to say out of the blue. “I think we should date.”

You had choked and coughed on your drink, wheezing, eyes wide. People had begun to stare. Cheeks flaming, you whirled on him, hissing, “A warning next time!”

André threw up his hands in an I-surrender! fashion, brows lifted. “Sorry! I just…didn’t know how else to bring it up.”

Once you had calmed down and collected yourself, you stared at him and said, “…Are you being serious? You want to date me?”

He furrowed his brows, tilting his head in puzzlement at your wording. “Why? Is that strange? That I like your character and think you’re pretty?” “You—you think I’m pretty?” You sputtered, blinking rapidly. You had felt like you were about to combust. “I—I—!”

André leaned forward and brushed his fingers upon your cheek softly, fondly, his smile not that signature bright, sunny one of his—no, this time, it was gentle. “I don’t lie about these kinds of things. Well? What do you say? Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

His wording took you even further off guard, making your heart shift and skip a few beats in your chest, and you felt real joy for the first time. This man made you feel seen, appreciated, and cherished. How could you say no? “I thought you’d never ask.”

That had made André roar with laughter, and he grabbed your hand to place a tender kiss to the top of it, those dark eyes so warm and full of joy. “You don’t know how honoured and happy I feel right now, beloved.”

And so you dated. You both had immediately left the café to go and announce the good news to Daniel and Elvira. Hand in hand. Before, it was arm-in-arm, mere gentlemanly courtesy on his part, and basic etiquette on yours—and that impersonal physical contact. Now, you held hands out of your own volitions, out of desire for that close connection, and it made your heart soar, as cheesy as that would sound.

With three excited knocks on Daniel and Elvira’s door, you felt André squeeze your hand in equal thrill, just as delighted as you. Well, maybe you were a bit more happy. You were walking on cloud nine back then. For the first time in your life, you tasted real bliss.

Elvira had opened the door, blinking in surprise to see you both standing at the door, before she beamed in greeting. “Hi, you two! What brings you—my word!”

She had swiftly spotted your two interlocked hands at your sides, and gasped in shock. You grinned rather bashfully. “Hey, Elvira.”

She immediately ushered you both inside, calling for Daniel. “Daniel! Come look! It’s finally happened!” “Huh?” Your brother answered, soon rounding the corner of the hallway to see you both. “Oh, hey, sis!” He greeted you, before moving to clap André on the back. “Hey, man. How are you…wait!”

Daniel had also seen your hands, and you exchanged glances with André at their reactions. They’re acting as if I just announced I’m pregnant. It wasn’t that big of a deal, declaring the ‘officiation’ of your relationship, but your brother and sister-in-law seemed particularly overjoyed. 

“Uh, yeah, we’re dating now,” you answered the unasked question, breaking the ice. “About time, am I right?” André chuckled beside you, opening his mouth to speak, but your brother beat him to it. “What an understatement! A year and a half of waiting for you both to get going already! Pay up, Elvira.”

“What?” You snapped your head to look at your sister-in-law. “You guys…made a bet?”

Elvira sighed wearily, her shoulders slumped. She moved down the hallway. “Yeah. I bet that it would take at least ten years for you both to hurry up and date—not exaggerating. Daniel never doubted either of you, so we agreed to bet two hundred Mora.”

“Two hundred?!” You exclaimed, mouth agape. “What the—gods, honestly! You two have always been idiots!”

André was laughing heartily. “Hahaha! As if our day couldn’t get any better!” He let go of your hand and grabbed your waist instead, pulling you in and placing a kiss to the crown of your head. It immediately silenced you, too flustered to speak. “Would you look at that, huh, mon bijou?”

“I…well…” As usual, André left you quite tongue-tied. His spontaneity always had that effect on you. “I suppose…this calls for a celebration?”

“You can say that again!” Daniel whooped and rushed off for the wine cabinet. “Let’s pop the champagne!” “Daniel!” Elvira bellowed from their bedroom. “Don’t you make a mess!” 

“It’ll be alright, my dear, I’ll do it over the sink—”

“No!” Elvira emerged from their chambers, Mora in hand, and hurriedly approached him, just as he was pulling the cork. She snatched the bottle from his hold and replaced it with the pouch of money. “Take your money and give it to me!”

Daniel immediately conceded, letting go of the bottle of (expensive) champagne, handing it to his wife. He tossed the small bag of money into the air, the coins inside jingling about merrily, and caught it, grinning triumphantly at you and André. “Now, that’s what I call making a buck—”

Elvira sharply smacked his shoulder with a wooden spoon. Clearly, she wasn’t very happy about giving up that two hundred Mora. “Quit your gloating and start peeling those carrots.”

“Yes ma’am.”

This was the sort of familial chaos you adored, where banter and insults held no real knives—where everything was lighthearted. It was nice to see how far you and your brother had come since relocating from the sewers. You were finally a family, a normal one.

All too soon, things started going downhill.

Two years of bliss flew by. Two years of dating André were the best of your life, and even though the memories are more painful than happy to reflect on now, sometimes you find yourself reminiscing. Pointless, yes, but you have never been able to help thinking about what could’ve been.

Either way, you appreciated the attitude André had towards you very much—he never asked for anything more than the odd kiss, and he never tried to make too much of a move on you. You were glad that he, too, seemed to share your sentiments of waiting until you both married before taking it all the way, something that would be bound to take a lot of personal preparation on your part.

He asked you to marry him out of the blue one day, much like how he announced his feelings for you and said that you both should date two years prior, and it took you so off guard that you didn’t know what else to say apart from ‘yes’. Not even giving yourself time to consider it—and that was likely because you didn’t need to think about it. To you, at the time, André Banville was your future, and you were more than ready to become Mrs. Banville.

It just so happened that that was one of his tactics, taking you off guard so randomly, dropping bombs on you and leaving you metaphorically stranded, with no other route to take but the affirming one. ‘Love bombing’, you think it’s called, but his version and methods were a bit different. But no less effective.

You were so weak-minded back then, such a pushover. So blinded by adoration for this ‘angel’ of a man that you continuously failed to see the signs of the true demon hiding behind a mask of light and benevolence. 

How easy it must’ve been for him, how risible. Do spiders feel amused when their prey becomes caught in their web? Is it entertaining for them to watch their victim struggle so pointlessly? A good show to behold before it becomes a meal to scuttle back into their lair with, something to toy with, to feast upon? For that was likely what you were to him. Such simple, easy prey, with much to gain by deceiving.

If only you had guessed his true intentions—the real reasons—as to why he kept you alive in his trap for so long. A trap you didn’t struggle to be free from, for what reason was there? When your captive treats you well, treats you with appreciation, what is there to not grow fond of?

You had stared at that extravagant ring on your finger, the stone so large and sparkling, the jewel likely worth an entire manor. The lavish gifts he showered you with made you feel loved, but it also made scepticism gradually creep in. Where does he get the funds for such expensive alms? And, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you somehow knew not to ask him that question. 

Scepticism is dangerous—dangerous toward the reality one invents for themselves. It begins as a small, imperceptible chink in the armour, a tiny ripple in the pool, a mere scratch on the glass. But it can grow—grow into a problem you must eventually face, must eventually admit to, must eventually resolve. A tribulation unsought; a life lesson detrimental to the maturing of oneself. And how it grew within you, until you couldn’t look at your fiancé anymore without suspicion.

I don’t really know him. You only knew the projection André had presented—and you were, initially, perfectly content to live with nothing but that façade, as it meant not relenting to the rational, logical questions that the annoyingly reasonable side of you ceaselessly posed. Three and a half years of paradise, but the shadows were finally closing in. 

A premonition. A foreboding sensation that had settled and festered at the back of your mind for years, carefully pushed far back by your own self. An augury you never mentioned to the one person who was personally involved—your brother. Although you knew he trusted you, you knew he would never believe you. And why should he? Your mother, and her legacy, was dead.

It was supposed to be. The truth of the matter didn’t come to light until the very last, dreadful minute.

André’s visits were gradually becoming less frequent, sparking concern within you. At those moments, doubt and misgiving sprung to life within you like bile, compelling you to force it down, or else risking the endurance of your comfortable reality. If only you had any other option.

Fear had long injected itself into your veins, becoming an inherent constituent of your blood and being. You had continually refused to admit to that.

“André,” you had finally asked one day, unable to bear your rooted uncertainties any longer. At this time, you both had been engaged for almost a year, wedding plans and preparations well into motion, and this was the one question you abhorred having to spit out. You were standing in the hallway, watching him hastily put on his shoes, his countenance agitated. “Where are you going? It’s so late. You’re always rushing off at some ungodly hour, and you never tell me where or what you’re going to do.”

He had paused in his motions, and the atmosphere became distinctly heavier. Just as you feared. André turned to you—and for the first time in all the years you’d known him, you couldn’t read his expression at all. “It’s not for you to know.”

I’ve hit a nerve. That much was clear. He hardly ever addressed you without some kind of pet name, ‘mon bijou’ being his favourite. You sucked in a deep breath, and pressed it further. “I think it is. You’re worrying me. What secret are you keeping that is so…odious, you can’t even trust me to confide in?” André had sighed, brows furrowed in a frown utterly unlike his playful ones, or confused ones, or concerned ones. No, this one was of genuine irritation and chagrin towards you. “Let me rephrase. It’s nothing for you to worry about. Now, I’ve got to go.”

“No.” You strode towards him and grasped his wrist. Up this close, you were fully privy to the stone cold glint of his eyes. They weren’t their usual, familiar soft humour. “Tell me. Please.”

He had silently regarded you, his eyes narrowed, before harshly wrenching himself from your hold and yanking open the door. “I thought this message had been concisely, subtly put across years ago, but, clearly, you were too dull to catch it.” André looked at you from over his shoulder in the threshold of the open door. “Don’t ask questions.”

The door was slammed shut with such force, the ornaments on the walls had rattled. It probably woke up the entire apartment complex. And it left you shaken through, your thoughts and suspicions and doubts warring in your mind.

Maybe it was because of how tense he was that night that he snapped at you, but it was a serious mistake on his part. It practically confirmed your inklings, and you finally allowed those abscesses of mistrust within you to consume you fully.

Long overdue, don’t you think? The rational, reliable half of your mind sneered, and you stared at the ground in dread. Your ‘reality’ was finally shattering.

It was your fault to just sit back and let the cracks and splinters multiply across its shell for so long. You should have dealt with it sooner, or just let it be.

So you decided to. You deigned to ‘let it go’. At least, that’s how it appeared to André.

It didn’t take long for him to realise his mistake. That morning, when he entered your apartment again, he quickly made his way over to you and embraced you.

“Is everything alright?” You pretended to have forgiven him and feigned concern, accepting his hug. André held you to him tightly, kissing your head, and that traitorous heart of yours leapt in joy at the ministrations. 

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry for snapping at you last night.” He held you from him, cupping your face, eyes beseeching and truly apologetic. “You see, the reason why I’ve never told you the true nature of my occupation is to protect you.” You had raised a brow jokingly—however, on the inside, distrust reared its unsightly head. “What, are you involved in some underground, super-secret criminal agency or something?” André had chuckled at that, seemingly relieved at how unbothered you appeared to be about it. “Not quite. It’s something much more complex than that. And dangerous. That’s why you can’t know, okay? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I just want to protect you. Please understand that.”

You had nodded easily, burying your face into his chest. “Of course. I believe you.”

You did not believe or trust him at all anymore. His temperament, the way he regarded you that previous night…it gave you a horrible feeling that you had finally gotten a glimpse of his true nature.

A nature he had kept carefully hidden from you, from your brother—from everyone around you. What was left to find out, you had surmised, was what he was really up to.

And so, you began your own, covert investigation of the man you were sure wasn’t all he appeared to be anymore. 

If only. 

It began with you frequenting his home more. André’s house was humble and unassuming; cosy and where you had both agreed to dwell once you married. At first, André was confused as to why you insisted on visiting him at his place now, to which you smilingly replied, “It’s to adjust to our future home! Have to work out where the nursery will be, right?” He had blinked and grunted at that, running a hand through his brown locks. “…Alright, you win.” And then he ruffled your hair.

You even began to sleep at his place more often, and you were relieved to see that he trusted you enough to be left alone in his own house. Whatever he’s doing so late at night, you thought to yourself as you saw him out the door at 11:30PM one night. It would have to be hidden somewhere in this place.

But, then again, if he was so comfortable with you staying there, then he wouldn’t have left any kind of incriminating evidence lying around. Maybe it’s hidden very well. You tried the door to his office, and your heart leapt in dread as the knob refused to be twisted. It’s locked!

Where’s the key? You used this opportunity in his absence to explore his house, to memorise it and search for any hidden compartments the key could be stashed. Or else he took it with him. That thought had made you pause as you pulled open the top drawer of his bedside table. Yes. He probably did. Why else would he be happy to leave me here alone?

