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tightjeansjavi · 5 months

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The Menu | Part 2

“like an angel to me”

A/N: so I think this is the fastest I have ever written something in awhile! Every time I think there’s no possible way for me to want Joel even more, I surprise myself with something like this 🥴

~word count : 5.3k~

Pairing | dark! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: after showing up to Joel’s apartment late one night, he gives you exactly what you’re seeking.

Warnings: dubcon/teetering on noncon (the lines are pretty blurred but I just want to be safe) coercion, manipulation, mind games, degradation, a sprinkle of misogyny, possession, ownership, dominance, humiliation, reader goes from being a dom to a sub real quick, brat tamer, praise kink, size kink, blood kink??, spitting kink, unprotected PIV, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, light spanking, oral (male receiving) little to no foreplay, some aftercare??, Joel is an asshole, delulu! Joel, cockslut, whore, bitch, are all used. Age gap, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in late 20’s, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is Angel, this story might not be for everyone, and that’s okay! Please heed the warnings! If I have missed any, PLEASE let me know. +18 minors dni!

The last thing Joel Miller expected you to do was laugh. Not just giggle, or a snicker, no. It was a full on wheezing laugh.

“Oh my fuckin’ god. You’re not actually serious, are you? Wow, is this supposed to make my panties wet or something? Cus’ it’s sure doin’ the complete opposite!”

His face turned beet red all the way to the tips of his ears. The glass that was clenched firmly in his fist was on the verge of shattering. Guess he couldn’t handle his fragile ego being busted open, huh?

“Y’think you’re so funny, huh?” His confidence was wavering on thin ice as he reached for the bottle instead.

“Oh, yeah. I think I am absolutely fucking hysterical. What? You don’t get your dick wet enough around here as it is? Oh, shit! Is it because your dick is small? It’s alright, Joel. Most women don’t care about size anyway.” You were smirking through your teeth as you sipped away at what was left in your glass.

The glowering man sitting across from you took one harsh swig from the bottle before he cracked his neck to the side. “I get my dick wet around here plenty. Thank you for showin’ some concern though. Ain’t you just a real peach? Why even mention my dick size, huh? Ask any woman around here and they’ll all tell you that I am well endowed.” He nearly growled as he slammed the bottle down along the coffee table.

“Geez, don’t go and get your panties all in a twist, Miller. I have no interest in knowing anything that has to do with you dick, I assure you. God, I swear all men, even after the world has gone to shit, are the same. Y’can’t handle someone busting your ego? Well, aren’t you just some delicate fuckin’ china.” You scoffed and placed your glass down on the coffee table like a dignified person.

Oh, you didn’t just bust his ego, you shattered it right down to the core. He could handle some bruising, sure. But god, if he didn’t want to tear you into two right now—

“Maybe I shoulda let those men in the alley fuckin’ tear you apart, since you think this is so fuckin’ funny. D’ya have any fuckin’ manners at all?! I risked MY fuckin’ skin to save your own and this is how you’re gonna act?!” His voice boomed through the thin apartment walls. He expected you to cower. To profusely apologize for poking the angry bear. Instead, you stood your ground.

“Maybe you should have! You could have just minded your own and let them fuck me up, but instead you what? Wanted to be the hero?! I never asked you to come and rescue me, Joel! Y’want me to say thank you? Fine. Thank you oh so much for saving me, Joel Miller! How can I ever repay you?” You mockingly batted your lashes, followed by an eye roll as you rose to your feet.

“Yeah, well, next time I ain’t gonna be there to save your skin! So, why don’t you jus’ go on back out into the streets, and see what happens!” He shook his head tightly as his jaw clenched like a fist.

“Great! That’s the best news ever because like I just said, I never asked you to rescue me!” You yelled exasperatedly as you made your way over to the door. Your head still throbbed, and your nose felt like a million tiny shards were digging into the flesh, but you’d much rather spend a night in lock up than another minute with this man.

“Great! Jus’ be on your way then, girlie!” He grumbled through his teeth.

“Oh, and Joel? For the sake of all the women in the QZ, why don’t you just keep your dick in your fuckin’ pants.” You gave him the middle finger before yanking his apartment door open. “Do not fuckin’ follow me home.” Was the last thing you said before you slammed the door behind you on the way out.

“Oh, don’t you worry! I ain’t gonna follow your bratty, disrespectful, no good—” he was cut off by the apartment door swinging shut so hard, it nearly fell off the hinges.

For good measure, the brooding bear got up from where he was sitting and locked the apartment door just in case you thought about coming back. Not that you were going to as you were already halfway across the QZ street heading home.

Joel Miller did not see you again for what felt like months (not really. He’s just a bit dramatic is all) when all in all reality, it had been two weeks to the date. He thought maybe you had died, or worse; He thought that maybe there was a chance that you got infected. Good riddance.

But then Tess told him that you were in fact alive, but avoiding him.

Joel knew why of course. He was quite the dickhead during your last interaction. Tess couldn’t really blame you for wanting absolutely nothing to do with Joel Miller ever again.

Business carried on like usual on their end even without your addictive charm in the mix.

You fucked a FEDRA soldier for extra ration cards just out of spite, and to get Joel Miller’s stupid face eliminated from your brain permanently. If you ever ran into that man again, you wanted to be smelling of another man’s cum just to rile him up all over again.

You wanted to crawl right up into his skin. Cover him in welts and hives to drive him mad. Hell, you wanted to poison him and leave him without the antidote. Fuckin’ Joel Miller and his stupid Texas twang and those piercing brown eyes and massive hands.

Perhaps that’s how you found yourself outside his apartment door late one night searching for a vice to be filled again.

You knocked once, then paused and knocked twice.

This is fucking stupid. What the hell am I doing?

When you heard no immediate answer from the other side of the door, you assumed that he wasn’t home and proceeded to turn on your heel to walk away—

The door squeaked open as Joel Miller's head appeared from the doorway.

“Fancy seein’ you here tonight, Angel.” He rasped deeply. You couldn’t even see his face yet, and you just knew he had a shit eating grin plastered on it.

“Miller.” You acknowledged him with a tight nod when you finally turned to face him.

He was leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed and brow raised curiously.

“And what is it exactly that you're showin’ up here for?” He knows, of course. He’s known for awhile, but he wants to hear you say it first.

“Somethin’ that I heard you have to personally ask for. Somethin’ that isn’t advertised on your little menu here, Joel.”

his lips curve upwards in a wolfish grin. He cocks his chin to the side as his broad arm comes to rest along the chipped wood on the doorframe.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d finally give in, Angel.” He rasps. Thick and deep. His words hang heavy in the sultry air.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his response as you crossed your arms against your chest. “Okay, well, you don’t need to be all mysterious about it. Now, can I come in, please?”

“I see you're still at it with being a disrespectful brat, huh?” He pushed himself off the side of the doorframe so that you could make your way inside. The door was pulled shut behind you with a soft woosh of air.

“Yep, and I all I could think about these past few weeks of you fuckin’ the disrespectful brat right out of me, Joel.”

I fuckin’ knew it.

“Oh, I see. So, that’s what you’ve been up to all these weeks is thinkin’ about me?” He awaited your answer with a bated breath.

“No.” You deadpanned with a faux sigh. “Was too busy fucking a FEDRA officer for some ration cards. Didn’t have enough space in my brain to think about you setting me straight.” You teased with a smirk playing on your lips.

His fists clenched at his sides as his jaw tightened. The thought of you fucking another man, let alone a FEDRA officer?

“Hmm. Is that so? Well, I think you’re lyin’ through your teeth right now, Angel.” He wasn’t about to let you get under his skin that easily.

“Me? A liar? Oh, I’m truly wounded. C’mere, Joel. I bet you can still smell him on me.” You purred softly.

His eye twitched as he imagined you screaming another man’s name as you rode his cock—

He took a few steps towards you and backed you right up against the countertop. He dipped his head down towards your face as his hands came to rest along either side of the cool countertop. His nostrils flared as he inhaled your scent with his nose pressed deeply into the clavicle of your throat. “Did ya fuck him before you showed up here? Answer me, Angel. And y’better tell the truth.” His voice dropped an octave that shamelessly sent a pool of arousal dripping through your panties.

“Mhm. I fucked him before I showed up here. His cum is still inside of me, Joel. Y’gonna fill me up too?”

His teeth grazed the spot where your neck met your collarbone as he dragged his hot tongue across your skin. “S’that what Y’want?”

“Sure.” You shrugged almost disinterested.

“That ain’t how this works. Y’tell me exactly what it is that you want from me, and I deliver. Y’got that?” He asked you sternly as the bridge of his nose dragged upwards across your throat.

“Ah. So the women you fuck tell you what they want, and that’s all you do to them? Well, where’s the fun in that? Seems kinda boring to me, Joel.”

“Y’don’t like my rules, then y’can fuckin’ leave. That’s how things work around here, baby. So, I’ll ask y’again, what do you want from me?”

“Hold on. Hold on, cowboy. Pump the breaks. What if the thing they’re requesting is something you’re not interested in? You still do it? What about the things that you want? Ain’t that important in all this?”

“God, you’re annoyin’, y’know that? Can you just answer the goddamn question? I ain’t have all night.” He grumbled impatiently.