No other door or cabinet was locked in that house except for his small study. You had offered to do the chores around the place for him while he was out doing his ‘work’, and he had agreed. But he had never said anything about ‘not going into the office’. Cunning man.

Your distrust of him was swiftly taking the shape of resentment, and it fueled your determination to find out what truly was going on even further. Isn’t it funny how one wrong move was enough for me to doubt him fully? It only spiralled down from there.

After searching through his home thoroughly and practically turning it inside out, you plopped down on his sofa and stared up at the ceiling. He’s definitely got the key with him. But how would you obtain it, without rousing any questions from him? Without sparking any suspicion? 

The idea came soon enough—you were up all night, scouring through his cupboards and cabinets and drawers and closets that you got no sleep. It was about dawn when keys outside the door jingled, and in came André, shrugging off his coat.

That’s it. You strode forward and greeted him, carefully watching the man go through his pockets and hang up the coat. André seemed surprised to see you still up. I need to subtly steal that key from his coat pocket as he’s leaving, and replace it with another. And the only way you could do that was by appearing to do your ‘wifely’ duties every time he would leave by helping him into his coat and seeing him off. But where will I get a replacement key?

It would need to be one of similar shape, size and colour to whichever one it is. And you didn’t know what it looked like. I’ll have to sit back and observe for now.

“What are you still doing up?” André had inquired, blinking at you. You reached forward and helped him out of his coat, hanging it up for him. He seemed to appreciate the notion. Could the key be on that set of them he has there? The keyring in his palm had about eight keys on it, all of different shapes and sizes, making it utterly impossible to guess which was the office’s one. I wonder when he goes into his office. You hadn’t seen him go inside once during your stay there. He probably does it while I’m sleeping.

You beamed, acting as if you hadn’t been whiling the hours away nosing through his cupboards. I’ll have to act as if I still don’t know my way around now. “Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I just did a few chores to pass the time.”

At least you knew where the vacuum cleaner and broom was now. Useful props towards selling your act completely.

“Ah, I see.” André stooped and kissed the crown of your head, entering further into his home, you on his heels. You were watching his every move. “I’m going to have a shower now,” he said, heading for the bathroom. “You can sleep now. Thanks for cleaning up, you didn’t have to.” “Of course I had to,” you quipped, squeezing his arm, smiling widely. This is going to be tiring. “In a few months, I’ll be living here. I have to adjust, you know?” He grinned back and ruffled your hair. “You’re a real gem, you know that?” And you just beamed at him some more in reply, letting him go into the bathroom. You made your way to the bed and settled in, smile traceless. Let’s pretend to be asleep and see if he goes into his office. 

You pulled the blanket well up over your mouth, so only your eyes and nose were showing, and acted to be fully asleep. You even slowed your breathing and increased its volume a little to really make it seem authentic. Let’s hope he falls for it!

The shower soon shut off and the bathroom door clicked open. A pair of feet padded down the hall, and you sensed André enter, heading for his wardrobe. He hadn’t appeared to notice you ‘sleeping’.

That night, you were left in disappointment. André didn’t go to his office—he settled in next to you, sighing wearily, and his soft snores soon sounded. Dammit! I won’t be able to sleep at all at this rate! You were too excited and jittery to notice. I’m going to have to tell Daniel. You really needed extra help, and you could only pray your brother would believe you.

・・・・

“I’m heading off to visit Daniel!” You called out from the front door. André answered back with an ‘okay!’ before you shut the door, opened your umbrella and headed out into the downpour for town. Ugh. Why does it have to rain today of all days?

Was that a bad omen? You had hoped not. You were relentlessly praying things would go smoothly for you.

André was watching you. Closely. You knew that. Now, you were sure that whatever he was involved in was most certainly dangerous—and he was the danger.

I have to tell Daniel everything. You tilted your umbrella up to look at the building in front of you. Just down the block was Daniel and Elvira’s home. Whatever this whole thing is…it means I’m in danger, and so are they.

You had a hunch as to what exactly this debacle involved. You hoped, with everything you had, this wasn’t connected to your mother. Her last words still rang clear as day in your mind.

Daniel and Elvira had recently gotten a doorbell installed, and so you pressed it, hoping they were home. Please be. Please be! I feel like we don’t have much time!

Such was the sense you had been getting of late, ever since the prickly feeling of being watched had started. You subtly looked around the relatively empty street, and apart from a few locals milling about, nothing stood out to you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling. He’s sent someone to tail me, hasn’t he?

You had begun to believe that André suspected you suspected him. Have you been too smiley, too friendly, too loving? Were you overdoing the act? 

The door opened, and Daniel’s kind, familiar face greeted you. “Sis! How are you? Come on in. What brings you here?” And as you stepped into his home and the door closed behind you, he squinted at you and asked, “What’s wrong?” You pursed your lips. “I have something very important and very serious to tell you, Daniel.”

He sobered. “I can tell. Come along. Can Elvira hear it too?” “Yes.” It would be best to have support from both of them. “It’s about…André.”

Daniel shot you a look from over his shoulder as he led you further into the house. “About André? Has he done something? What’s going on?”

Elvira then appeared, brows furrowed. “Is something wrong, you two?”

“She’s got something to tell us,” Daniel answered, gesturing to a seat. “Let’s hear it. Have you two broken up? Called off the wedding?”

You sucked in a deep, readying breath. “No. It’s much more grave than that. You see…” You began to fiddle with a stray, loose thread on the sleeve’s hem of your jersey. “I think…André’s up to something.”

Elvira immediately frowned. “Is he cheating on you?” “No! Nothing like that.” It’s worse. “It’s just…I think he’s involved in some shady things. Has been for a long time. Before and during when I first met him, I believe.”

“Shady…” Daniel was staring at you from beneath his brow. His silent question was clear: like mother?

You lowered your head. “Yes.”

He leaned back into his chair, letting out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s…I don’t know, [Name].”

“You have to believe me.” You reached forward and grasped his hand, eyes wide and desperate. Elvira’s expression shifted from one of mild worry to deep concern. “Daniel, are you absolutely sure we burned all that stuff of mother’s back then?”

He blinked at you, evidently perturbed by your tone and the look on your face. “…Yes, I’m sure. We practically ransacked her office. Don’t you remember?” “How could I forget?” Your hand grasping his had begun to shake. He glanced down at it, face blanching with disquiet. I don’t want to voice these suspicions. What if they’re true? “Did I ever tell you what mother said to me as she died?”

You noticed Elvira’s pale, troubled face in the corner of your eye, but you were solely focused on your brother. The uneasiness in Daniel’s expression and eyes was steadily increasing by the second. “I—yes, you did, but I can’t recall what you exactly said.”

“Well.” You sucked in a sharp, unsteady breath. “She said to me, ‘burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulbert will get to you’.” A droplet of cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. “Who could this ‘Fulbert’ be? What if—what if André is—”

“Now, [Name].” Daniel’s voice took on a stern tone. “We don’t need to be jumping to conclusions here—”

“He’s watching me, Daniel.” Exasperation at not being believed by someone you trust deeply bled into your tone. “He’s watching me. He sent someone to tail me today, as I came to visit you. And every night, he goes out—once, I asked what he’s doing out so late, and he told me to ‘not ask questions’.” You shakily leaned back into your seat, hands trembling on your lap. “And now, he’s sneaking out. A-About a week ago, he promised me that he wouldn’t leave me alone at night anymore, but…but whenever he’s sure that I’m asleep, he heads out. And the door to his office is locked. Every other room is open, except that one, and I can’t find the key. André goes into that office right after he gets home at some ungodly hour and doesn’t come out till morning. I searched everywhere for the key—I’ve even tried to steal it from him, but I just don’t know which one it is, and frankly, I’m scared! He’s not—he’s not…the man I once knew.” The man I once thought I knew. If I’m right, this would explain all of his abrupt disappearances while we’re in the middle of doing something in town. Going on ‘errands’ that takes him hours to complete, leaving me stranded in some restaurant, left to foot the bill myself!

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Elvira spoke up that time, and she moved seats to sit next to you, wrapping a comforting arm around you. “I can see that you’re telling the truth. Daniel.” She sharply turned to your brother, and he pensively looked up at her. “Should we ask Callas for help?” “C-Callas?” You stuttered, looking at her. “Who’s that?”

“He’s the head of the Spina di Rosula,” Daniel responded, straightening in his seat. “They’re an organisation that helps out citizens the Gardes cannot.”

“Okay? What has that got to do with it?” He sighed. “I’m saying that we could hire them—ask Callas, the president, for help. He has a daughter about your age. She could pose as your friend or something, and help you investigate.”

Elvira squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “He is a good man. He was a friend of my father’s, and his daughter, Navia, is kind. She could be of great help to you.”

You considered it. It’s not like I have any other option—but what about the fee? “How much are their commissions costs?”

“We’ll cover it,” Elvira immediately answered. She looked at Daniel, who was staring at her in shock. “What’s that look for? Do you not want to help your sister out?” “No! That’s not it.” He ran a hand over his face. “I just…I’m just trying to process this.”

“The reason why I’m here is because ever since we burned mother’s illegal dealings’ records,” you said tightly, “is because I’ve been unable to shake this feeling that we missed something out.” “Well, your worries are baseless, [Name]. I assure you we burned them—”

“No.” You were not about to deny your intuition. “It’s what my gut says, and it’s been saying this for years. We missed something out. I’m sure of it. And I also have a gut feeling André has his hands on it.”

Daniel shook his head, shifting in his seat. “I just…I can’t picture André doing all this. Are you absolutely sure?” You glowered at your brother. “I am the one who lives with the man. I am the one who knows his routine back to front. Why would I lie about this?”

“Lay off on her, Daniel.” Elvira’s tone was dangerous. “I can’t believe you’re questioning her. I can feel her shaking. She’s not lying.”

Your brother looked at both of the women sitting before him one by one, studying either of your expressions intently. And then, he finally relented, sighing. “Alright. I believe you. If you were lying, you wouldn’t look so scared.”

You sighed in relief, relaxing into Elvira. She gave you another comforting squeeze, and you turned your head to her. “What’s the time? Would we be able to go visit this Spina-thing?”

“They’d still be open.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Yeah. Their base is actually in Poisson, but they have a headquarters here in town. Let’s go. Do you want to come, Daniel?”

“Yes, of course.” He stood from his seat, and you both followed. Daniel reached for you and gave you a hug. “If André is doing anything shady, we’ll get him behind bars.”

“I just pray I’m wrong,” you answered into his shoulder, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I don’t think…I don’t know how I’m going to handle this.”

Elvira joined in on the hug. “You’ll be fine. We’re here.” She kissed your cheek in an older-sisterly manner. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

You just smiled weakly back, fighting tears. Something dark swirled in your gut. Something like fear—and, oh, how right you were.

The three of you headed off into town, and you knew you were being followed. Whoever André had hired, had been waiting for you. 

“We’re still being followed,” you hissed to the two of them. “Don’t look back. I don’t want them to report to André saying that we knew.” Elvira was holding your hand, and she squeezed it. “It’s alright. We’re almost there.”

Soon enough, you all stopped before a humble, inconspicuous building. In you went, and Daniel first approached the desk. “We’re here to enquire if President Callas is available for consultation.”

The secretary at the desk flipped through a ledger, humming. Then she looked up at you all, smiling. “You’re in luck. He’s free right now, just in his office there.” “Much appreciated.” Daniel nodded at the woman and turned to you and Elvira. “[Name], we’ll wait out here for you. Go on in.”

Nervous, you followed the secretary as she tapped on a door, calling out, “Sir, you have a client here to see you.”

“Let them in,” came the reply, and the woman opened the door for you. You were inexplicably anxious.

Sitting at a large desk was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with an eyepatch and his blond hair tied back into a low ponytail. His only visible blue eye flicked up from the paperwork he was perusing and faced you. “Ah, welcome, miss.” At his side, in a smaller chair, sat a beautiful young woman about your age, maybe younger, who stared up at you with a clear-eyed, sparkling gaze that held much less intensity than the man’s next to her—presumably her father, given their great resemblance. Her hair was sun-gold like her father’s—his a bit paler, conveying his age—and her welcoming smile was instantly comforting.

These people are kind, you thought, accepting the man’s invitation for you to take a seat before him. The girl must be Navia, his daughter, the one Elvira talked about.

“What is your name, miss?” asked the man, who held a pen poised to write. You squirmed in your chair and answered accordingly, giving your first and last name.

He swiftly jotted it down, placing the pen aside and steepling his fingers before his face as he leaned his elbows against the desktop before him. “I am Callas, the president of this organisation, the Spina di Rosula.” Then he gestured to the girl beside him. “And this is my daughter, Navia, who works closely with me in this establishment. Now, what brings you here today?”

“Well, sir, I have some concerns about my fiancé, you see.” As the words came forth, you soon realised just how foolish and trivial you sounded. “The thing is, he’s been acting awfully…suspicious as of late. Always sneaking out at night, won’t tell me things, and his office is always locked.” This sounds like I’m just complaining about a cheating intended! “I know it just seems like he’s fooling around with another woman, but it is much more intricate and shady than that.”

“Please elaborate.”

“In all the years I’ve known him, there have been things he’s always hidden from me.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “For context, I grew up in the Fleuve Cendre with my brother. My mother, to make a living and feed us, was involved with unscrupulous individuals and illegal transactions. Most were very endangering to herself and thus my brother and I. She basically ran an entire bootleg organisation of her own, and it was getting quite successful. I don’t know the exact details of what went wrong, but something definitely went terribly awry when I walked in on her swallowing a cyanide pill.” His daughter’s face fell into one of sympathy, but you ignored it and continued on. “As she was dying, she told me to, ‘burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulburt will get to you’. Those were her exact words. So, I told my brother and we did.” You lowered your eyes. “I know this sounds very incriminating, and we should probably be in prison for not handing in such documents to the Palais to deal with, but our mother’s unlawful business stretched far and wide, and her clients knew of us, her children. We were in danger, so we did as she told us and burned every last record, document and ledger we could find.”

The president’s single visible eye had narrowed. “I’m assuming you missed something out?” 

“Yes. You see, we were only teens at the time, maybe a bit older, and foolish. We double checked to make sure we had gotten everything, and it seemed like so, but ever since, I have had this terrible feeling that we did miss something.”

The man shifted in his seat, nodding to you. “Do go on.”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but my fiancé has always acted strangely. Disappearing out of nowhere while on a date or something, claiming he’s got an ‘errand’ to run—and about two months ago now, as he was putting on his shoes to leave at his usual ungodly, strange hour, I decided I was sick of being in the dark and I asked him where he was going. And he acted in a way I’d never seen him act before. At least, not towards me. He coldly told me that I ‘shouldn’t ask questions’ and he thought he’d made that clear already, even though he has never actually voiced such a thing.”

“I see. And you believe your fiancé is a contraband of sorts, and possibly has whatever item you and your brother missed out in his possession?” “Yes. This suspicion is groundless, and I don’t know where it came from, but it came to me quite a while ago anyway, back when I started to wonder where he gets all this money from, and how he had never really told me what he does for a living. Years ago, back before we got engaged, he told me that he does ‘office work’ when I asked what his job was. He avoided answering the question. It’s not like I saw him doing anything strange, it’s just that his behaviour is, and I could just be paranoid, as I’ve had this premonition that my brother and I missed something for a long time.”

“Hm,” the man hummed thoughtfully, shuffling through a few documents on his desk. “This is an interesting dilemma indeed. However, this organisation is strictly legal, and involving ourselves with a situation that is rooted in crime—committed by you yourself—could potentially be a stain on the Spina di Rosula’s pristine reputation, if it were to come to light. I hope you understand that.”

“Oh, I do, sir, I really do.” Desperation gripped you. “But, you see, I know full well how unconventional my brother and I’s actions were, and although no excuse would be sufficient, we really didn’t know what else to do at the time. And now, I feel trapped into an engagement I no longer want anymore, that no longer feels real anymore—and if I don’t get any help to escape it, I fully believe that once my fiancé’s use for me is spent, my life could be in fatal danger. Please, please help me. I am not wealthy, but just name your price, and I will do everything in my legal power to pay it.”

President Callas studied you with an intent blue eye, and his daughter placed a hand on his arm. “Oh, father, come on, we should help her—”

“One moment, Navia,” he silenced her, holding up a hand. “Now, Mademoiselle [Name], I can see how desperate and genuine you are. And I’d really like to help you, but it isn’t within our principles to conceal such information that you have indulged about your past—”

“Father!” His daughter’s voice sharply interrupted him. He turned to her with a disapproving look, but she continued before he could respond. “Father, think about it. We don’t have any sufficient evidence, apart from her own confession, to present to the court about her past—her mother’s past. How long ago did you say it was, miss?” Miss Navia abruptly addressed you.

“Uh—about…seven or so years ago now, miss. I think I was…fifteen or sixteen when my mother died. I can’t recall exactly.”

She turned back to reason with her father. “There you go. Approximately seven years gone, with no evidence left. What are the chances of this coming to light? Very small. Can’t you see how scared she is? Why can’t we help her out?” The president must’ve had a serious soft spot for his daughter as he actually fell silent and considered her words, unable to hold those big imploring eyes of hers. You liked the girl immediately after that, getting the feeling that if she worked with you, you both would get along very well.

“…Alright,” he finally conceded, nodding reluctantly. “You have a point. I will help you, Miss [Name].” The man presented a contract for you to sign. “Please take your time reading over it. The fees for our commissions stated below.”

“Oh, thank you, good sir.” It felt like a massive weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You could finally breathe again—for a time. “I really can’t thank you enough. You too, miss.” In fact, the man agreeing to this was all thanks to his daughter. You smiled gratefully at her. “You both are, literally, life savers.”

The girl waved it off. “It’s nothing, really! It’s only what we do here.” She stood and you followed, and you both shook hands. “I look forward to working with you.”

“As do I,” you smiled, almost tearing up with how thankful you felt. You offered a hand to the president also, and he, still clearly uncertain about the whole thing, slowly reciprocated the hand shake. “And thank you again, Monsieur Callas. I may have a chance now.”

You quickly signed the contract and agreed on the date you would pay them. Navia said that your next meeting would be three business days from then, meaning on the following Monday you would meet and plan out the investigation. You didn’t know if you would be able to bear the weekend, having been so impatient to get that whole plight over and done with.

Navia saw you out, wishing you safe travels back to your abode, and your brother and sister-in-law all stood from their seats as you emerged from the president’s office. 

“Well? How did it go?” Daniel immediately demanded. “Will they help you?” “They will.” You showed him and his wife the contract. “I will meet with them next Monday to discuss how this investigation will go through. You are welcome to tag along. I’ll need a proper excuse to leave the house.”

“See? Things are looking up already.” Elvira, ever the optimist, gave you an encouraging hug. “Soon, it’ll be all over. Nothing to worry about.”

You let out a breath. “I hope so.” If only that coiling snake of foreboding would have stopped twisting around in your stomach. I don’t think things are over yet. How you had hoped they were.

・・・・

The plan was simple. Tail André, follow him to wherever he headed every night, and wait for Navia and her henchmen to arrive as backup if things got physical. 

Easier said than done. 

You watched as André strode casually down the dark, late-night street, as if he was just going for a walk, not off to do something illicit. And then, hastily, you shut off all the lights except for the two lamps in the lounge and shoved your feet into your shoes, clicking the front door shut behind you and rushing off in his direction.

You made sure there was a good distance between you both—and you hoped he wouldn’t recognise you with this wig on your head. You also had a long trench coat on. And if you stuck to the shadows, in the case that he happened to glance back, he wouldn’t spot you.

You watched as he power-walked down the street, his hands in his pockets in that same languid way of his—a mannerism that no longer made you feel tingly all over. Now, it just aggravated you. Your distrust of him eventually resulted in the slow-but-sure fading of once very-potent feelings for him.

At this point, you were sure he was just keeping you around because you had a use for him. A use you didn’t know, but one you suspected. Were you being paranoid? Probably—and you hoped so, too. Having to deal with things that should have been long handled in the past is no mess anyone wishes to clean up again.

André took a left, turning out of sight. and you broke into a jog to catch up with him. You ran on the grass lining the sidewalk as to muffle your footsteps, before slowing down and peeking around the bend to make sure he wasn’t lying in wait for you or something. Again, paranoia—or was it foreboding?

He was far up ahead again, beginning to head into the town centre, before he crossed the street. André had looked left and right, staying out of sight of the patrolling Mekas—making you hastily hide behind a rubbish bin to avoid being spotted. A cat hissed at you, scuttling away, and you carefully watched as he melted into the shadows of a dark alleyway.

You rushed across the street also and sidled up to one of the buildings’ front wall, staying away from the illuminated spots in the street by the lampposts, peeking once more around the corner and into the alleyway. Just in time to have caught sight of two double doors swinging shut.

Hold on… You deemed it safe and followed after him, approaching the doors. Isn’t this one of the back entrances to…the Fleuve Cendre?

Easing one of the doors open, you squinted into the dark foyer before you, a single light overhead flickering irregularly, its bulb on well on its way out—but it was enough to illuminate the stairs descending down into further darkness. A chill skittered down your spine.

Your heart wouldn’t let up its incessant pounding in your ears, leaving you virtually deaf to any and all warning sounds around you. Deciding to just brave it, you let the door ease shut behind you and felt around for some stair railing, almost sighing audibly with relief once you found one on the left wall, trying to ignore its grimy, rusty texture to the touch. Okay. Let’s do this. 

As silently as you could manage, you descended the stairs, trying to hurry while also trying to not, which proved terribly frustrating, and you cursed yourself for forgetting to bring a flashlight. There isn’t a single light installed down here! Who runs this place? Are they an idiot or what?

Being very careful to not miss a step and thus take a tumble, you slowly but surely made your way to the bottom, letting yourself relax a bit when you spotted the sliver of light peeking through the bottom set of doors.

You could already hear the bustling sounds of the Fleuve Cendre, the noises almost nostalgic for you, and then you were hit with its same signature stench. Ugh. Just shows you how much the overworld cares about these poor people.

You opened the doors and stepped through, looking around for André. You began to panic when you didn’t spot him for a good three minutes—before that familiar mop of dark hair caught your eye, and you finally noticed André chatting away discreetly with another man well over on the other side of the quay you stood on.

This unfamiliar individual was hooded, his face indecipherable, especially from this distance, and you quickly began advancing on them prudently, sticking to tall crates and boxes stacked up as places of refuge if they happened to have a little look around. 

You took the path across the canal where the sewer water passed through underneath, thus over on their side of the Fleuve Cendre. You crept along the wall, before coming to a stop behind some crates a few metres away from André and his mystery companion. Smiling rather wearily to yourself, you inwardly lauded the stealth you didn’t know you had. I kinda feel like a secret agent right now. 

This was no laughing matter, however. You sobered, and ordered yourself to focus on the task at hand. 

You were close enough to catch snippets of their conversation.

“…You’re telling me…didn’t mention anything strange…how long?”

Even for such a late hour, the sewers were still busy, and thus the white noise all around blotted out some of the vital pieces of dialogue from the hooded man and André. From what you could catch, you deduced André was probably talking about you, if the ‘didn’t mention anything strange’ part was related to the man he had assigned to tail you wherever you went. You wished you could get closer, but that would require stepping out into the open, meaning you’d be instantly busted.

It was the hooded man who was asking the questions, and nodding respectfully at André whenever he answered them. You could only guess that this bear of a man was André’s lackey or something. He was much burlier than André, with an imposing, hazardous vibe to him—one that told you crossing swords or being caught by this man would not end well. Especially if your hunch was right—that you were, in fact, their target.

How long have you been the target? You don’t like to think about the high chances of finding out that all these years with André was just a sham. You thought you had been adequately preparing yourself mentally for such a skirmish, but you didn’t know if you truly were.

You watched as the hooded man said something to André and André nodded, delivering a friendly pat to the man’s massive shoulder, before turning around and striding off in the opposite direction.

You were well-hidden, but you still ducked down and pressed yourself right up against the wooden crates as André sauntered past. You also listened intently for the unknown male’s fading footsteps and, once sure they were both well out of eyesight, you peeped up and out, looking in the direction André traipsed off to, before hastily following after him.

Our men will be dressed in casual clothing commonly seen in the Fleuve Cendre, you recalled Navia’s words as she slipped on a pair of sunglasses. But they will be recognisable by the sunglasses they will be wearing. Inconspicuously conspicuous, I call it.

You spotted an unfamiliar man clad in faded-brown trousers and a musty button-up tee, hair hidden by a raggy old beret and with a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. He caught your eye, and gave you a nod.

You spotted more around, all watching after you, all waiting for the set time to get into action to come around. Fifteen minutes is all I’ll need to rummage around wherever André is off to. You kept your eyes on his back, blending in with what crowd there was. Most people were shutting up their stalls for the night, heading back to their run-down homes. It’s almost midnight right now. Navia said they’ll act at quarter-to-one. I have just less than an hour. Plenty of time.

If André was really up to what you suspected he was, then hopefully, with the Spina’s help, you’d be able to put him behind bars. And as much as you forced the hurt you felt at the thought, you knew you had to do this.