Then you did something that neither of you expected. You reached your hand up between your nearly touching bodies and grabbed ahold of his jaw tightly between your fingers and forced him to look directly into your eyes. “No. Fuck that. The world has gone to shit and you’re not thinkin’ of your own desires? Man, don’t you wanna be in charge for once? You think I’m so annoying and nothin’ but a disrespectful brat? Then show me what you do to women like me. Put me in my place, Joel.” You challenged him.

It was as if something inside of him had snapped. Maybe you were right. Maybe he oughta put you in your place after all. Why only be half in charge of how things played out, when he could take the whole cake himself?

“Alright. We’ll play the game my way then.” He chuckled darkly as his knuckles turned stark white from how hard he was gripping either side of the countertop.

As soon as you went to open your mouth, one of his hands clamped down instantly as he leaned in close. “Startin’ with shuttin’ this smart fuckin’ mouth of yours up. Yeah, ain’t so tough now, are ya Angel? Didn’t think so. Now, I’m only gonna ask you once, alright? Get. On. Your. Fuckin.’ Knees. Now.” He commanded you.

You dropped to your knees like an obedient dog on a leash waiting to be rewarded with a treat.

“Wow, would ya look at that. Guess the bitch can be obedient after all.” He chuckled.

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his new demeanor. You weren’t one for teasing, and right now Joel Miller was testing your patience.

“Don’t go lookin’ at me like that. You’re the one who showed up at my door, remember? This ain’t goin’ fast enough for you? Well, we’ll just see about that.” He tsked under his breath as his hand moved from your mouth to resting along your jaw.

“Open.” He commanded you as he applied a bit of pressure to either side of your cheeks. When you obediently opened your mouth, he praised you. “Good girl.” Followed by a light loving slap to your cheek. “Now, the way I see it is that you have three holes for me to fuck.”

His grin intensified when your eyes widened at his suggestion. It wasn’t that..you were afraid but if he wanted to fuck you in the ass at some point, you’d need to be ready for him.

“Oh ho ho. I see. You ain’t ever done that before? Hmm. I’m surprised that a mouthy bratty whore such as yourself hasn’t had a cock in her ass before. Well, maybe we’ll save that for another time.” He leaned down so he was closer to your face as the blunt ends of his fingernails dug into the skin on your cheeks. His lip curled up into a snarl as his pupils darkened. “But then again, I am supposed to be puttin’ you in your place. Ain’t I, Angel?”

Tears began to spring along your waterline from how hard he was gripping your face. Maybe you were biting off more than you could chew. “You’re hurting me, Joel.” You gritted out as a few tears leaked down your cheekbones.

“Good.” “Now I have your full attention. That’s very good, Angel. Look at you bein’ a good girl with your listenin’ ears. Now, if I do remember from our prior interaction, you assumed that my dick was small. Ain’t that right?”

You nodded meekly.

“Ah ah ah. Words, Angel. Use ‘em. I ain’t into silence. You speak when spoken to. Y’got that?” He squeezed your cheeks tightly as tears continued to roll down them.

“Yes sir.” You squeaked out.

He loosened his grip on your face, which in turn allowed you to relax your jaw. “Where were we? Ah! Right. The part where you assumed that my cock was small. Right before you called me some delicate fuckin’ china. So, how about you see for yourself.” He gestured to the growing tent in his jeans. “Don’t be shy now. Go’on and see if the women in the QZ are jus’ sayin’ horse shit about my size.”

You swallowed the lump growing in your throat as you felt his eyes burning holes in your skull from how harshly he was staring you down. Your hands quivered under his gaze as you reached for his belt to undo it.

“Don’t act so nervous, Angel. It’s just a cock. It ain’t gonna bite ya.” He teased with a chuckle. You could visibly see his hardened cock twitch under the confines.

You undid his belt before looping your fingers through the faded fabric and tugged them down swiftly over his ass and thighs.

You saw the sheer size and the girth of him through the tight fabric of his briefs as his own hand reached down to palm himself through the fabric.

“Holy shit.” You whispered in awe as your jaw fell open.

How in the hell is that supposed to fit?

He seemed to be reading your mind as his hand that was palming himself reached for your own and placed it under his. “We’ll make it fit, baby. Don’tcha worry your pretty little head about that. Although, maybe now is a good time to take back that little comment you made, hmm?”

Your own fingers dragged across the stiff outline of his cock as your eyes flitted upwards to meet his gaze. “I take it back.”

“Take back what?” He pressed.

“Sayin’ that you probably have a small dick.” You spoke quietly through the thick rising tension between you.

“Atta girl. See, that wasn’t so hard, huh? Still need’ya to take it out for me, Angel. Gettin’ awfully painful for me.” He hissed between his teeth when your hands finally grasped the waistband of his briefs and tugged them down. His cock sprang up freely against his taut stomach. The tip was gleaming with a bead of precum that was weeping from the slit.

“Well, it ain’t gonna suck itself, girlie. Get to it” he gruffly requested as he placed one hand along the back of your head and nudged you forward towards his cock.

For a brief moment you thought about just biting his dick off right then and there. Sorry, the voices. You just didn’t want to seem too excited. The FEDRA officer you recently fucked had nothing on Joel Miller’s cock. That was for damn sure.

Your glassy eyes stayed locked on his darkened ones as you stuck your tongue out and gave the tip of his cock a light kitten lick. He must have not been too pleased with it because his grip around your head tightened as he yanked your head upwards.

“Suck now, Or you ain’t gettin’ shit in return. We clear?” He asked you sternly with his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Crystal.” You mumbled in response before wrapping your palm around the base of his length and gave it a few slow tugs. When you finally obeyed, and he felt the wet heat of your mouth engulfing his weeping tip, his shoulders slumped as he inhaled a shaky breath.

“Shit—yeah. There ya go. See, that ain’t so hard? Fuck—that’s good, Angel.” He praised you from above as his hand loosened its grip around your head for a millisecond.

You relaxed your jaw on instinct to slowly inch your mouth further around him. The girth of his cock was stretching your mouth further than it had ever been stretched. Drool mixed with precum dribbled down your chin as fresh tears sprung to your eyes. You truly weren’t sure how you were supposed to fit all of him.

Joel didn’t want to admit it outloud, but seeing you sitting so pretty on your knees, mouth stuffed with his cock, and little tears leaking from your watery eyes, he never thought you looked so beautiful.

“That’s it, Angel. Relax a little more. Convince me that you’re actually enjoyin’ this. C’mon. Ain’t you a bit of an actress after all?” He chuckled.

Your hands found purchase around his bare muscular thighs as you tried to push yourself back for a gulping of air. Joel didn’t allow you the pleasure however as his hand was still firmly holding your head in place. You let out a sound that was nothing short of frustration before the tip of his cock pressed against the back of your throat, igniting your gag reflex to kick in.

Joel loved it.

His eyes rolled back when your throat clenched around him like a fist. His nails scraped lightly at your scalp as he threw his head back. He had received many blowjobs in his lifetime, but most women couldn’t take him all in. But once again, you proved Joel Miller wrong.

Feeling rather pleased with your work on him, Joel finally allowed you that breath of air that you so desperately needed as he removed his hand from your head. You immediately pushed yourself back off his thighs as his cock slipped out of your mouth with a light pop. You coughed a few times, gasping as a string of saliva hung from the tip of his cock all the way to your lips.

Before you could fully recover, his warm calloused palms were wrapped around your forearms and yanking you up from the faded tile floor hastily. He proceeded to wipe away your tears as his cock, still very much hard, twitched between you.

“Remember, Angel. You’re the one that showed up to my apartment like the cheap, bratty, beggin’ whore that you are. You asked for this. Y’wanna leave? Doors right there. I won’t stop you.” His thumb brushed the spot just below your eye.

You shook your head immediately. If it wasn’t for the constant tingle that simmered between your thighs, you probably would have hightailed out of there.

His smirk was nothing short of proud as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Very good, Angel. Very good. I’m testin’ you, and you’re passing with flying colors. Got your listenin’ ears on and everythin.’ Y’know what happens when you’re a good girl? Y’get rewarded. And I’m feelin’ mighty generous..so in the next five seconds you’re gonna take your pretty ass on over to the couch, you’re gonna strip down and bend over the side of it. Y’got that?”

You nodded as your hands already dropped to the hem of your shirt, fingers playing with the frayed ends. “Yes, sir.”

He patted your cheek affectionately before he stalked off to his room. You could hear him counting down from five as you scrambled to discard your shirt and tug your jeans down over your thighs. Your pulse quickened as you made your way over to the couch and bent over the side of it. You shouldn’t have felt this excited, but Joel Miller truly did bring the inner whore in you out to play.

His footsteps were heavy and audible just as you were reaching for the waistband of your faded panties to drag them down your legs.

“Ah. I’m sorry, Angel. Was five seconds not enough for ya?” He tuts softly under his breath. His footsteps hold a slight swagger as you feel the heat of his body simmering on your bare skin. His hand rests along the back of your thighs before slowly dragging upwards. He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh as your covered pussy clenches around air. “Didn’t give ya enough time to take these off, hmm?” He hummed under his breath as he dragged his thumb across your covered core, applying the tiniest of pressure.