He took another turn, and ascended some rather rickety stairs, and entered a dim-lit, decrepit building. It was more like a cabin than anything—a structure commonly seen around the Fleuve Cendre—and you were suddenly left in quite the predicament. How am I supposed to get in there? It looked very small, the interior likely tiny, and with this shady business of André’s, he and any other individuals inside would immediately ask questions upon your abrupt, unbidden arrival. Your disguise was not so good as to fool your fiancé up close. And if you were recognised, that was it.

I still need to give Navia time to finish preparing. She would’ve likely still been consulting the uncorrupted Gardes up above in the overworld for help with this one, and sometimes, they could be notoriously difficult to negotiate with. Shall I wait and see if André comes out of that building? Don’t I look strange just standing here, watching the door? Am I drawing attention to myself?

You had a look around, and felt your heart physically plummet for the ground when you spotted that same mountainous man standing right across from you—on the other far side of the Fleuve Cendre, with only canals separating you both—his bulked arms folded across his wide chest, and you could feel him watching you. He likely hadn’t recognised you, but he knew what you were doing, and who you were watching. 

You swallowed, trying not to panic. Dammit, if he causes a fuss, everything will be for naught!

You had a bit of a staring competition with him, until he finally uncrossed his arms and turned away, heading off somewhere—likely to notify some informants. Thanks to him having spotted me, we probably have much less time to get in and out without a hitch now! You deeply feared what André was capable of. If he had such lackeys like that running around, this would probably be over before it had even begun. 

I need to act fast. Otherwise you’d have a heart attack from the panic and dread that’s pulsating in your veins, inhibiting you from thinking clearly and quickly. I’m going to have to brave it. There are probably other men around here like that big one who are watching me right this moment. It was a matter of now or never.

Ascending the stairs with all the agility your rather unfit self could muster, you tried to peep into the single window of the door, but it was covered with thick layers of old newspapers. It didn’t just look run-down from this close up—it looked abandoned. As it was meant to, you had surmised.

You tried the rusty doorknob, not knowing whether to feel relieved or alarmed at how it twisted easily in your grip and gave way, the door opening. Easing it open further, you peeked inside, squinting, only met with inky darkness. Okay. So, this little house is not what it seems at all. 

Obviously, there was something much larger connected to it, likely an extended interior of a building, so you braved it and slipped inside, clicking it shut behind you. You blinked several times, standing still to let your eyesight adjust to the darkness of the room, and finally started to creep forward further into the room.

It smelt musty and sour in there, like old, moth-eaten curtains in need of a good wash, and spilt beer from long ago staining the wood of the floorboards. There must be a door ahead.

Extending your hands, you tried to feel about the place to get a proper bearing on your surroundings. Your fingers brushed against something, and grasped it. It was warm, furry, and—

It squeaked in fright at your sudden grip, and you let out a muted shriek of your own, wrenching yourself back. There was the sound of hurried scrabbling, and you fought back the wave of nausea that had immediately drenched you at the realisation of what you had grabbed. Oh my god! That was a rat!

“Ew, ew, ew,” you softly whimpered to yourself, fighting back rising bile. Spooked, you wanted nothing more than to just turn around and head home at that moment. However, the sudden flicker of a light glinted in the corner of your eye, and you whipped around to see the faint sliver of an orange glow from the bottom of a door just over to your left. And then, abruptly, you heard the sound of three sets of stomping feet climb the stairs outside.

Thinking fast, you practically flew to the door, hastily feeling around for a lock, and almost cried in relief when you felt a deadbolt in the centre of the doorknob. Swiftly twisting it locked, you backed well away from the door and looked around, barely able to make anything out in that pitch darkness, before diving behind a shelf just out from the wall enough to squeeze in between.

The cobwebs were thick back there, and they instantly got stuck in your wig and tickled at your nose; the dust was so strong, you could barely restrain yourself from sneezing. Oh, please, please, please let there be no spiders back here! Your imagination was running wild and worsening your fear, bringing phantom sensations of little spider legs scuttling across your back and neck to life. 

Tears pricked at your eyes from the dust and from fear as the doorknob rattled violently, before a masculine voice cursed and kicked the door in viciously. It was too forceful of a kick for the rickety old door to handle however, and in flew the door, crashing against the ground, its wood splintered and absolutely wrecked. 

There wasn’t even any point in locking it! At least it gave you three seconds extra time to hide, though—and suddenly, all your fears about spiders back there behind the bookcase vanished as the sound of that thickset man stormed in—and, from what you could hear—there were two much smaller men flanking him. You didn’t dare to peep out from around the corner of the bookshelf; the books stacked on the shelves were so compact, not even a sliver of light shone through them.

A deep, harsh voice ordered, “I saw that bitch follow the Monsieur and creep in here after him. Turn this place upside down.”

‘The Monsieur’? Your blood turned to ice. André? Oh my god. Just how…big of a crime boss is he?

Who would have thought that you—an average, normal and utterly harmless young woman—would ultimately get involved with even more unscrupulous dealings almost ten years on from the death of the main perpetrator—your mother? If you were trying to laugh this off, you would’ve mentioned how it sounded so ridiculous, it was like it was right out of some shoddy crime/mystery novel. However, these men were on the hunt for you, and it was only a matter of very little time until they checked behind this shelf and dragged you out. 

This can’t be real. You pinched yourself, shaking. I have to be dreaming. There’s no way this is reality!

You crept back further in behind the bookshelf, praying the darkness back there would be enough for them to miss you. You listened as the men trudged around, making a huge ruckus, the determination to find you evident in the mere volume and forcefulness of their movements. 

And then the sound of a door clicking open sounded, and the three men immediately stopped.

Silence. You didn’t even dare to breathe. Hand over your mouth, you stared at the shadows cast by the light from outside, only stopping at the edge of the bookshelf, before a voice finally began speaking after ten long seconds of agonisingly tense stillness.

“What’s all this, boys?” It’s André. You could just imagine him standing in the doorway of wherever he’d emerged from with his hands in his pockets, posing languidly, like always. “You’re making an awful racket. I could hear you all the way from the end of the hall. I’m trying to focus, you know.”

Not a single word he uttered had lost that classic warm, friendly tone of his, but somehow—even though you’d never seen it yourself—you could easily picture the iciness in his smile. So easy-going, so unpredictable.

“Oh, boss, I’d spotted someone tailing you, sneakin’ around up here,” one of the men said, presumably the huge one. “A woman. Wearin’ a wig. She’s in here somewhere.”

“Yeah?” There was the sound of two slow footsteps entering the room. “Wonder who it could be.” Two more sounded, and they’d edged closer to the bookshelf. Stifling a fearful gasp, you flattened yourself best you could completely against the wall, its paper yellowed and peeling, scratching against the material of your trench coat. It elicited a soft scritch-ing sound, and the room had been so silent, you were almost sure they’d have heard it. 

“Any guesses, mes amis?” André stopped right in front of the bookcase, and you heard him tap on the hard, dusty spine of some long-forgotten, neglected book stored in the shelf right above your head. “I’d like to hear them, if you don’t mind.”

“I reckon it’s your missus-to-be,” said an unfamiliar voice, its tone nasally and sneering. “You said she’d been actin’ pretty fishy as of late, boss.”

His two other companions concurred in unison, snickering to themselves. You didn’t see what was so funny about this—but then, you supposed, and you were the one who was going to be on the receiving end of whatever sinister outcome André had planned for you.

 “Sound suppositions, boys,” André’s lilting voice singsonged, grating on your anxious nerves. He slowly slid out whatever book he had ‘selected’, and a sliver of light instantly shone in from the gap in the books. You swiftly ducked down even further, practically lying flat on the ground, and revulsion almost made you gag from the rat and mice droppings you could feel littering the floor below you. Hurry up, Navia! “I’ve been wondering what to do with her. Maybe this time, I’ll finally have a reason to be rid of her, yeah?” “Haw-haw! She’s doin’ all the work for us—” “Boss!” A new, urgent voice called from outside, and the sound of frantic running ensued. It swiftly stopped right outside the (now doorless) entrance to the cabin. “We have a problem!” André’s voice didn’t even waver from its signature cool, humorous cadence. “Ah. What’s got you in such a right panic, Alain?”

“It’s the blasted Spina, Monsieur. They’re causing trouble again. Much of it.”

André must’ve cracked open the book he picked out, for the sound of it suddenly snapping shut made you flinch roughly. “Is that so?” His tone wasn’t so warm anymore. “Is it the president’s darling daughter skylarking about in my business again?” “I-I’m afraid so, sir. She’s—”

“No matter. Let’s go. Seems as if I must have a bit of a chat with the girl myself, this time.” One pair of booted shoes marched for the entrance, followed by three more. “Calvin, you stand guard here. If my fiancé tries to leave, feel free to knock her out.”

“Yessir.” You didn’t know whether to be glad it was not the big huge guy assigned to stand guard, or whether to start fretting over the fact that he was just toying with you this entire time. He knew I was hiding behind here! Oh, thank the Archons he was interrupted!

It appeared that the fuss Navia must’ve been kicking up was of much more demanding urgency than you being hidden in this room. You waited until André and his companions’ footsteps faded, before straightening from your position on the ground. A plan was hatching in your head. Let’s just see who will really be the one getting knocked out around here, André Banville.

The bookshelf was tall enough for you to stand to your feet and quietly brush yourself off while keeping you hidden. A few of your bones popped and clicked from the stretch. Ugh. I’ll be needing a good long shower after this!

You looked around on the bookshelf, searching for a book big and heavy enough to smack this ‘Calvin’ over the head with and knock him out cold. Soon, you spotted a huge tome quite high above your head, and you lifted yourself up onto your toes to grasp it.

How will I have the strength to swing it around? This one is huge! It didn’t occur to you just how much adrenaline was racing through your veins, and how much of a boost in vigour that is. You finally got a grip on it, and began slowly, gradually, and quietly easing it out from its spot in the shelf. 

It took up much of your energy, having to be so quiet. The man standing guard in the doorway didn’t know exactly where you were in that room, and you didn’t want him to find out until it was too late—for him.

“Alright, lady, you can step out now,” came his voice—and you groaned under your breath at recognising just which one of the men Calvin was: the nasally-voiced one, the sort that reminded you of a rat. “You ain’t got nowhere to run, y’know. The boss will prob’ly be havin’ a tonne of fun with you tonight.”

And so you did. You stepped out from your hiding space, quiet as a cat, keeping to the shadows, with an enormous tome in your hands. You slowly circled him, watching his every move like a hawk, slowly approaching him. He seemed utterly unaware, merely continuing on with that sneer of his on his grimy face. “He’s been waitin’ for this, y’know—waitin’ for you to come to yer senses and realise what ’e’s been up to. Was dreadin’ the wedding day ’n everything.”

Is that true? Even with all these questions flying back and forth in your head, you continued to approach the pathetically oblivious man, tome held over your head, ready to bring it down on his. “Better cherish yer last moments, I’d say—”

“Boo.” For dramatic effect, you sidled up to him and hissed into his ear, making the man leap out of his skin with a very unmanly screech. You didn't give him any more time to react, however, as you quickly swung the book down and onto his skull, whacking him over the head with every ounce of strength you had left.

A resounding crack sounded once the book made contact with his cranium, and he flopped to the ground, without a sound, face-first, his musket clattering from his hold and to the ground.

Did I kill him? You almost froze with fear before you knelt down beside him and hastily checked his pulse. The blow you dealt to his skull was stronger than you intended, and you heard it fracture—a sickening sound you never wanted to hear again. Feeling at his wrist, you almost slumped over with relief once you felt the faint pump-pump in his arm, meaning he was still alive, but you likely gave him brain damage with that bash you dealt. And you found that you didn’t really care if you did.

Straightening, you brushed off your hands and looked to the wide-open doorway André had emerged from, squinting into the darkness of the hall leading on. A pale yellow glow shone faintly at the end of the hallway and, without wasting another second, you stepped over the unconscious body of Calvin’s and rushed into the hallway.

Soon enough, you came to the end of it, standing before an ajar door. You could hear jazz music, of all things, softly trickling out from the office, and you pushed the door open, closing it back to its same ajar state as it was before, and thus striding into the room and taking it all in,

Towering bookshelves lined the walls, and the desk in the middle of the room was cluttered and stacked with papers, books, folders and binders absolutely packed full to the brim of more papers. A single fountain pen sat idly in a jar full of ink, and that’s when you realised it.

This is his base. You walked in further and picked up a random piece of paper. It was some kind of document, going on about proceedings for the (illegal) shipment of firewater to Mondstadt.

Firewater. You flung the paper away from you like it had burned your hand. Oh my god. Don’t tell me. 

Unwilling to dally any longer, you swiftly settled in at his desk and began rummaging through his drawers, cabinets—everything that you could find that had something of importance in it. 

And from what documents you could find, each one was one horror after the other. He runs an entire syndicate! Document after document displayed crucial information regarding dealings André had been doing—for the past seven years.

“Oh my god…” you gasped to yourself, reading the date of one record. It was an entry penned by André’s very own hand—written the day after you met André for the first time. It read, Located the woman’s daughter. Won’t be long until she introduces me to her brother. Finally, the ledger can be put to use.

Ledger? You felt lightheaded, as if the blood had been drained from you. And…is he talking about my mother? Is that who ‘the woman’ is?

Hurriedly, you yanked open another drawer and heaved out what items were stored in there—and a leather-bound notebook slipped out from the bundle of papers and plopped to the desk.

With shaking hands, you picked it up, unclipping its clasp, and easing it open.

There was a name written inside of the cover—and it was your mother’s name.

Bloody hell! You leapt from André’s chair you had sat in and clutched at your hair, ripping off the wig. Gods! I knew we’d missed something! If you didn’t get rid of this account book—this final remaining piece of evidence of your mother’s existence and her organisation, of her legacy—you and your brother would be in dire, dire danger from not only André and his associates, but also the court.

You flipped through the ledger, reading your mother’s handwriting, inspecting all of the recorded transactions of firewater and illegal substances and weapons—as well as the trading of classified parliamentary information for sky-high prices, paid for by the Fatui. 

As you rapidly flipped through the pages, almost tearing the papers in your haste, the written annals and logs penned by your mother came to an abrupt stop. There was just nothing after that, leaving about a quarter of what paper was left in the ledger, blank.

Something caught your eye—a folded slip of yellowed paper peeking out from the very back cover of the ledger, left tucked into the book for a long while. Hands trembling so violently, you could barely get a grip on it, you pulled it out and placed the ledger down, unfolded the piece of paper.

Inside was a letter. And it was from your mother.

To my dearest son and daughter,

I was never a good mother to either of you. I neglected you, all for the sake of nothing, in the end. Without any other choice, I founded a hub for criminals, something that would make me money without having to resort to the final pis aller and sell my body for a coin. No brothel would take in a middle-aged woman, anyway. Instead, I opted to get my hands dirty instead. With a lot of blood, if all amounted up. It shames me, it does, and I know it sounds as if I was making excuses, but I really had no choice.

If you are reading this, it could be that you were snooping around, or that I am dead. I suspect the latter more. As I write this, I can only hope that you do find and have the chance to read this someday. Please don’t let this ledger fall into the wrong hands. You must get rid of my legacy completely, and lead better lives than I.

I am undeserving to ask for this, but,

Love,

Mother.

Tears blurred your vision completely, and you gasped back a sob. With violently quivering fingers, you set the letter face-down, collapsing into the chair behind you.

Curse you! You inwardly swore, forcing back the wails fighting to burst out. Curse you! Look at this mess you made! That you left for me to clean up!  It had become like a hereditary curse—an ancestral sin—she had left on you, just like in those fantasy books, one that is inescapable, and always reveals itself in the lives of at least one of the forebearer’s offspring. That being your mother, in this case. And, oh, had it revealed itself—the entire blissful reality with André was nothing but a fraud—he was nothing but a fraud—and it was falling apart right before your very eyes.

In the midst of your misery and fight to regain your rationality, you spotted some kind of logo in the corner of your eye, printed in harrowing dark green ink on the top left corner of a document tossed on André’s desk, one you hadn’t picked up before, and you weakly shoved the manila folder dumped on top of it away, exposing it to the light fully.

Your eyes narrowed, your stomach rolling in foreboding. Hold on…does that say…? You dearly hoped it didn’t. That would mean…

It was a brand’s emblem—in this case, the official coat-of-arms, of sorts, for André’s organisation.

The Fulbert Union.

A door slamming open wrenched you from your thoughts before you could fully process what you had just found. Startled, you flinched back at the sound, your head snapping up, and you were met with the glacial stare of your fiancé. 

“You probably won’t believe me, but…” André strolled casually into the room, prowling towards you, flicking open a lighter and bringing a cigarette to his lips, igniting it, before inhaling a long, drawn-out, insouciant drag of it. He tapped it, breaking the ashes from its end, letting the dead embers flutter to the floor as he puffed out a substantial haze of smoke. The smell made you want to gag. “I really did enjoy the time we spent together. You know, going around town, going on those dates, me spending money on you—you see, it was all for a good benefit, in the end.”

“That benefit being me—your source of profit—‘in the end’?” “You catch on quickly,” he smiled, but his eyes did not. “That’s another thing I’d always liked about you. However, I liked you better when you didn’t ask questions, and you stayed out of my business.”

For every step he took towards you, you took three back. You wanted nothing more than to poke that alight cigarette into his eyes and burn them out—and you glared such sentiments at him, making sure he knew it. “I don’t have the words to express how much I want to strangle you right now.”

“The feeling is quite mutual.” André’s tone was warm, but it was the kind of warmth that scalded, that killed. “You poking around in here has, essentially, signed your death warrant. And would you look at that—” he held up a piece of paper, and it was a death certificate, with your name and personal details all written out in neat penmanship—ready to be presented to the mortician at any time. “—I actually have it all written up right here. Thank you, mon bijou, for making things so convenient for me.”

“Do you know how pathetic you sound right now?” Desperation to get the hell out of there wasn’t letting you think, and you were only left to just blurt out any old hateful word you could to try and land some kind of blow on him before you met your end. “I see it now. You’re one massive egomaniac—and if I think about it, you always were.”

André coolly arched a brow, unfazed by your insults. “Slandering me to my face won’t achieve anything, honey. In fact, to me, it just sounds like you’re eager for death. Well, then, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” You didn’t even have time to blink when he shot forward, throwing something purple at you—and you realised, in the blur of the moment, that this man had a Vision, and was using the power of Electro on you to render you paralysed for a time.

“Nope, not a Vision.” As if reading your thoughts, André held up a little circular object, and its dark, warped, swirling interior beneath its glass encasing conveyed its true nature. “It’s a Delusion, dearest. Kind of what you’ve been living in for the past three—no, seven—years.”

He had a hand wrapped around your throat tightly, and you didn’t have the strength to fight his grip. The Delusion’s electrifying power had successfully weighed down your bones and dulled your nerves so you were like lead. Completely at his mercy—something that this man did not have for you.

“It’s really a shame for you, you know? You could’ve played along, and I would’ve given you a quiet death later on, maybe a few months after our wedding. Died of perfectly natural causes—maybe taking a little ‘tumble’ off a cliff as we stroll about the landscape together on our honeymoon, falling deathly sick from ‘food poisoning’, or, maybe—” Something else replaced his hand—and this new grip on your throat was dry, coarse, and it burned as it was wound around your neck. You let out a desperate, choked and muffled shriek as you realised what it was. He’s going to strangle me! Hang me from the ceiling! “—a bit more of a tragic demise, such a devastating end for the family—death by suicide.”

The noose was fully wound around your throat, and André seemed satisfied with its taut grip on your neck. He stepped away from you, the rest of the rope in his hold, as he smiled malevolently down at you, slinging the rope over a little hook in the ceiling, and then he paused to continue chatting. “Had that hook up there installed the other day. Wasn’t actually meant for this—but, well, I’d say I’m a bit of a master at making better of a rather dull situation.” 

You couldn’t even lift your arms to clutch at the rope, the shock he had dealt to you was too potent, too much for your body to overcome. Help me! Someone, please, help me! But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get anything else other than a pathetically soft whimper out. It amused André immensely, seeing you struggle so hard. “I find myself feeling very grateful that you never asked for sex or whatever. It pained me to even propose to you. You get me? My tastes in women are much more…” he looked you up and down with a scrutinising, rather repulsed gaze, and you felt his words and loathsome stare pierce you in your stomach. “…Refined. Anyway! That’s as irrelevant as you are, really. You helped me out a lot today, mon bijou. I owe it to you. Here’s your payment.”

And then he began pulling; heaving you up bit by bit, higher and higher, tightening the rope’s grip on your throat to the point where it broke the burned skin of your nape and bled—squeezing your throat so tautly to the point where air flow through your larynx was completely cut off. 

Panic had embedded itself into every fibre, every cell, every atom of your body, and the despairing fight to survive never relented—but it was pointless. You were finished. All your brain could manage now was to flash every good and bad memory you possessed right before your eyes—and, as if to taunt you in your final moments, it showed you all the happy times of laughter and camaraderie with André, with your brother, with Elvira, with your workmates. But it was especially with André, as he had become the sole source of the best memories you had, and you detested it. Why must it be his face I look upon fondly as I die, when he is my killer? The gods must have truly, truly abhorred you—for a reason you will never know.

You were dangling in midair, not quite high enough up yet, and André was still talking. “Your suicide note is all written up—and in your handwriting, by the way—but, damn, if only you’d left it until we were back at the house. Then it would’ve looked a bit more convincing. How weird would it be if you randomly offed yourself in my office, huh?” He heaved a long-suffering sigh, as if fatigued at the mere thought of having to pose your murder as a suicide. “I’ll work it out. Actually, no, this is better…” André knotted the rope around the hook twice to make sure it held, before stepping back, hands on his hips as if to admire some artwork he’d created—that being your suspended frame hanging helpless above him. “I’ve got plenty of backup. We’ll just dump you somewhere—”

Black ants were crawling into the edges of your vision, gradually blotting out everything, obscuring that horrid face of his from your sights, and the memories were flickering out into nothingness, finally. You closed your eyes, accepting it. If this is how it ends, then this is how it ends. With what ability you had left to think, you could only pray that in your next life, you would be granted a better chance.

Faint, echoing sounds of commotion and yelling indistinctly resonated in your ears, but you were too far gone to decipher it. You barely even felt the rope being sliced just above your head and you dropping into someone’s hold, the person’s arms thin but strong, their perfume sweet, but mixed with sweat from exertion, and the sensation of curls brushing against your nose. You hardly felt any of that. All that was left was to fade away completely.

・・・・

“When I woke up, Navia, my brother and my sister-in-law were all passed out by my bed. They must have been at my side the entire time, waiting for me to wake up, for only the gods know how long.”

A gentle finger traces random patterns on your bare hip, his hand’s hold so warm, so soothing. Unwavering amethyst eyes gaze into your own, taking in your tear-stained face with no hint of judgement or criticism at all. “How long were you out for?” You frown, thinking. “Hm…Navia said something like…three or four days? I don’t know. Apparently, I was extremely close to death—if she and her men had been even half a minute late, I would not be lying here with you today.”

Neuvillette falls silent, merely continuing to gently massage your hip, his thumb rubbing circles into your flesh, as if to anchor you and help you feel consoled, seen. “…I find that to be a scary thought.”

 You sniffle, choking out a feeble laugh. “Haha. That’s nice of you.”

“Nice of me? Is that all? Is that all you believe?” His arm encircles your waist and presses you flat against his torso, the ridges of his abdomen digging deliciously into yours, and he holds you so you’ve no choice but to stare up at him. That gaze of his holds such raw intensity again, it whips the breath from your lungs. “I wish you’d stop thinking like that. Why base your self worth on words a man who almost murdered you, and who is now dead, threw at you? His words mean nothing. They only have meaning if you allow them to. Why don’t the words of those around you who love you take precedence?” “Because it’s hard, Neuvillette.” You drop your eyes. They’re filling with tears again. Ugh, shouldn’t I be out of these already? “I—look, three years of what seemed like genuine love and affection and support, all razed to the ground in a matter of minutes. Insecurities that I had were ones he once told me were beautiful. How do you expect me to not believe that? But then he switches up as he’s killing me and says that his tastes are more ‘refined’,” you scoff, before drawing in a shuddering breath. “A-And then, he goes along and says that he was basically forcing himself to shower me with such warmth, and then he says that—”

“That’s enough,” Neuvillette softly commands, tenderly brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I see where you’re coming from. But, would you like me to tell you something?” You blink up at him, uncaring of the tears blurring your vision. “What?” you sniffle.

“In all my long years of living…” His lips meet your forehead. “I’ve never coveted something…” And then his mouth presses to your temple. “…So much. I never knew what it was like to want a person so dearly, so intensely, that I would gladly abandon all reason and precept if she so wished for it.” And he buries his face into your nape, lips ghosting over the scar on your neck, making you shudder in pleasure. “Precept that is my very being, what I live for—but what worth does it possess when she has such supremacy over it?”