“Joel,” you whimper with a sharp breath when you the pad of his thumb pressing against you. “I’m—sorry, sir.”

“Sorry?” He sounds slightly confused at your apology. You can’t see his face, but you imagine his head cocking to the side as he gazes down at you like a starved man salivating at the wet patch that pools in the fabric of your thin panties. “Honey, this ain’t nothin’ you gotta be sorry for.” He reassures you as his head dips down.

You can feel his wiry, coarse beard scraping gently at the base of your spine. His lips on your searing skin are wet, hot, and inviting as he begins to leave open mouth kisses all the way up to the spot between your shoulder blades. You feel both of his massive hands prying your cheeks apart, followed by the slick length of his cock sliding through your covered folds.

He grunts directly into your ear as the sheer mass of his body conceals you like a cloak. He’s so fucking big. It's suffocating, almost. Being enveloped by a man such as him. Your thighs rubbed together to relieve the ache between them.

Can he just get on with it already?

“Now, Angel. I’m gonna fuck this pretty little cunt of yours till your legs shake. Till that stupid FEDRA officers come doesn’t even fuckin’ exist anymore. You’re gonna scream my name, and you’re gonna let every single one of my goddamn neighbors in this shit hole apartment know jus’ who’s fuckin’ you so well. Hell, maybe even that FEDRA fuck will be able to hear you from outside. You’re gonna scream and cum, like the dirty, obedient, little cockslut that you are.” He growled before bringing his palm down against your ass with a harsh, stinging slap that sent your back arching.

“And maybe, if you do as your told, and you milk my cock fuckin’ dry, I’ll treat you like a princess. Food. Shelter. A cock to keep you warm at night? Soft touches. Kisses. The comfort that I know you so desperately fuckin’ seek. All of that, and more can be yours, Angel. You jus’ have to be good and do as your told.” His teeth scraped the outer shell of your ear before he bit down on the thin skin harshly between his teeth. His thumbs looped between the waistband of your panties before he yanked them down to your ankles swiftly.

“Joel, that’s not what—” you tried to speak and get a few words in. But this was his show, not yours.

“That’s not what, Angel? That’s not what you want? Oh, please. Let’s not start this off by lyin’ to me. You showed up here tonight because you were seekin’ somethin’ I offered. I know how that brain of yours works, little girl. Y’sure can run that mouth of yours, but you and I both know that you’re fuckin’ helpless. Those men in the alley would have killed you if it weren’t for me. They would have torn you to shreds had I not stepped in. Say it, Angel. Say that I saved you.” He snarled unkindly as his freehand slipped around to your mouth. He pressed a kiss to your throat, right where he could feel your pulse quicken. “Spit.” He commanded you.

You shamelessly spit of glob of saliva right into the palm of his hand just like you were told.

His annoyance was prevalent when you didn't bother to answer his demand for you to admit that he saved you. Your blood was pumping in your veins and your heart was beating because of him.

You felt an unpleasant chill roll down every vertebrae in your spine when he didn’t praise you for spitting into his hand like a good girl. You tried to turn your head to the side to see what exactly it was that he was doing, but he didn’t give you that satisfaction. Oh, no. He wasn’t going to give that to you.

You went to open your mouth, to tell him just what he wanted to hear, but your words were muffled as he shoved your face right into the couch cushion. His hand encaged your head while the other slipped back between your nearly connected bodies. He used your saliva as lubricant as he fisted the heavy weight of his cock a few times.

Your body lurched forward when you felt the head of his cock pressing into your glistening hole. He was barely notched inside your cunt, and you were already trying to crawl away. He was too much.

He tuts with a disappointed sigh, shaking his head tightly. “Y’wanted this, remember?” He almost sounds pitiful. Almost. “Can’t exactly fuck this tight little hole if you ain’t holdin’ still, Angel.”

“Joel—it’s too. Fuck. It’s too much.” You whine pathetically as your nails dig into the worn fabric on the couch cushions.

“Too much for a fuckin’ cockslut like you? Shut the fuck up and take it.” He hissed between his teeth. “Just fuckin’ relax and quit bein’ so stiff. I’m tryin’ to make this an enjoyable experience for the both of us!” He snapped cruelly. He dropped his hand from around your head and opted to wrap his arm around your middle, yanking you back against his hips as he sank further into your heat.

“Actin’ like your pussy doesn’t want this, baby? She’s huggin’ me so fuckin’ tight already. She’s pullin’ me right on in. S’like she’s takin’ my cock fuckin’ home.” He groaned deeply as he bottomed out. Filling you to the fucking brim. His cock felt like it was splitting you in two, right down the middle. His chest was firmly pressed down against your back as he rolled his hips forward.

A strangled moan crawled up your throat as you found yourself fucking yourself around his cock. Showing him that you could in fact play the role. Be the actress. Milk him dry just as he requested.

“Joeeel.” You moaned wantonly with your cheek pressed firmly against the scratchy fabric of the cushions. Your tears had long since dried in a salty cavern along your cheekbones.

“That’s it, Angel. That’s a good fuckin’ girl. See, I told you I can fuckin’ treat you well.” He grunted praisingly as his lips found their way to your neck once more. He sucked, licked, kissed on your sweat-slicked skin as he pulled his hips back before jutting them forward once more. He set a deliciously deep and urgent pace as he fucked into you. “Don’t think for a second that I’m—-fuckin’ lettin’ you off the hook so easily, Angel. Y’still gotta tell me who saved you. Who saved your fuckin’ life!” His teeth grazed the thin, breakable skin along the column of your throat. He bit down harshly, drawing blood to the surface as he sucked on the entry wound that he created. A marking of dominance. Possession. The carnal need to own you.

The coil in your stomach tightened and pulled as your orgasm quickly approached. You liked it. You liked being fucked like the cockslut that you truly were. With each harsh thrust of his hips, the weight of his balls slapping against your skin, you cried out his name in a cock-drunk stupor.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

“Not the FEDRA officer fuck, right? Did he fuckin’ save your skin?! Huh?! No, Angel. He didn’t. Bet he woulda taken the opportunity to kill you, Angel. I bet they all fuckin’ would! Every last goddamn rotten, son-of-a-bitch sick fuck left in this shithole would jump at the opportunity to spill your blood on the streets below, Angel. Not me! Not Joel. Why do you think that, Angel? Why do you think I’d never let anyone hurt you?”

Your pussy clenched down around his cock as your strangled cries fell freely through your parted lips. Your back arched to meet his relentless thrusts.

“Because—because you own me, Joel!”

Maybe it was the endorphins coursing through your veins. Maybe it was the way Joel Miller’s cock continued to hit the spongy spot inside of you with every heavy thrust of his hips. Maybe it was the way he spoke to you. Or the way his body shielded yours with sheer strength. Maybe it was everything combined. In your cockdrunk haze, you wanted to be owned by this man.

“Yes, Angel. That’s right. I do fuckin’ own you. I own your body. This pussy. That smart mouth of yours. I own the come that drips between your thighs. I own your screams. I own your thoughts. Your feelings. Your likes and dislikes. I own every fuckin’ part of your being.” He growled possessively as his thighs and yours began to quiver. As his cock began to twitch, and your tight cunt began to pulse like a heartbeat.

“You own me, and I own you.”

He didn’t disagree. He didn’t argue as the cries of his name falling from your tongue mixed with his own heavy grunts.

Angel. Angel. Angel.

As he shot hot ropes of his seed into your fucked out hole, you milked him of every last drop, and as he slipped out, you could feel a mixture of his and your come dripping down between your thighs.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back as his breaths came out as hot puffs across your clammy skin. His cock softened against his thigh. Glistening in yours and his come. Your eyes fluttered shut as the post orgasm haze swept over you.

You felt two strong arms gently pulling you up as your head fell back against his strong shoulder. He held you securely against him. All you could hear was his heart beat and your intermingle breaths.

“Did you really go and fuck that FEDRA officer before you showed up here, Angel?” He asked softly while the pads of his thumbs rubbed soothing circles against your hips.

“No.” You admitted. “I didn’t.”

banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

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peakyswritings · 6 months

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Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART V

Summary: As they get closer, Tommy and Nina start to realise that their time together is limited. However, an unexpected event makes the tables turn.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, mentions of war, mentions of mutilation, this chapter contains triggering themes, such as sexual assault and violence. Read at your own risk.

A/N: I hope this is worth the wait! Useful information: in the first part of this chapter Nina is 17. She’s depicted as naive, maybe a bit too much for a seventeen-year-old, but bear in mind that she grew up in an extremely conservative environment. Also, I wrote all the dialogues in English because it would’ve been too much of a mess to switch between the languages, so keep in mind that whilst the dialogues between Nina and Agnese could be in both languages since they’re bilingual, the ones between Nina and Stefano are technically in Italian. Last, some things from the previous chapters are really important for this one. I do not claim any ownership to the dialogues excerpts taken from the show. English is not my first language.

After this way too long note, I hope you enjoy this chapter☀️

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credit

Dividers credit

1915, five years earlier

“They say Italy might join the war soon.”

It was the first time Nina voiced her concerns. She always had the feeling that if she expressed what was troubling her out loud, it would inevitably, irrevocably become true. But she had been bottling up that fear of hers for weeks now, and it had been growing and growing, consuming her from the inside. The weight of the basket she was carrying was nothing compared to the weight of uncertainty, of not knowing what to expect.