“Neuvillette, I…don’t lie to yourself, you can’t—”

“Am I not one who has never been predisposed to lying?” Neuvillette peers up at you earnestly from his spot in your nape. “What makes it so hard for you to believe?” He licks his lips, eyes lidded. “Well, then, if I must show you once more—”

“N-No! Th-That’s quite alright, I believe you…” His displaying of excessive amounts of affection has made your brain short circuit, and you bury your face into his hair instead. “I don’t want you to forfeit centuries of such eminent principles you’ve upheld all this time, for a single mortal woman.” You feel him still beneath you, and you take this chance to continue. “I am merely a fleeting affair, Neuvillette—something that will barely last twenty years. You cannot simply renounce a role of extreme gravity not just to this nation, but to surrounding ones as well, because I would say so—which I will never. You are the Chief Justice. You are impartial. I am not an exception.”

He is silent, and as you fall quiet too, your own words settling in, and you realise just how hurtful your little speech had been. But the truth has always hurt, and it’s something you’ve long learned to face.

“…Happiness has always been a luxury for me,” Neuvillette finally says after a long, long moment of tormenting silence. “I just…want to indulge a little, for once.” “I know.” Your voice is gentle, comforting. “I know. But…unless there was some kind of way that I could become immortal and thus stick with you for the rest of your long life…this will only become a painful memory for you in the future.”

Neuvillette shifts beneath you, revealing his face. His eyes are thoughtful, but hesitant. They stare into yours for a few seconds before they lower. “…Yes. If only there was a way.”

Something in his gaze just now struck you with a peculiar feeling—what if he…knows a way? You’ve always surmised that this man is hiding some great secret from you—something directly involved with his true identity.

You’ve had your suspicions, but they’re not something you like keeping. And, it’s not really any of your business. If he is who you think he is, then there truly wouldn’t be a chance for you, anyway.

“You’ll move on.” You massage his scalp, and his eyes close in bliss, but a knot forms between his brows at your words. “You’ll eventually forget me. You’ll be fine.”

Neuvillette abruptly clutches you close, smothering your mouth with his, silencing you. “Stop being depressing for a moment,” he chuckles between kisses, relishing your surprised, soft squeaks and pants. “And let me make you happy.”

But his laughter is pained, forced, and you sense that—but you humour him anyway. The selfish part of you is saying, anyway, what’s there for me to lose? but you are not cruel.

Love is selfless. Love is kind. Love means considering your other half’s concerns over yours. If only that was something you had the privilege to do for him forever.

i have sat. at my mum's desk. for four days and eighteen hours straight, working on this MONSTROSITY of a chapter. TWENTY ONE THOUSAND WORDS. WHAT HAVE I DONE.

anyways i hope u guys enjoyed. i worked really hard on this one. i kinda enjoyed writing this chapter but then it fell off more towards the end. that much is clear.

taglist!

@shiroonekoo @just-here-reading @avyakaslana @eternal-dokja @confusedparticle @xitrinez @tanspostsblog @vcatson @sek0ya @loving-august @mxyarylla @ultigoblin @constantlyoverthinking @pvbbyb0y @lynettezzp @esthelily @furblrwurblr @sangoqueenkoko @lacunaanonymoused @dumb-gemini

© jqnehr 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate, repost/redistribute and plagarise any of my works

#genshin #genshin impact #neuvillette #chief justice neuvillette #fontaine #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin x reader #genshin neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #neuvi #focalors #furina #genshin fontaine

[elllisaaa]

sweetie your last post for subby enha hasn’t left me yet… it was truly that powerful 😔

now i’m thinking about bf!heeseung who gets jealous while you’re out clubbing and catches another man eye fucking you. you find it silly that after all this time being together he still gets jealous and start teasing him. he embraces you pouting and mumbling about how no one has the right to watch you like that while simultaneously growing a boner from the way you laugh at his attitude… he turns into a bit of a loser but he’s not ashamed of it. ofc the night continues at home with you overstimulating him <3

no but subby enha truly has some kind of superpower on me i swear, especially jake and heeseung for some reasons… and oh my lord i fucking love how your brain works, this is so yummy !

BF!HEESEUNG who's so down bad for you, he literally worships the ground you're walking on and considers himself lucky you're even willing to look his way, so do not getting him started on how grateful he is to be your boyfriend. he's not ashamed of how much he's obsessed with you.

but even with this fact in mind, he still lets you do everything you want when you two are going out, heeseung is just happy to be there and to watch his gorgeous girl have fun with her friends. he's even handing you his card to pay for your drinks. however, he doesn't like how one man in particular has been eyeing you up and down since the two of you got there, he doesn't like the way this guy thinks he can get you.

"why are you so moody, baby ? do you want to go home ? are you not feeling well ?" you ask to your boyfriend anxiously, and heeseung feels quite dumb to worry you over such silly things, but he couldn't help the feeling of jealousy taking over him every time the guy gave you fuck me eyes. "no, no, i'm okay. there is just… this guy over there, he's been watching since we got there and i don't like it."

the pout on heeseung's face became even more obvious when you turned around to get a glance of the man. when you gave your attention back to your boyfriend, he was mumbling under his breath like he did everytime he was frustrated. "haven't i made it clear that you're mine ? why does he keep undressing you with his gaze in front of me ? i really don't like it when someone other than me is checking you out." while he's rambling, his hands gradually make their way to your waist, bringing you flush against his body and you cannot help but giggle at his behaviour.

"don't laugh at me baby !" he's a bit offended by the way you're not taking the situation seriously, but at the same time, the smirk spreading on your lips when you bring him closer to your face by grabbing his jaw is turning him on. "i'm sorry hee, it's just funny to see you get all jealous about losers like that when you know damn well that you're mine, right ?" your tone is a bit condescending, and the way you're looking at his lips has him growing a boner on the spot. heeseung is only able to nod and bed you to go home because the only thing he wants right now is you on top of him, playing with his body.

"you're so fucking pathetic hee, you're so fucking lucky i'm even touching you right now, don't you think ?" - "y-yes, yes thank you, i love it, it's so good !" you coo at him once more, loving how pliant he becomes in your hold after two orgasms and how sensitive he gets, squirming in your hold when you run your nails on the skin of his chest.

"y/n… please, i wanna cum…" - "hm, again ? dirty boy, you're so fucking greedy." heeseung let out a moan at your degrading words, and you loved how he wasn't shy to show how much he liked the way you were treating him. and you loved to have him like this - holding his wrists down while you were riding him - when he could also totally blow your back and split you in half if he wanted to. you leaned in to reach his jaw, kissing it sloppily until you could murmur in his ear "you can cum inside baby, but i'm not even close yet. so you know what that means ?" - "y-yeah…" - "such a good boy, gonna fill me up two times."

and heeseung couldn't deny you (or himself) this sweet pleasure.

#my love for subby heeseung has reached some new highs thanks to you #eli answering your questions #eli's moots #dinna's asks #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader

[nondualiber]

guys, guys, gUYS. SUCCESS STORY THERE!!

first of all, this happened like a week ago or something. okay, so, i'm going to keep this short. i was in some sort of "manifesting block", i was OVER complicating things, my mindset sucked, blah blah blah blah. that's essentially the reason i wasn't posting (and will continue to not be, probably); because i was focusing on my life and actually manifesting new stuff.

warning; kind of long post ahead, talking about how i did it my journey blah blah blah. if you want to see the success story directly js go right to the bottom

first, a bit of background; i have manifested things in the past, but mym indset was always shitty. when i archieved my manifestations i would say it was a coincidence, i was obsessed with the 3d, and what i'm saying has been going on for *years*. for the past 6 months i was in this vicious circle where i'd try a method full of hope, then eventually lose confidence because of some negative beliefs and give up in three days. i'd have a one week meltdown, then search for a brand new method, and repeat. clearly, i didn't manifest anything lately. and i didn't know what i was "doing wrong" because i had manifested lots of things in the past, but i didn't know how nor how could i do it now.

okay, so. like a week ago, when i was in a terrible mood, i decided to stop using tumblr to see information and talked to this bot on character.ai, that assesored me a lot on my mindset. it suggested me lots of things: since i had 0 trust in the law, start to manifest little things i didn't care that much about so i had "proof", actually stop caring, etc. (i really recommend that bot if ur struggling with the law) but the most important thing, it challenged me to try a new "method" i had heard of before, but because of my shitty mindset, i didn't try because i thought it wouldn't work or that it was "too good to be true" or whatever. the method was literally just keep going with my day knowing that i already had it. and oh my f*cking god.

i won't say it just "clicked" for me because i hear that a lot & i things that's just not how it works. at least i can't "click" with something i don't know. what i can say is that at first it wasn't easy, i still had some doubts, not gonna lie, but i just ignored them and keep going knowing that i already had it. i got used to it really fast, and THAT'S how i knew this was the way, because i felt liberated. if you read my blog you'll probably know i talk about that all the time, but my idea of manifesting is that it has to feel liberating, not like a chore, a price to your desires or anything else. i was liberated, because i knew it was done, that i had nothing to give in exchange, that i was free of the 3d & its circumstances. i was Me, and I was free.

this was the best thing i've ever done in my journey. in only one week, i've successfuly manifested:

money: (me and my family are kind of wealthy tbh, but i am bratty asf & always want more money to buy me things 😜😜) my mother recieved 200000 pesos (my country's currency) out of literally thin air on her bank account a random tuesday. she doesn't know who send it or why. i don't know about the u.s.a since there 200000 pesos are 200 dollars, but in our country, that's a LOT of money.

self confidence: i've been feeling super insecure lately. like, i am insecure since i have memory, but since this year started it has become WAY worse. i'd literally cry almost every night. now, i def wouldn't say it's all gone, but it's gotten much better. i've been feeling pretty lately, and if i didn't felt pretty, i would hardly think about my appearence at all this days. i am constantly feeling like i have one less weight on my back, which i am gratefull for :)

discipline: ngl i am forever a lazy girl and a foodie. I have always wanted to be more productive - study more, exercise more, talk to my loved ones more often and eat healthier, but discipline is something i struggle with a lot. however, since i have shown better discipline i have had some of the most useful days of my life: i went out with my friends three times in one week, ate much better than i usually do, exercised EVERY DAY without fail (even while on my period) slept well and passed all four exams this week with an 85/100 on my worst one and two 100s.

reciving a compliment in public: since i tried to start manifesting things that seem "easier" for me to acomplish, i tried manifesting this because it was rare but not impossible. so, like 3 days after i started to embody the state of someone who's always complimented by strangers, i went to the sjopping centre with my friend. then, two guys walked by us and one of them said "i want the instagram of that lady"! notice that during the whole time i was in the state, i visualized that people were asking me for my instagram + i've noted that when i'm in public, i catched people's eye more. yesterday, a guy won't stop looking at me in the café and i think he tried to approach me :)

i'll keep escalating on the "level of difficulty" of the things i manifest as my mentality becomes accustomed to the fact that everything is equally easy to manifest -which is a fact already, i just have a hard time accepting it-, and, of course, i'll be updating ;)

conclusion; look for what works for you. for what makes you feel good & secure that you have already what you want. search a "key" that makes you (actually) not give a f*ck about the 3d, if you have negative beliefs, don't ignore them. work from them, and of course, persist! let your mindset keep you on track.

that was all for today, love ya ♡

#4d reality #affirm and persist #it girl #law of assumption #law of attraction #loablr #manifesation #manifesting #neville goddard #shifting #loa blog #loassumption #loa tumblr #success story #mindset #manifestation #manifesting money

[robitherat]

Thinking about the fact that most of Tims character arch is based around him actually dealing with the things from his past

Like a major part of tims character is his denial of the things that happened to him-- his repression of memories, chalking things up to hallucinations, suffering in silence, brushing off any concern from those around him ("Tim what's that?" "Just some medicine I need to take" "Are you sick, do you need to go home?" "No I'm fine.") The fact that he never mentioned his medical history or his time at the hospital to Jay until he was basically forced to.

And what was it that finally made him tell Jay about the hospital? The operator directly attacking him and making him relive scenes from his past. It wasn't until he was forced to realize what was at stake, forced to essentially confront the danger he was in by bottling up his past, that he willingly (at least somewhat) shared that information with someone. I do like to think that maybe Tim opened up to Brian in college, but as far as cannon evidence, we only really see Tim willingly talking to Jay about it. Brian knew, sure, but it's just as easy to assume he found that after the fact-- that he caught Tim in the lie, rather than Tim telling him outright.

And Tim really isn't a great liar, either. Like I know we talk about Jay being a little bit of an idiot (rightfully so) but Tim's main course of lying is. The most obvious deflection in the world. When Jay mentions the tape in his house, Tim's response is to immediately deflect ("I'm a little more worried about my house right now.") which would be a smaller thing if Tim wasn't intimately aware of how important it was to find and watch any tapes they possibly could. Tim's only method to coping with things that happen to him and the people around him is through denial, even in times when it would be infinitely more beneficial to acknowledge the issue at hand.