“They say that at your school?” Agnese asked absentmindedly, looking in the windows of the small bakery they always used to stop by when they were children, because they knew the owner would give them freshly baked biscuits for free.

“They say that everywhere,” Nina murmured, kicking a stone with her foot.

Agnese had heard about that possibility, and it scared her as well, but she didn’t fully understand the extent of the seriousness of the situation. No one ever bothered to explain it to her, and every time she asked questions about it, her family would just brush it off. She shouldn’t trouble herself with such nonsense, they said. And although she could ask Nina, she never found the courage to do it, far too ashamed of her own ignorance. Her cousin knew lots of things, talked about serious matters, had opinions that contrasted with everything they had ever been taught, and most of the times Agnese had troubles following the things she said. But she said them with such conviction, such mastery that she couldn’t help but agree with her. And she suspected that the reason why no one ever listened to Nina was because they had troubles following her as well. There was something unsettling in her cleverness.

“I’m worried about my brothers,” Nina admitted. “They’re old enough to be enlisted.”

Agnese shifted her attention back on her cousin, sending her a sympathetic look. “Maybe we won’t enter the war. And even if we do, maybe they won’t have to go. Your father can find a way to-”

“They’re not cowards,” Nina interrupted her with resolution, shaking her head. “The Spinietta brothers are cowards. Pietro and Salvatore are not like them.”

“What do the Spiniettas have to do with it?”

“I heard my father say that if we join the war, Mr. Spinietta already knows who to talk to to make sure his kids are not enlisted. He’ll shake a few hands, make a few threats, and they will be safe and warm in their houses. He might even send them to America, they have relatives there.”

Truth was, Nina wished they’d be sent to America. She wanted them to be as far away as possible from her, from the village. They walked around as if they owned every street, every shop, every person; as if everything was owed to them, because they had money and power. But everybody knew where that money came from. And even though she was aware that her family wasn’t any different, that their own money was mostly blood money, she still believed that her brothers were better than them.

“They’re cowards. Cowards and bastards, that’s what they are,” she gritted her teeth.

“You can’t say things like that,” Agnese hissed with wide eyes, frantically looking around to make sure no one was there to hear her. “Lower your voice.”

“I’m just telling the truth. They’re bastards. Sick bastards. You’ve seen how they’ve dragged that poor girl in their car, last week.”

Nina watched as her cousin pressed her lips together, avoiding her gaze. The episode had left both of them with a bitter taste in their mouths, and a feeling of powerlessness that haunted them still. They didn’t know why they had done what they had done, what they would do to her, but somehow they knew it wouldn’t be anything good. Because despite the kind smiles they were wearing and the false gentleness with which they had guided her into the car, it was clear that they were forcing her. The two cousins heard some girls say that she wasn’t the first, and probably wouldn’t be the last, and that the reason why they targeted her was because she had no father nor brothers.

Everyday since that day, Nina cursed herself for not intervening. Would things have gone differently, if she had said something? Would she have been in trouble as well? What kind of trouble was that girl even in? She didn’t have the answers.

Now she carried a pocket knife with her. If they even tried to get close to her, or to another girl in her presence, she wouldn’t be afraid to use it.

“You still can’t say things like that.”

“It’s not like they can do anything,” Nina shrugged.

There was a delicate balance between the families, assured by mutual fear and by the possibility of a bloodbath that wouldn’t suit anyone. But even that wasn’t enough to guarantee peace, one wrong step was all it would take to disrupt that balance. It was like a bomb waiting to explode.

“I need to buy some thread for my mum,” Agnese changed the subject, stopping in front of a shop. “Wait for me here.”

As her cousin disappeared into the shop, Nina placed the heavy basked on the ground to clench and unclench her sore hand. She slightly rubbed the red marks which were appearing on her palm, wincing at the pulsating sensation. The rev of an engine came to her ears, and before her mind could register what was happening, a car stopped in front of her. Stefano Spinietta stuck his head out of the window and sent her a smile, showing a perfect set of white teeth. “You want a ride home?”

Nina frowned, trying to suppress the feeling of disgust that came over her at the mere sight of his face. “No.” She said firmly, the lump in her throat preventing her from saying anything else. She had always hated how nervous she was when he spoke to her, when he looked at her. He always looked at her as if he wanted something from her. What it was, she could not tell, but it made her feel incredibly uneasy. His handsome features and immaculate manners didn’t fool her.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” he taunted her, getting out of the car. “Let me help you with that.” Stefano reached his hand towards the basket, but before he could take it, Nina pushed it away with her foot. A glimmer of amusement flashed through his eyes, lighting up his face.

Her hand went to her pocket, and she clutched the small knife tightly, the weapon giving her a new found sense of security. She looked right into his eyes, and spoke enunciating each word carefully. “I said no.”

“I just wanna take you home,” Stefano insisted, his stupid smile still plastered on his face. “C’mon, get in the car.” He took ahold of her arm, slightly squeezing it as if he wanted to reassure her.

A wave of uncontrollable rage coursed through Nina, and in a matter of seconds she had him pushed against his car, her blade grazing his throat. Surprise spread across his features as he looked down at her.

“Touch me again,” she said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll cut your throat.”

Silence fell between them as they glared at each other in an unspoken competition, both of them waiting for the other to cave in. Nina forced herself to keep her burning gaze on him, while every muscle in her body urged her to run away. Instead, she didn’t move, head high, hand steady. She wouldn’t bend. She couldn’t bend. Stefano slowly held his hands up in surrender, the shadow of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Under her confused look, he slightly leaned forward, causing the blade to pierce his skin, and a trickle of blood seeped from the small wound, red, thick. It ran all the way down to Nina’s hand, and its slimy texture almost made her flinch. Stefano, on the other hand, had regained his composure, as if he was the one in control of the situation, as if he didn’t have a knife pointed at his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, staring at her with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

Nina hesitated for a moment, then, with a swift movement, she took a step back and placed the knife back in her pocket, suddenly aware that she had held her breath the whole time. Stefano sent her one last glance, before turning around and going back in his car without saying another word.

As he drove away, she glanced down at the crimson stain on her hand with wide eyes, her heart thumping in her chest. When Agnese walked out of the shop, unaware of what had just happened, she closed her shaking fingers in a fist, and hid her hand into her pocket.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” her cousin chuckled, looping her arm though hers. “Let’s go home.”

Present day

“I swear to God, I swear to God…she gave me sixpence. She sends me to the shop for margarine, eggs and bread. When I came back…”

“With a top hat and a coconut,” Nina shook her head, a laugh escaping her lips.

“And that was all the money we had for the whole fucking week,” Tommy stopped to lit his cigarette, then he raised his eyebrows, a smirk growing on his face. “And me mum beat me with a fucking frying pan.”

“Why the hell did you buy a top hat and a coconut?”

“‘Cause I thought she deserved it. I thought we all did. And I could never understand,” he hit his hand on the table, a hint of some old anger creeping into his voice, “why people like us only had bread and fucking lard. And I wanted to be different. That’s what I wanted.” Silence fell between them as he took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze getting lost in old memories.

Their late-night chats had become a habit now. The night after the first one, for some reason, Nina went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, and, for the same unknown reason, Tommy went into the kitchen with a dry throat. Just like every night since then. They stayed up late, sharing thoughts, doubts and memories, whispering them into the night and letting it take them away. Over the past week, Nina had come to realise that there was way more than Tommy let on behind his stoic facade, and she found herself wishing to know more. As for Tommy, he liked hearing her talk. She had something to say, and she wasn’t afraid to say it. It was refreshing, and a nice change from the hordes of people who repeated somebody else’s words like parrots, without fully understanding their meaning.

“And you are different, aren’t you?”

The depth of Nina’s eyes became too much to bear. For the first time, Tommy suddenly felt exposed. It was as if she was reading right into him, as if she had him completely figured out, as if every thought, every fear, every unspoken word was no longer a secret. It scared him.

He cleared his throat, stomping out his cigarette. “I heard your brothers also fought in the war.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “They were at Caporetto.”

Pietro and Salvatore still bore the marks of that defeat, both physical and mental. Pietro, the older one, had almost lost an arm in combat, and even though two years had passed, sometimes it still hurt. But in exchange for the arm, the war took something else away from him. There seemed to be nothing left of his once caring nature, and his innate attention for details had turned into a urge to have everything under control. As for Salvatore, the war had enhanced the restlessness that had always distinguished him. He was angry, easily triggered, spiteful. And now he had a deep scar which crossed the left side of his face, making his expression appear even more grim. However, in Nina’s eyes, Pietro was still the boy who fought for her to keep on going to school, just like Salvatore was still the playful kid who took advantage of their size difference to sweep her off her feet and spin her around. But they were not those kids anymore. A line was drawn between Nina and her brothers, and that line became a breach, and that breach had continued to open up until an abyss yawned beneath their feet.

Nina took a sip from her cup of tea, sensing that it might be time to change the subject. The war was clearly a sore point for both of them, although for different reasons. “Agnese told me you like horses,” she sat up straight in her chair, her gaze lighting up with curiosity.

“Yes, I do like horses.”