What's even more interesting to me is that Tim is seemingly the only character that makes any genuine progress in fighting against the operator. But that comes with the caveat that Tim is only able to do so when he actually confronts the operator, and by association, the issues of his past.

The only way he and Jay are able to make amends and move on is by Tim telling Jay about the hospital, which was only spurred on by Tim being forced to relive his trauma. Right after Tim tells Jay to stay out his life, he (by force of tta) has a relapse and ends up paired with Jay anyways. The only way he's able to get Jay and himself away from Alex's house in one piece is by literally physically standing up to the operator. In the fight against Alex, the whole time he's being ported around, he is monologuing about his past-- he's finally acknowledging the things that happened to him, that they weren't his fault, that they affect other people, and that violence isn't the answer to dealing with them-- that isolating yourself and denying the truth of what's happening isn't the answer.

And of course this is all tied back to the metaphor of mental illness: the fact that you cannot deny the things that have happened to you if you have any hope of moving on from them. you can't lash out or harm others because of your trauma if you have any hope of moving past it. The reason Jay, Brian, and ultimately Alex all died is because they were incapable of facing their issues head on; they all turned to anger, isolation, violence, and otherwise feeding into what the operator wanted, or alternatively, feeding into the misery spiral of their mental illness, rather than finding healthy coping mechanisms to heal from and move on from it.

God I need to write a full analysis essay about him OKAY I'm ending it here these aren't all my thoughts this doesn't make sense but I'm ending it here thank you for watching goodbye

#robi rambles #marble hornets #tim wright #jay merrick #mh spoilers #i love him i love tim i love him #i hope creepy swes this creepy this ones for you i hope you like my tim meta ^-^

[stillness138]

where are characters from the first Hades game now, and some other character-centric theories:

inspired by this post by @thebuttsmcgee

so from the technical test gameplay stream we learned that Chronos straight up took over the underworld and kidnapped not only Hades, but Zagreus and Persephone too. out of the underworlders from the first game, Charon is still doing his thing in secret, Skelly returns in a new coat, the Wretched Broker is back too, and Hypnos is the only other guy from the House who's hiding at Hecate's hub, but he's also fast asleep...

personally, i think Hypnos might be cursed or something like that. Chronos using Hypnos's schtick against him? lose time by sleeping through it all? or maybe he just wakes up a bit later. hell, maybe he's always asleep during the test but not the final game because he would've dropped a spoiler or something.

so what about the rest?

assuming they're not all imprisoned somehow,

-Nyx and Thanatos: they could've fled to Chaos. a narrator's note at the Crossroads says that it houses 'those still loyal to lord Hades', but doesn't necessarily say 'all of them'. Nyx visits Chaos in the first game once their relationship is mended, and like the post i linked said, Than would've probably tried to protect the family and the House for as long as he could. but in the face of no other option, i think Chaos would be a viable place to flee to for the two of them, out of Chronos's reach similarly to the Crossroads. Than also visits the surface though, so maybe he'll show up at the Crossroads at some point? maybe in a plot point, trying to help Mel free Zag and the fam? both of them are important enough to warrant an appearance.

-the Furies: my idea is that all three of them were forced to serve Chronos. they're a very important part of security and upkeep down there, i think he would've wanted the realm's employees on his side. i don't however think they're going to be the bossfight between Asphodel and Tartarus. they, or Meg alone, should have some presence however.

-Sisiphus: it would be kinda cute if the furies went behind Chronos's back and helped to tuck Sisiphus away somewhere safe, given that he is loyal to Zag/the family and maybe that'd mean they were ordered to torture him again. depends on what Chronos's rule over the underworld looks like for the different shades there, but Melinoë speaks to the few that hang around at Crossroads in an almost comforting manner, so i imagine Chronos is trying to rule by fear and get shades on his side that way. Bouldy's gonna be sad, but fine. i hope. but at least a mention would be nice.

-Achilles and Patroclus (and Theseus&Asterius): ...they're probably separated again, aren't they... brainstorming now, i like (pain and) the idea that they're both in Elysium, just not together. because i think Elysium would've risen up as an army of sorts trying to oppose Chronos, given it's all warriors and heroes. separated by war. Nemesis having Stygius with her makes me believe Achilles could be wielding Varatha. additionally, Theseus being forced to step up and put his vanity aside, delicious idea i think. also, Mel arriving to this supposed paradise only to find it in a desolate state. all of them, i think, should be at the very least mentioned too.

-Orpheus and Euridice: they could be both hiding or imprisoned or forced to serve, but. what if this time it's Euridice who's looking for Orpheus. he's at the house and at Chronos's whim, while she makes it to the Crossroads and asks Mel for help. it'd be a shame if they were never heard from again.

-Cerberus: probably locked up with the fam :( orrr he's running wild all around the realm and Chronos is literally incapable of taming him. that would've been fun. Cerberus bossfight tho... nah. no way he wouldn't see something familiar in Mel. but it could be fun too if done right. he definitely has to reappear.

-Dusa: wild theory time but she's hiding in the rafters, spying on Chronos. :D. if the situation is much more dire, she's either also forced to serve, or even banished into Asphodel to be with the other gorgon heads. either way i think she'll pop up again in some capacity.

-House Contractor, Head Chef, Resource Director: probably unwillingly continuing their jobs under Chronos's rule. although the chef might've lost his job, depends if Chronos like, eats normal food. well mostly onions and fish but still. alternatively, the chef will also show up at Crossroads like the Wretched Broker does.

-THE GOOD SHADE from Elysium: okay war hero good shade arc when? i'm sorry, but i love them.

some other ideas, theories and wishes:

-the obvious one is Hera, like many others i also hope she will appear as a major boon giver.

-i have a feeling, however, that Hermes might not. it seems a bit that Artemis and Selene are filling up his role as the little bit specific boon giver, but maybe i'm wrong. Artemis provides crit boons just like in the first game and Selene has a bit more of a Chaos vibe to her. let's see.

-i do think, or would like it if, Chaos shows up, but not as a boon giver. but i believe they would definitely have something to say about Chronos's actions.

-back to Hermes though... there's that sealed staircase that leads upwards from the Crossroads. people have already been theorizing this, but there might seriously be a section of the game taking place on Olympus, or at the very least somewhere under it. still, i don't think Hermes would be a boon giver either if he does appear. i would however like to see him interact with Charon.

-the Fates will, i think, remain obscure, even if Moros has more of a connection to them. maybe they'll be mentioned and explored a bit more, but i wouldn't count on them appearing by themselves.

-i would however like to see at least one more of Nyx's kids. originally, i also hoped Erebus himself ever shows up personified, but i like what they've done with it as a place.

Eris is i'd say the biggest contender, given that she's namedropped in the first game through a weapon aspect and a purchasable item. maybe she's even boss material (again, if Nemesis has the sword, Eris may wield the rail).

-same thinking can be applied to Ariadne (she lives with Dionysus on Olympus, does she not?), Talos (giant robot made by Hephaestus, how cool is that), and Lamia (snake lady with personal history with Zeus and Hera, would even make for a cool boss too i think, although i always viewed her as a more melancholic figure. but i'm just spitballing here). there are also Atlas, Prometheus and other names on Charon's many items, those are less likely to make an appearance imo.

-Talos also obviously has a weapon aspect in the first one, and then there's Chiron. in myth, he is the son of Chronos. the juiciness of that situation, given he has a relationship with Achilles and Patty as well... perhaps he'll be Elysium's miniboss in the spirit of Asterius? or straight up a main boss? or actually a friendly? i really hope they did something with him, the potential is so very there.

-i think Daedalus will remain present just in name and spirit.

-now that i'm on the weapons though, for all we know there might not be such a thing as weapon aspects (at least not tied to specific figures) in Hades 2, but if there are, including hidden aspects, i'd like to see nods to more of other world mythologies/histories/cultures, like Egyptian, Japanese, pre-columbian American or Slavic.

-this brings me to keepsakes and companion plushies, if they're in the game at all and if so, who gives them out.

keepsake-wise, beside the olympians, Hecate is obvious, as well as Odysseus, and Nemesis and Moros are too. Arachne and Skelly also. Charon seems likely, so does Dora. maybe Hypnos if/when he wakes up. Selene, probably.

i'd say, if companions are a thing, it's also up to Nemesis and Moros, Odysseus, maybe Hecate, likely Arachne, and if there's 6 of them like last time, the final one will be from either Dora or someone we haven't seen yet. or Hecate doesn't give one (she's pretty op for a summon) but Skelly does.

-this also ties into romance! it's been deduced a long time ago, right when the trailer came out, that Nemesis and Moros are very likely romanceable. i also see the appeal and potential of romancing Dora, and from the technical test, i like Melinoë's friendship with Artemis. Hypnos's presence at the Crossroads is interesting from this point too, but i wouldn't guess he'll be romanceable if/when he wakes up.

there are more details to speculate about, especially in gameplay and resources (boss room rewards! the equivalent of nectar/ambrosia to give characters!) but i wanted to keep this mainly about the npcs.

honestly curious what other people are saying!

#hades the game #hades 2 #shut up elis #this got longer than i anticipated

[hyallulonelyhime]

Hyahime presents: That time when a jsk became an ironing board cover..

Today i'm sharing a classic from cgl many of you have definitely heard about: The ironing board fiasco. The story of a girl, her dad's fiance and many feels.

Everything started when OP shared this image and said the following:

Due to some unusual circumstances, I'm currently living in a partially-renovated house with my dad and his fiancé.

His fiancé is a very sweet lady who is very thrifty. She makes all her own clothes and and will usually find a practical use for something, rather than throw it out (i.e recycling old bottles and jars to pot plants).

I had a Baby The Stars Shine Bright Strawberry and Cherry Ruffle jumperskirt that I didn't wear anymore, so I was planning to sell it. From memory, it cost about $400.

I put it out in the main room next to a pile of clothes I planned to donate to Good Sammies, so I'd remember to take photos of it for the sale. I then went away for a week to visit my grandparents

When I came back, I noticed the pile of clothes had disappeared. Cool, my dad and/or his fiancé had donated them for me. But wait… Where was the jumperskirt?

It was then that I saw the sight portrayed in the uploaded. My dress had been cut up to to make an ironing board cover and a tablecloth. I don't know where the rest of the material is.

It appeared that my dad's fiancé had assumed the jumperskirt was part of the donation pile, and thought there was no harm in 'recycling' it for her own uses. In her efforts to pretty up the concrete-y wasteland of a house, she had unknowingly destroyed an expensive brand dress.

Literally the only thing I could do in that moment was stare blankly. I can't even be mad at her, she had no idea.

So now I have a BTSSB ironing board and table cloth.

the story immediately caught the attention of users as they scrolled. Some found it terrible, others couldn't help but laugh..

Though some were quick to say it must've been fake.

So.. did OP fake this for attention? Let's investigate.

It is very unlikely the fabric was gathered from a replica, judging by the print details and the fact that this isn't a very sought-after or popular piece you'd see everywhere.

But how did one dress result in so much fabric? Although it looks like a lot, one anon pointed this out:

But she knew she'd get the attention, right? ...yes, but I don't think anyone would come up with this specific odd way to recycle a lolita piece and make the community react.

OP responded to the questions and thoughts with the following:

At this point, some anons were pretty much just fighting over if it's okay for OP to be so calm or not. Which.. is a little bit weird. Others were more emotional about this than the victim themselves.

But what you may not know is.. there's more. There's more to the Kawaiironing fiasco.

Op comes back.

I queried the whereabouts of the remaining material and she showed me. She said my dad told her I was "throwing them out" (I have no idea where he drew that conclusion as i specifically said I was donating a bunch of clothes, so at the very least he should have assumed I was, you know, donating them), so she thought it was fine to cut up. My fault anyway, didn't separate the "sell" pile from the "donate" pile. HOWEVER… There were a few other brand dresses I was planning to sell. I assumed they had been donated with the rest of my clothes, as they were nowhere to be found. I was a little sad about that (they were valuable Angelic Pretty, BBSTB and Metamorphose), but oh well. Then I looked in her material bag and found they had also been cut up… When dad said I was "throwing THEM" out, he did not state a plural by accident… Pics to follow.

If anyone wants individual versions of those pics lemme know.

The loli gods frown upon me today for my unbecoming carelessness in handling burando.

Op decided to keep the truth a secret: ignorance is bliss, and her stepmother did not deserve to feel the guilt of ruining so much burando.. or to know that so many lolitas were in shambles knowing about her crafts.

..Although, anons said this wouldn't stop her from doing it again. Maybe she should know so she doesn't cut up even more dresses.