“When I was a child I wanted to learn how to ride. I even asked my father to buy me a horse for my birthday,” she reminisced, a small laugh escaping her lips. “My mum threatened to leave for good if he ever dared to come home with a horse.”

“So you didn’t get the horse.”

“I didn’t get the horse.”

“You know, I’ve got horses, I could teach you how to ride one,” he proposed, the words escaping his mouth before he could think about what he was saying. Then he realised, and he paused for a moment. He wouldn’t get to teach her. A faint, bitter smile appeared on his lips. “I mean, when you come to Birmingham to visit your cousin.”

Nina couldn’t explain the strange effect his words had on her, the sharp stab of sadness that hit her right in her chest. She brushed off that feeling, telling herself it was just the thought of not seeing Agnese - her only friend and the only ally she had in that family - to cause it.

But Tommy recognised the stinging sensation that was rising up inside him, a sensation he had already felt before. A sensation he couldn’t admit, not even to himself.

“How are things with Tommy?” Nina casually asked her cousin, struggling to hang a bedsheet on the clothesline to dry in the shared backyard.

A sly smile flickered on Agnese’s face as she glanced at the black-haired girl, keeping on folding the dry clothes. “You call him Tommy now?”

Her question made Nina’s movements come to a stop. She shut her eyes for a moment, cursing herself for letting the man’s name slip out of her mouth. She hadn’t told anyone about how she and Tommy were on better terms, about the frequent conversations that had brought them to that point. She had been extra careful not to show the slightest hint of friendliness towards him in public, for she knew people would talk. She couldn’t risk Agnese getting the wrong idea. “Only when he isn’t around,” she murmured, starting to hang the laundry again.

That wasn’t too far away from the truth, though. Although Tommy did call her by her first name, she didn’t remember ever doing the same with him. She didn’t call him Mr Shelby anymore, either. She just didn’t address him. For some reason, calling him by his name seemed too personal. It felt like crossing a line that was not supposed to be crossed.

“I almost thought you were starting to approve of him,” Agnese joked, letting out a small giggle.

Nina forced a laugh, shaking her head, and a sense of guilt rose inside her. She told herself it was just an innocent, white lie; those secret conversations didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t even a lie, just an omission of truth. A justified omission of truth.

Then why did she feel so bad?

Agnese fiddled with the necklace Tommy had given her, pondering her words. “He doesn’t seem to be…taken with me,” she revealed, a glimpse of worry shining in her green irises. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a gentleman, and he’s been nothing but polite to me, but… I don’t think he likes me.”

“Agnese, are you joking?” Nina hung the last shirt, before turning towards her cousin. It pained her to see her like that. She was the most beautiful person she knew, inside and out, and she didn’t deserve anything less than being happy. “I’m sure he does. How couldn’t he?”

“What if he doesn’t love me?”

“Love will come with time,” Nina walked up to her to take her hands in hers with a reassuring smile. “Everything will turn out for the best. You have to believe that.”

She felt relieved as Agnese nodded, worry starting to fade from her expression. Truth be told, even Nina didn’t fully believe her own words. She couldn’t be sure that Tommy would grow to love her cousin, nor that they would have a happy marriage; she couldn’t be sure that the war that would follow with Sabini would end well for them. But she said what Agnese needed to hear, because she didn’t have the heart to to make her fears seem even more real.

“Thank you, Nina.” Agnese whispered, wrapping her arms around her. When Nina awkwardly returned the embrace, patting her on the back, her cousin couldn’t hold back a chuckle. It was no secret that Nina wasn’t big on physical affection, but for a few selected people - that she didn’t have the courage to push away - she brought herself to tolerate it. At least she tried.

“I need to help my mum with lunch,” the brown-haired girl said, breaking the hug to grab the basket full of dry clothes. “She’ll have my head if I don’t.”

“You’d better go, then.”

As Agnese walked back to her house, Nina finished hanging the laundry, humming a little song to herself. She tried to keep her mind busy with futile thoughts, like what Winston might be doing in that moment, what she would eat for lunch, which book she would start to read after finishing the one she was currently reading. She thought about anything and everything in order to keep her mind off Tommy, Agnese and their departure, off her father and what he had told her that day in his study, off the uncertainty about how her life would turn out. It was a nice day, and she didn’t want to plague herself with such worries. However, in the back of her mind, all of that was still present, poisoning even the nicest of thoughts.

When she turned around, the figure of a man leaning against the wall of the house made her flinch. Stefano Spinietta was standing there in silence, observing her, and she had to fight the urge to ask him how long he had been staring at her. “What are you doing here?” She frowned, collecting herself.

“Business meeting. Your father gave me permission to spend some time with you, while he talks with mine,” he explained, pushing himself away from the wall.

A scowl formed on Nina’s face, and a new wave of irritation ran through her, this time directed at her father. All that speech about him wanting her to make the decision for herself was, indeed, just speech. Words he had said to keep her nice and quiet as he indirectly pushed her down the path he had charted for her. “What makes you think I want to spend time with you?”

Stefano’s lips curled in his ever-present grin, as if he found great amusement in her reactions. But that was exactly the point, to some extent. It had become a game to him, some sort of dark, twisted game. The more she rejected him, the more stubborn he became. Something that had started years ago as a mere interest, had slowly taken a different turn. He wanted her, he had been wanting her since she had drawn a knife at his throat. She was carved under his skin just like the scar her blade had left on his neck. There was something about her. Maybe it was her defiance, her refusal to bend, to mould herself into what she should be. He could make her. He could smother the flames of her fierceness and turn her into a quiet pretty thing. “Why do you always have to be so hostile?” He asked her, squinting his eyes.

His question made Nina’s annoyance grow even more. As if he had no clue of how much he had pestered her all those years. Now he had the courage to act all innocent, to play the part of the nice, polite guy who was just courting a girl he liked. He might’ve fooled everyone with that act, but he had never fooled her. “You asked my father his blessing to marry me.” She snapped, taking some steps in his direction. “Did you really think he’d say yes?”

“He never said no.”

“I did.”

Silence fell between them as they stared at each other, once again refusing to be the first to cave in. But this time it didn’t take Nina any effort to keep her eyes on him. She wasn’t a naive seventeen-year-old anymore. Now she knew what it was that he wanted from her. And his gaze didn’t intimidate her anymore.

“Listen to me, Stefano, and listen to me carefully, because I’m not going to repeat myself,” she said in a low voice, coming even closer to him. “You disgust me. You and all your kind,” she spelled out, making sure to emphasise each word. “And I’d much rather jump in front of a train than marrying you.”

Stefano didn’t say anything, at first. He just clenched his jaw, and his hands balled into fists by his side. Then he broke into a half-smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, trying not to let his wounded ego show. “I’ve been nice to you, and yet you keep on insulting me.”

This time it was him who got closer, towering over Nina. His eyes darkened, and he looked at her with such contempt that for a moment she had the impression he might hit her. With a quick, sudden movement, he grasped her jaw, and before she had the time to react, he turned to push her against the wall. She looked up at him, trying not to show an ounce of fear as her heart increased its speed.

“My patience has limits. And you shouldn’t forget who you’re talking to,” Stefano gritted out through clenched teeth, digging his fingers in her cheeks. His whole body shook with anger, and the mask of politeness he always hid behind began to fall apart. “You’re playing with fire.”

The same uncontrollable rage that years ago gave Nina the courage to point a knife at him now gave her the strength to stomp on his foot, making him hiss and take a step back. Taking advantage of his distraction, she darted forward, but as soon as he tried to escape, Stefano forcefully slammed her against the wall again, holding her in place by the throat. A sharp sting of pain flashed through her spine at the impact with the cold surface, and a whimper escaped her lips as the air was knocked out of her lungs. Fury flared in Stefano’s dark eyes, but then something changed in his expression. His pupils dilated, and he seemed to lose any kind of control over his actions as his hand left her throat to slowly wander down her body.

An overwhelming sense of panic started to rise inside Nina. She wriggled, trying to free herself from his grasp. “Stop,” she raised her voice, but Stefano promptly covered her mouth with the other hand, pressing his body against hers. She squeezed her eyelids shut when his hand became more insistent, squeezing her small breast in a painful hold, then travelling down to her hipbone to keep her still with bruising force. His hot breath burned on her skin as he leaned over her, bringing his face closer to hers. Nina tried to turn her head in response, but the hand he still had on her mouth wouldn’t allow it. She emitted a muffled sound, bringing her hands to his chest to push him away, but he was too strong, and twice her size. All her desperate efforts to put some space between them were useless. He was a rabid animal, a wild beast devoid of any rational thinking as he ground against her, trying to slide his filthy hand under her skirt. Nina’s face scrunched in disgust, and her whole body stiffened under this touch. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around in her head, endless, confusing, as if she couldn’t exactly register what was happening.

Then he stopped. Much to Nina’s surprise, Stefano suddenly seemed to come to himself, and he took his hand off her mouth. But there wasn’t a hint of guilt, or regret, in his eyes. On the contrary, he looked almost satisfied. And then she realised. He had been in command of his actions the whole time. “What, you don’t talk anymore?” He asked provocatively.

Nina’s wide eyes rested on Stefano in shock. The lump in her throat kept on growing and growing, making it impossible for her to utter a single sentence. She swallowed, trying to regain some kind of control over her emotions, to force herself to speak, and when she did, she faked a confident tone. However, the trembling in her voice betrayed her fear. “Once my family hears about this, you’ll-”

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, love,” he interrupted her, furrowing his brows, his face assuming a perplexed expression.

“What…” she batted her eyelashes in confusion, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, I didn’t...” the words died in her throat as the awareness of his implications started to set in.

Stefano leaned in, bringing his hand to her cheek to caress it with fake tenderness, and a terrible smile made its way on his face. “Who do you think they’ll believe?”

Nina shook her head, a feeling of helplessness she had never felt before taking over her. She just wanted him to leave. She wanted him to take his hands off of her. She wanted to kick him, to scream at him, to dig her nails in his face deeply enough to make him bleed, and yet all she could do was look at him in silence.

But then someone must’ve heard her prayers, because Stefano was abruptly pulled away from her. It was as if some kind of supernatural gust of wind had ripped him away from her body, freeing her from the heavy weight that had her pressed against the stone surface. Except that it wasn’t some supernatural force. The person who had grabbed Stefano by the collar of his shirt was very much human.

“The fuck are you doing?” Tommy growled, his knuckles turning white from the tight grip he had on the man. Stefano, not understanding a word he had said, just raised his hands, as if to show that he meant no harm.

Tommy had recognised the guy. He was the one they had met two weeks ago in the city, the one who had given him a bad feeling as soon as they had met. He couldn’t explain the pure rage he had felt when he caught him holding Nina against a wall. Her scared, helpless expression was all it took for him to see red and launch at the Italian man. The thought of what could’ve happened if the meeting with the Ferrantes and the Spiniettas had finished just a bit too late made his skin crawl. Still holding him by the collar, Tommy raised his fist, driven by the sudden urge to break his nose, but before he could land the blow, Nina’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t!” She exclaimed, causing him to look in her direction. “He’s Spinietta’s son,” she frantically explained, getting a bit closer, but still keeping herself at safe distance.

Tommy shifted his eyes on the Italian man again, his fist still in the air, and pondered for a few seconds. Although Stefano couldn’t understand Nina’s words, he probably had a vague idea of what she had said, because the corners of his lips tugged upwards as he stared at Tommy steadily. Nina held her breath, her heart skipping a beat at the Italian’s implicit provocation. Tommy was really close to doing something that might put him in a dangerous situation, and it seemed like Stefano was doing everything in his power to encourage him. It was part of his fun, of his sick little game.

Feeling his hands itch even more, Tommy charged again, nostrils flaring, almost letting his impulse win. Fuck Spinietta, he thought to himself. But he was not in Small Heath. Begrudgingly, he lowered his hand and let the guy go with a violent push, making him stumble backwards. “Fuck off,” he snarled, pointing towards the path that led to the main garden to get his message across.

Nina sighed in relief, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because Tommy had made the right choice, or because that situation was over. Stefano took the time to straighten his shirt with unsettling composure. Without saying another word and keeping on watching them, he walked past them, his wicked eyes shining with amusement.

The adrenaline started to wear off, leaving Nina in a growing state of dizziness. The panic, the disgust, the anger. All of that became a single, indistinct mass aiming to engulf her and suffocate her. Her ears started to ring, and she had to fight the instinct to cover them and scream at the top of her lungs.

“Are you alright?” Tommy’s voice came to her ears, snapping her out of her trance.

“Yes.” She nodded, blinking a few times. Now aware of her surroundings, she felt as if she was re-entering her body after rising out of it, and the reality of what had happened was crashing on her. Bile raised in her throat, and she knew that if she had had something in her stomach, she would’ve thrown up. “Yes I’m alright.”

“Nina, you’re shaking,” Tommy noted with a hint of worry in his voice, his own heart still racing in his chest.

“No, no I’m fine,” she insisted, turning her face to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She tightly crossed her arms over her chest, hoping that her hands would stop trembling. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” He shook his head, tentatively reaching out to hear. He was approaching her slowly, almost with apprehension, with his palm open, like one would do with a scared stray cat. “Come here.”

Nina hesitated for a while, torn between what she needed and what she was supposed to do, instinct and reason endlessly fighting. For once, she chose to act without thinking. Cautiously, she pulled Tommy into a hug, resting her head against his chest. Hit by an implacable wave of tenderness, he gently wrapped his arms around her, placing his chin on the top of her head. It didn’t make sense, but having her safe in his arms brought him a sense of calmness and security, and his tense body began to relax.

The warmth of his body, his scent, the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, the unfamiliar softness he was showing her; the combination between all of that gave life to a feeling Nina had never felt before, and she couldn’t put a name to it. Between all of that, she was relieved by the awareness that, at least for that moment, she didn’t need to be strong. Tears began to spill out, and her facade fell for the first time.

When a suffocated sob escaped her lips, shaking her slender shoulders, Tommy’s heart painfully clenched in his chest. His hand found the back of her head, and he started to soothingly run his fingers through her soft dark hair. He wanted to say something, but he knew that there was nothing he could say that would make it better. So he held her tighter, as if he could shield her from harm with the sole strength of his arms.

“Breathe, love,” he whispered when he noticed that, in an attempt to hold back her sobs, she had tensed up a bit too much. “Breathe.”

Nina took a deep breath, focusing on Tommy’s deep voice and the delicate motion of his fingers through her hair.

“There you go,” he murmured encouragingly, feeling her calm down against him. She sniffled, snuggling even closer, and, once again, Tommy was overwhelmed by the need to protect her.

They couldn’t care less if someone saw them. In that moment, their embrace was the only thing that mattered.

Laying on her side with her knees drawn up, Nina stared at the shadows created by the small lamp on her bedside table. She could still feel the heaviness of Stefano’s hands on her, the burning of his hot breath on her skin, the suffocating smell of his cologne. She only wanted to get rid of those hands, that breath, that smell. She would gladly rip off her whole skin if it meant to forget.

She hated herself for allowing him to make her feel small, weak, for he had made it quite clear that was what he wanted. Because even though for a moment he had indulged in the temptation, he wouldn’t actually dare go through with it, not in her house. His purpose was to show her that he could overpower her at any time.

But then came feeling of being wrapped in Tommy’s arms, of being pressed against his strong frame, the feeling she had been desperately trying to give a name to. Until it occurred to her. Safe. She had felt safe.

A soft knock on the door of her bedroom pulled her out of the vortex of thoughts. She sat up on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her. “Come in,” she said, but her voice was so feeble that she doubted the person on the other side had heard her. Still, the door opened, and in the dim, warm light, Tommy’s figure appeared on the doorstep.

He had never been in her room, but somehow it was exactly like he had imagined it. Ivory-coloured walls covered in a pattern of small flowers, dark wooden furniture, lace curtains. Handwritten sheets of paper scattered all over the desk, along with pens and pencils. It was bit messy and full of books, and it smelled like her. A mixture of lavender and honey.

When that night Tommy had come out of his room, the first thing he noticed was the unsettling silence. No rattle of pots coming from downstairs. But a half-light shone through Nina’s bedroom door, and he found himself desperately needing to know how she was. She had been avoiding everyone the whole day.

“I just wanted to check up on you,” his deep voice came out in a low sound, and it held some kind of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure that going to her had been a good idea. Maybe she didn’t want to see him, maybe knocking on her door was too much.

His doubts faded when the ghost of a smile formed on her face, and she motioned for him to come in. He carefully closed the door behind him, then went to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. A vice-like grip held his stomach when he noticed her puffy eyes and red cheeks. How many times had she cried?

“You’re paler than usual,” Nina teased him to ease the tension, but her voice didn’t hold the bantering tone he had grown used to hear. “You should get some sleep.”

Tommy half-smiled, shifting his gaze on the floor for a moment. But instead of spitting out a retort - contrary to Nina’s expectations - he just nodded. “You’re right,” he conceded.

A sigh escaped Nina’s lips, and she nervously fiddled with her own fingers. He was walking on eggshells, and she didn’t like it, not even a bit. “Please, stop treating me like that.”

“Like what?” He furrowed, looking at her again.

“Like I might break at any moment.”

Tommy said nothing. He could see why she didn’t want to be treated any differently, but she did look like she would break. Not once had she shown a single shred of vulnerability until that day, and it was disarming. Truth was, he didn’t know how to act.

“I’ll forget it ever happened,” she spoke again, this time with resolution, but she didn’t sound fully convinced of what she was saying. “And you should do the same. No one can know about it.”

“You should tell-”

“No,” she firmly interrupted him, Stefano’s veiled threat still echoing in her ears. “I can’t,” she continued, her voice becoming softer.

Tommy suddenly remembered what she told him a week earlier at the beach, and everything became clear. It was all it took to make his blood boil again. The room went quiet, but the silence was soon broken by a faint rustle of sheets, as Nina left her spot to sit closer to him. Honey and lavender filled his nostrils, and he had to restrain himself from inhaling deeply, eager to feel more. More than the light brushing of their arms, separated by the thin fabric of his undershirt. They were barely touching, and yet his skin burned. As hard as he tried to suffocate that feeling, to extinguish that fire, the flames kept on flaring, higher than before. He couldn’t fight it. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and that feather-like contact was enough to send sparks of electricity through his body. “Promise me,” she whispered, “you won’t tell anyone.”