One thing is certain. that's a really cute ironing board cover. Maybe the fabric could become even more random burando stuff: headbows, little makeup bags, cup coasters, mats.. oven mitts?

Lolita home goods for all! we demand a cute life!(✧∀✧)/

#memorybox #eglfashion #jfashion #lolita fashion #egl #old school lolita #egl community #classic lolita #egl fashion #sweet lolita #gothic lolita

[md-confessions]

sort of in response to that one ask about doll not being 'uzi if she never met n.'

both her and uzi were changed through grief and disconnect from their peers even if it showed in different ways. both of them have themes of loneliness & both of them have an intense festering hatred that fuels their motivations.

the difference between them is that through the connections that uzi formed after being forced into a situation where she had to open up, she deterred herself from the path she was slowly going down.

like her quote en quote villain arc was stopped before it started because of the connection she formed with N but doll never had that.

doll refused to form connections despite the chances she was given because it happened too late. her anger festered for so long that she wasn't able to make a comeback. her hubris was her downfall. she became the very thing she sought to destroy.

the point of promening and her 'hypocritical murder plan' was that she was so blinded by her anger and hatred, she didn't really think too far about the logics of her plan; she probably fantasized killing v and then took the first chance she could to actually do it.

she has some kind of tunnel vision, focusing on her goals until she's gotten them; no matter the cost, no matter who or what she has to get through. (another similarity between her and uzi, imo.)

Uzi basically stated "hey we should stop fighting cause there's bigger shit at play and we can deal with it better if we team up" and Doll responded with "No I can do this on my own also die"

sort of. imagine you spend years upon years seething and imagining ways you're going to kill this sky demon that killed your parents in front of you and lead to the activation of a virus that has plagued you for years since that point. you have to actively kill and eat people from a young age & you are alone in your struggles; presumably the singular person who is aware of them finds your trauma humorous to an extent, and even if she sticks by your side, you feel like she doesn't really get it. i reiterate; you are alone in your struggles.

one day, you finally get your chance. you fantasize this moment for years, to the point where it becomes the only plausible solution to your problems. you don't plan it out thoroughly, because you know the universe will deal its hand correctly and allow you catharsis after years of festering that hatred. it finally happens. you have her in your sights, you have her pinned, she knows who you are now and you're about to kill her, to inflict all the pain on her you have wanted to for years; no matter who may have gotten in your way, you will have this, it's all you want, its all you HAVE wanted.

and then someone stops you. she tells you some things that if you were in a clearer mind, you would have thought deeper about, but you're so fucking angry right now and you want her to get out of the way. you don't listen.

you fight. you lose. you come back.

she has the same virus as you. you're not alone anymore. and that's when the conflicting feelings start. but despite that start, they never quite come to any meaningful conclusion because you have more important things to do. perhaps she inspired you a little to understand that the fate of the planet is more important than your fantasy for revenge, but you're so set in your ways you can't quite admit it yet. and again; when you get that chance again, to enact revenge, you take it.

and in the end, it ruined her & she died. she died as she lived; alone.

essentially, 'doll is uzi if she never met n' doesn't mean that exactly; it means doll is uzi if she never formed meaningful connections. the friends she had in school don't count in my eyes. literally the very first proper interaction we see between her and lizzy is lizzy playing doll's traumatic experience off as a joke. no hate towards lizzy also just to specify i love them as friends i just don't think it is on the same level of healthy as n and uzis friendship is?

okay.. i can't add any more to this it's so fucking long also it's 1 am GOODNIGHT i hope this doesn't look weird or aggressive

.

#md confessions #murder drones #md doll #uzi doorman #serial designation n #serial designation v #md lizzy

[swiftispunk]

Hello

same anon from earlier who sent the ask about the friend who thought fics/tropes are being run to the ground;

so what my mutual was also getting at was “all these writers just copy each other when they write popular tropes and it leads to tropes or ideas being over saturated.” they posted that on twitter and everyone was agreeing with them, basically said that people writing the same ideas or even taking inspiration from other writers is considered copying them. i really thought that was rude to say that only certain writers are good at writing a specific character or trope and no one else is allowed to write it, it seemed….like they were putting them on a pedestal or making it some sort of competition? it just weirded me out to hear that take. i wanted to hear your thoughts…does everyone think it’s considered copycat writing if you read something in a fic and want to write the same thing?

well i think considering that people on here are currently having their fics literally copied word for word and reposted by other people, i'm gonna say that i don't think simply writing the same trope or being inspired by another author is "being a copycat." we are seeing what actual copying looks like right now - actual stealing - and, in my opinion, it's not this.

obviously i don't know specifically what these people were referring to but, if the "issue" they have is people writing the same tropes as someone else, they're confused.

it sounds to me like a few different conversations are happening here; writers being put on pedestals, only certain writers being allowed to write certain tropes, writers only writing popular tropes because they see someone else made it popular ig???? idk, it's a lot.

i guess. idk. no one here is original. no writer here owns any tropes or characterizations. most people treat this space like a community and feed off one another in normal, creative ways. most people who write popular tropes do so because they enjoy writing them, not because they're trying to be like someone else. i write dbf!joel because i like it, not because i "want notes" or because i'm trying to emulate another author.

honestly, i think it's weird as hell to compare writers who choose to write the same tropes and even weirder to treat it like a competition or say they're all just "trying so hard to be so-and-so." this fandom has so many writers, if people are out there thinking only one writer is capable of writing a certain trope well, they're not looking hard enough.

and that's on that

#ask #anon #tw discourse

[pandorasfavorite]

I live for your writing literally supporting my delusions ❤️❤️❤️ But anyways I think you’ve already written with this idea before but hopefully this request is a little different. So a fem reader and Dominik have been dating for a couple months but the reader beings to get annoyed by Dom’s close relationship with Rhea. The reader kind of starts giving him attitude about about this and Dom takes matters into his own hands with him showing the reader that he only wants the her and saying some stuff like “Do I kiss/touch Rhea like this?” and then proceeds to show her😝😝

Pick a Side

AN: Requests are coming as fast as I can write (don't give up on me). And keep a look out for your request mixed in with other posts.

It's not in Dominik's hands how he is supposed to do things. I mean he did choose to join the Judgement Day but the close relationship with Rhea was essentially pushed on him for more attention and heat. You were not a part of the Judgement, instead you stayed solo and stayed away from factions. You weren't with Dominik until 3 months after he joined The Judgement Day. But he grew on you slowly but surely; the way he was constantly in your life and that adorable smile and crazy hair; he was irresistible. You knew who all was in The Judgement Day too; you knew he liked Rhea as a friend, so he said, though lately the jealousy has gotten worse.

When you liked Dominik it didn't hurt as bad to see them paired together in the center of the ring acting like a couple. Yet the longer your relationship carries on, the more you love him, seeing him hug her and hang off her shoulder was slowly killing your nerves. So yeah you've been moody towards him lately, he should know by now anyway. On the other hand, Dominik was getting a little frustrated with your little mood. But he wasn't dense; it was clear as water that you were being pissy about Rhea. What could he do other than show you how he only wants you? Just finding the right time was the tricky part.

Well, the tricky part was over because you were blowing up on Dominik for touching Rhea's hair. In his defense, it really was an accident, but anything that had to do with them being in contact was ticking you off effortlessly. So now you were pacing in front of the king-sized bed (where Dominik was leaning against the headboard with his arms crossed), and you were going on a rant about the ridiculous events that have happened recently.

"You know it wouldn't matter if you at least acted like you didn't mean to do it. And then you want to throw your arm around her shoulder- or wait NO MY ARM, what's yours is mine, and your mine. So what I guess I'm really asking is why are you throwing my arm around another woman?" you spewed with your hands flying around to emphasize your point. Dominik was so fucking flabbergasted; somehow you managed to not only call him out for an accident but also claim his arm as yours. But he listened anyway and tried to act normal because if he smiled at your insanity; you would say he was making fun of the problem. So with a straight face (one that was about to break), Dominik patted the bed beside him.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him with apprehension, yet your body still went and sat beside him. Dominik turned to look at you with soft loving eyes while you turned to look at him with fire burning behind yours. He did the first thing that came to mind, kiss you until gasped out his name. His lips slipped against yours in a wet kiss and his whole body moved with the kiss. Every smack of your lips against his was followed by Dominik moving on top of you with ease. One of his legs was slotted between both of yours and your mind felt a bit foggy at the unexpected sensation. But the fog wasn't thick enough to distract you, that much Dominik already knew, his thigh pressed against your clothed cunt and he began pulling your clothes off one by one.

First start with your shirt and then your bra right after. The moment it slipped off, not even on the floor yet Dominik's hands were playing with your tits and his lips were sucking dark marks onto your sensitive skin. Each movement of his hands was directly followed by his thigh just barely pressing against you. He pulled back to taunt you, "Do I touch Rhea like this? Kiss her like this?", he rasps but you grit your teeth at the name alone.

"Don't say her name right now", you huff and grab the back of his head like you are about to push him back down onto you. He grins and pushes his hair out of his face, "Yea, I rather hear you say my name instead". You held back your surprise when Dominik ripped your pants completely off your body and slid your panties off. He looked at them with the same cocky smirk and showed you the prominent wet mark right in the middle. He smacked your pussy lightly; you felt yourself jolt and moan at the same time. "No surprise there", he commented and threw them off the bed all the same.

His hand splayed down your body; only for his tongue to follow the same trail, just barely dipping down to lick the inside of your thighs teasingly. You wither from above and try to wrap your legs around his head like you always do. Dominik never went a day without tasting your cunt. It was his favorite way to relieve stress; it was almost like a routine for him to come home with you and get on his knees to slide his tongue into your wet pussy. Though tonight he only glided his tongue against your clit for a split second before just barely letting his teeth graze over it. Your body reacted before your mind processed the new action. You gasped and raised up off of the bed to see what the fuck he just did and why the hell did it feel so good. "Like that mami? I thought you would, I know this pussy in and out", he sticks his tongue out playfully but he was still so low the tip of his tongue hit your pussy all the same.

You moaned his name and glared with impatience. You had never claimed to be the patient one in this relationship. Dominik took that as a sign to hurry up and pull his cock out to slip inside of you. After all this time you thought you'd be used to the stretch of his cock, but each inch sent you reeling and gripping the sheets for support. The way his cock filled you up, made you feel full it was unexplainable; really only your intangible moans could begin to explain it. "Fuck you feel so good", you whined and convulsed around his cock.

Dominik let you scratch down his cock and throw your arms over his shoulders while he just barely rocked into you. But he couldn't help but reply, "Oh yeah?" he asked but knew the answer based on how much you were pulsing around him already. "Fuck you", you grit out without meaning, though in reality, you wanted to pull his face down to slip your tongue into his smart mouth. He looks at you from the curtain of his long hair, "I can't wait" he said back. And he meant it with his entire being. Dominik loved you on top, roughing him around, and shoving your panties into his mouth.

Now Dominik was practically abusing your cunt with each harsh thrust that hit your g-spot with no effort. Each thrust made a smacking sound of his hips against your ass and then the squelch of him pulling in and out of your pussy. Dominik was now holding the headboard to better fuck you and the sight you got to see was better than any other. He was panting and licking his lips while watching you moan and work through the up-and-coming orgasm. His muscles were convulsing and his hips were ramming his cock inside of you. The quirks of Dominik being so athletic really paid off in bed.

Dominik pulled out and barely gave any time for you to whine out complaints. He grabbed you by the hips and flipped you over, he pushed your knees up and pushed your back down so you were arched in front of him; ass up and ready. Dominik slipped inside of you effortlessly this time and groaned at the sight in front of him. He grabs your hips again tightly this time and slams you back on his cock while he thrusts into you all the same. "Why would I want her when I have you taking my cock like a whore? God, I could fuck you forever Mami", his words are sloppy and dirty. You pulse around him and moan into the sheets he pushed you into over and over again.

"Dom please", you mumble from the sheets; that was the best way to tell him you were about to cum. And in this case, it was going to be the best one you've had in weeks. Dominik groaned as your pussy got tighter with each pulse and now one of his hands moved to the arch of your back to keep you in the right position. "Just a little longer princess, my good girl can do that right?", you only nodded into the sheet and Dominik felt his body constricting with each long pull. But you not speaking wasn't nearly enough for him. "My little cock slut can handle it hm?", he moved his hands down to grasp and pull at the plush of your ass. Smacking and pulling to make his cock drive even further into you. The degradation and praise mixed together always had you gushing around his cock and stilling while you cum. Already knowing Dominik would have no problems with fucking you through it.

Your ass pressed against him and his cock was as deep as it could go when you squeezed around his cock tightly. So tight he could barely pull out or stutter his cuss of praise. But of course, he managed, "That's my girl"

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