Tommy turned to look at her, and the proximity allowed him to spot a small scratch on her cheek. Without thinking, he delicately ran his finger on it, and he was almost surprised by the feeling of her soft skin under his rough hand. Slowly, even hesitantly, his hand went to cup the side of her face, and he gently rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “I promise.”

Tommy’s hoarse voice, along with the warmth of his hand, sent shivers down Nina’s spine, and her pulse started to race. She couldn’t explain how the closeness of his strong body was making her feel, nor the effect his masculine scent had on her. Aftershave, cigarettes, and a hint of musk. And she couldn’t help but wonder: if she pressed further into him, if she let herself be held by him again, would it lift the weight off her chest? Would it take away the pain, the revulsion, the shame? Would his touch be enough to replace Stefano’s hands?

When he felt Nina unconsciously get closer, Tommy closed his eyes, drowning in her scent, and he could swear there was fire running through his veins. It was as if some unknown force was pulling him towards her, drawing him nearer, and when her soft lips brushed against his, his mind went blank. Every cell in his body was begging him to give in.

No. It wasn’t right.

Nina was vulnerable, too vulnerable, and probably unable to make any conscious decisions. He couldn’t take advantage of her like that. It took all his strength to move away and bring her in to press a kiss on her forehead instead. He lingered there for a few seconds, savouring the moment. When he let his hand fall from her face, the warmth left him, and it seemed to him that his fingers had sharply gotten cold.

Feeling her confused eyes following him, Tommy got up and walked to the door, ignoring the invisible string that was pulling him in the opposite direction. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain himself.

“Goodnight, Nina.”

NEXT PART

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz @brummiereader

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc

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indigoraysoflight · 1 month

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Thoughts on the TBOC teaser + sneak peek

There is a ton of fandom discourse on this, and I appreciate you all for taking the time to share your thoughts and perspectives. I discussed a bit of this in episode #26 of our podcast, but I wanted to expand on my perspective here in a nuanced way. If you choose to read this, know that I will be very candid in this post. If your mental health needs a respite from heavy discourse, please take care of your mental health first.

It's absolutely wonderful to have Carol back. The sneak peek was exactly what I expected. It built intrigue from Daryl's POV, expanded on Carol's headspace, and set the stage. But I wish I could be excited about the teaser.

Carol's POV was beautifully nuanced and as angsty as I wanted it to be, but there was a disconnect with Daryl's POV. Although you hear the frustration in his voice, it doesn't sit well with me that a show called The Book of Carol starts with the voiceover + a shot of another character positioned with Daryl in soft lighting gazing at sunset with the juxtaposition of Carol's raw loneliness as she desperately tries to get to him.

Carol's desperation is explicit, clear, and heartbreaking, but there is an imbalance because Daryl's POV needs to convey the same level of need to "find home." Obviously, we don't have enough promo material to define that clearly yet, which is why I'm hoping that people speaking up about their true feelings will help the marketing team position future promo in a way that elicits more overwhelmingly positive reactions from their audience.

I want to make it explicitly clear that my issue here is not with Daryl's character. I'm noticing discourse around how harshly he is judged sometimes, and I agree. My issue is with the way the teaser was spliced together and marketed. My concern for the season is because his character has historically been used to incite fandom wars through shipbaiting in an attempt to please all audiences. Which never worked, festered misogyny and fandom infighting, produced mixed reactions and resulted in Daryl's character paying the price for it.

At the root of it is ambiguity. Their audience was unequivocally united when the first teaser featured the following tagline. There's a reason for it.

To find home is to find each other

It's at the core of Carol and Daryl's relationship. That is the foundation of this show, the connective tissue that the majority of their fans instantly resonated with. It's the key.

I understand that they're at the start of their promo campaign and will continue to map the viewer's journey. Promo content from now on should ideally build hype, give narrative cues/hooks, and build audience awareness and understanding to set expectations for The Book of Carol. So, we may not see this tagline written out on every teaser, but it should still reflect in the content seen on the screen so the viewers make the connection.

In the current teaser, it shows up very sharply for Carol, but with Daryl, that messaging is muddled. This is why it's not resonating with some fans — everyone is interpreting it through their own unique lens.

TWDCaryl

It's nice to see the official accounts use this tag and pro-Caryl copy to promote the show; it's a huge step forward. But again, the feelings need to be reflected in what we see on the screen. If it's generating mixed reactions — the promo content isn't hitting the mark, and in this case, it's too ambiguous.

Any marketing team worth its salt won't give you any inclination of canon, reunion, or interactions between Daryl and Carol during the promo campaign — at least not this early in the campaign. They would want to save your excitement for when those scenes show up on screen.

But I hope the promo that comes out after this gives me more snippets of Daryl's desperation to find his way back. People invest in your brand if they believe they can trust you. Trust is earned. Many people have valid trust issues after the last few years. And this is the way they can build trust with people who have felt betrayed in the past and left the fandom.

The Daryl I know, love and trust

I fell in love with Daryl first. He's one of the strongest characters on the show, not only because of what he endured but also because of his determination to nurture and protect the people he loves. Most of all, because I resonated with his unwavering loyalty to Carol and their family.

The Daryl I know struggles to understand his worth and retreats into the darkness when he is isolated. His demons find him there. Carol is the only one who can pull him out of the darkness, just like Daryl is the only one who can pull her out of hers. They're each other's guiding light. The Daryl I know and love doesn't need to choose. There is no choice. His loyalty to Carol and their family is his first priority. Always.

The articles published by big media outlets surrounding the spinoff often suggest that Daryl is "conflicted". These articles started sprouting after the showrunner's interview, which added more ambiguity to the mix. Every writer added their own understanding of the ambiguity and wrote the articles accordingly, which muddled the messaging even further.

Whether people like it or not, these articles build awareness and set the stage for the show. They're an essential form of digital marketing, offering content that audiences can consume to understand the show. So if they're missing the mark, people consuming these articles will rightfully feel confused about what the season will bring.

A showrunner who gets them

I trust Daryl completely. I know where his heart lies, what his motivations are, and how desperately he wants to get back to Carol and their family. But I don't trust the showrunner who is writing him, and I don't think his motivations align with Daryl's.

Clémence is a talented actress. Her character had the potential to be a strong ally to Daryl and Carol. But her character was twisted to suit the narrative, which included a heavy helping of unnecessary shipbaiting. I'm tired of that.

Melissa's EP status gives me hope for Carol's story, but she's not the showrunner. Norman and Melissa's acting, chemistry, and understanding of their characters and relationship can only do so much.

I really hope they pick a pro-Caryl showrunner who can do justice to Daryl and Carol's story going forward and fill it with the love, vulnerability, gentleness, and deep richness it deserves. I'd personally like to see a progressive female showrunner who isn't afraid to support Caryl and write nuanced female characters who can hold their own regardless of the circumstances.

My hopes and fears for Caryl's future

I love Daryl to pieces, but I'll be honest and say I love Carol more. If you've ever listened to the podcast, that is clear. I'm so happy to have Melissa back. I cannot wait to see Norman and Melissa act together. But, to me, this season is make-or-break. It's a chance for the network to show their audience they're listening and ready to deliver satisfying, undeniable canon for Caryl.

I don't know if your thoughts align with what I said, but I think most of us can agree that we're absolutely tired of shipbaiting, ambiguity, and seasons that promise but don't deliver explicit moments between Caryl.

I hope to god this season proves me wrong. I hope they hear the thoughts that Carylers are bravely sharing here and adjust course accordingly, not only in the promo circuit but beyond. Because whether the posts are more positively inclined or negatively inclined, the ones I read more or less hit this note — Daryl loves Carol deeply, and they will fight the world to find each other, because they are each other's home. Always.

Whether any of this resonates with you or not, I encourage you to share your own thoughts and remember to tag caryl. Share why they are important to you, why you want them to go canon and what this show and these characters mean to you. Speak from the heart and share whatever you're comfortable with because your voice has power, and you deserve to take up space.

2024 is the year of Caryl. So many have waited a long time for it. Let's hope they honour that.

To those who are genuinely excited, I'm glad you're able to find something to hold on to. I wish I could join in, but I have to be honest about my reservations to honour how I feel about this. If you took the time to read this, I thank you. Stay safe and be well. ❤️

#caryl #caryl spinoff #the book of carol #twd caryl #discourse

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mcuamerica · 4 days

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The Shadowsinger: Seven

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Mentions of wing clipping, misogyny, threat of death, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your time to act as emissary has come as Rhys needs you and Cassian in Windhaven.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six

Windhaven was a lot colder than you remembered. You must have forgot how cold Illyria was, even if it was your home for the first 120 years of your life. Regadless, you didn’t let it show as you followed Cassian over to where Lord Devlon was standing over the camp. You could see the cabins, the tents, the training rings… it looked so similar to Valorworth that you almost stumbled over your feet. But you kept your stoic mask on, making sure to look unimpressed as you made your way over to them.

“Cassian..” Devlon trailed off, scowling as he saw you. “Who is this?” He asked, eyes trailing over your shadows and to your wings. “A pet of Azriel?” He asked, already assuming your worth.

“Another Shadowsinger.” Cassian said with a smirk on his face. “This is (Y/N). She’s going to be emissary from the Night Court to the Illyrian camps, to ensure the females are receiving proper training.” He said.

If he was surprised by another Shadowsinger being in his midst, he didn’t show it. “Are you on your cycle?” He asked, ignoring the fact that you were an emissary and should be treated with respect. You rolled your eyes. The Illyrian males and their ways… you were going to have to get used to it again.

“No, but it wouldn’t matter if I was.” You said. “We don’t taint objects when we bleed, just as you don’t.” You said firmly, crossing your arms. Not that any female would want to even think about fighting while on their cycle. Most times it was too painful to leave the bed. In your experience. Cauldron, you had your cycle just before you were released from Under the Mountain and Amarantha was no sympathizer when you needed the time in your chambers. Alone. To writhe in pain.

“That is our way, and if you are to be an emissary to us, you’ll have to respect it.” He said.

“Regardless, I am not. If you are so concerned, have your blacksmith create separate weapons for the females to use.” You stated, narrowing your eyes at him. It was a good idea, one that you might just use your salary to fund. Rhys funded practically everything else for you anyway.

Cassian cleared his throat before he could respond. “We’ll be staying in Rhys’s cabin, is it occupied?” He asked and Devlon growled out a yes.

“You think as a camp Lord, you’d be happier to see your Lord Commander.” You snapped and crossed your arms. “I’m also pretty sure he could snap your neck, seeing as you’ve only got 2 Siphons, if he wanted to, so why don’t you show him any respect?”

Devlon stepped towards you. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll make sure you can’t even step foot in this camp or another one ever again. No matter what the High Lord wants to call you.” He growled. “I don’t see any Siphons on you, anyway.”

“That’s because you males don’t allow females to have them. But I can assure you, my shadows will do the work for me just as easily.” You said, not backing down from his stare. He wasn’t much shorter than Rhys or Azriel, but he was definitely taller than you.

“Okay… this is a lovely first meeting. Get your males out of the cabin. We’re going to take a look around.” Cassian said and looked at you nodding towards the camp. “I expect it to be ready in an hour.” He said before starting to walk down the hill. You stared at Devlon before following Cassian.

“I don’t know how you put up with that.” You said.

“He trained me, and as much of a pain as he is, he’s the most willing to change the ways of his army to what we want.” He said. “As fun as that was to watch, I suggest not threatening to snap his neck again. You want to be on his good side. Especially as a female.” He said.

Something about being back in an Illyrian camp made your blood boil. That simmering rage was bubbling to the surface. Maybe because last time you were at one, it was for Amarantha to ensure her “allies” were truly telling her everything. Since that was the camp that turned you in, you had no problem listening to their secrets. Until you saw what she did to them. And the children. Fallen wings flashed through your mind, and you had to shake your head to come back to the present.

Your temper was already high and Devlon didn’t help. Cassian telling you that you needed to ‘play nice’ because you were a female wasn’t making you any less agitated.

“If you can’t handle this, you can-“ he started when you marched past him.

“Handle this?” You growled and whipped around towards him. “Do you know what it’s like to be a female in an Illyrian camp? Cause it’s a lot worse than being a bastard whose found brother is a High Lord.” You seethed, shadows whirling around your body as if to restrain you from pouncing on him. “You get seven Siphons. You get to participate in the Blood Rite and call yourself Carynthain. You get to train. You get to make decisions without having your wings threatened.” You spat, finally looking up at him. You could see the surprise in his eyes. The small amount of hurt that he let show. You immediately regretted snapping at him. You went to apologize but he shook his head.

“You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like.” Cassian simply said. “But you haven’t been here in a long time. Nor have you been to this camp. And I’m not saying it’s much better, but these males are willing to change for us. Change their traditions for a better army. If that means meeting them in the middle, or working with them with the little they give, then we do it. Because we can’t force them to change their ways. We’ve tried and it hasn’t worked. But with your help, we’ll get there. And it won’t help anything if you threaten every male you run into. Especially if they haven’t seen what you’re capable of.” He said.

You bit the inside of your lip, nodding your head. “I didn’t mean to call you a bastard.” You admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“I am one. No point in denying it.” He said and winked. “Come on, let me show you around.” He said and walked in front of you. Normally, he would sling his arm over your shoulder. But that would make the Illyrians mock you further, and he knew that wouldn’t help your already rising temper. You hadn’t shown it to him yet. He wondered if Rhys had ever seen you so riled. He didn’t even know you had it in you.

Then again, you were in a place that reminded you of a world of hurt and pain. A place that gave you no respect… other than maybe that you could provide a male child for the Illyrians one day. But even then, that wasn’t respect.

So he didn’t let it get to him. He knew what these camps did to females. And he knew that Valorworth in particular would be a hard one to crack. They still had problems with the males clipping females’ wings. And even more of a problem with getting the girls to train out of fear they wouldn’t be accepted by their mate or would be “sullied” because they chose to fight. While in Windhaven, you would be training with Cassian. Rhys didn’t want you to train with the other females yet, not unless you wanted to… And you made it clear the day before you didn’t want to. Not yet, at least.

“Have you ever tried a Siphon?” He asked curiously as you walked towards the training rings.

“You’re kidding, right? The day the Cauldron boils over is the day they’ll allow a female to even try ON a Siphon. Besides, I don’t even think I have killing power to begin with.” Your said.

“Have you ever tried?” He repeated and smirked when you shook your head. “You know, there have been female Illyrian warriors before. Not many, and not in hundreds of years, but it’s happened before.” He said.

You looked at him skeptically. “I’ve never heard of an Illyrian female warrior. Not that fought among males.” You said. You remembered stories of the Valkyries. You even thought that Cassian might have known them, with how old he was. Rhys, Az, and him all fought in the war. The Valkyries all died then… That was the closest you heard of a female fighting in the ranks of Illyrian males.

“Have Clotho pull out books on the Erthican age, focusing on Illyria.” He said and smirked. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

He didn’t say anything else when he approached the training ring. You saw some females training, only four, with a male who looked either displeased to be training them, or displeased with their positions. Probably both considering a) he was a male and b) their fighting posture was horrible. You were better when you started two weeks ago. But you had hunting experience. And experience under Amarantha. So you couldn’t judge them. Not when they were trying. And they seemed to want to be there. The male, however, did not.

“This is what they call training?” You whispered to Cassian.

“This is the best we can get right now. That’s why you’re here.” He said. “You want to show these males how far a female can come with two weeks of training?” He asked and opened the gate to an empty training ring. You were aware of the eyes suddenly upon you.

“I’m not sure they’ll be impressed.” You said and shifted on your feet, but kept your back straight and your head high. You would not cower in front of these males. Never again.

“Trust me, they will.” He said and nodded as he motioned for you to hand him your coat. You slipped it off and set it on a rock instead. Anything that showed the males you and Cassian were more than a trainer and his trainee would show you as weak.

The cold air almost made you shiver but you quickly got into position with Cassian to start the warm up stretches. It took no time for you both to start sparring, Cassian reminding you to pull your left foot in closer, or to pick up your left shoulder. Or to not flare out your wings so much. All gentle, small reminders, and nothing to mock you. Eventually, you grabbed the practice swords, practicing with those. You went through the eight point star, the sweeps, blocks, and parries that would all be vital to know in a fight. When you were done, you were sweating in your leathers. You were glad when the cool winter breeze glided across your skin. Your shadows had calmed during your training, trailing on the ground. And your temper wasn’t boiling anymore. It was buried deep inside, where it would stay for as long as you could keep it. Getting angry at Cassian, or any of the other Illyrian males, would only show them your weaknesses. And you wouldn’t let that happen. Maybe with Cass, but not the others.

You looked back towards the camp, seeing a group of males that had been watching you. You couldn’t hear what they said, but you cast your shadows out with a simple wave of the hand. They scattered across the ground, then came back an instant later. “Cassian goes easy on her” “She couldn’t do that with a real sword” “She can’t take him down”. All the whispers that came back. You looked at Cassian and narrowed your eyes.

“I want to spar for real.” You said, low enough that only he could hear it. “No swords, and no pads.” You said. “And none of my shadows helping me… let me show them what I can do. And don’t hold back.” You said.

Cassian glanced at them and then back at you, frowning a bit. “That’s not a good idea. We’re still at the beginning of your training. But if it were to go wrong, it would have the opposite effect.” He said.

“Cassian-“

“I’m still your commander. No matter what, it’s important for me not to push you. And this would be pushing.” He said. “Come on, let’s go to the cabin. It’s been two hours and we need to clean up before going through the rest of the camp.” He said, pausing when you stood your ground. “(Y/N)… we’re here for two weeks. At the end of that, I’ll fight you for real, okay?” He asked. Cassian didn’t like pulling rank, but if that would be what got you to back down, he might just have to do that.

You thought for a moment and then nodded. “I think that would be a good Solstice present.” You joked and grabbed your coat, not daring to put it on as you were still sweating. You needed these leathers off you. And a bath. Now.

You let your shadows rest around your shoulders and arms as you walked past the Illyrian males, and some females, towards the cabin. “This is Rhys’s cabin?” You asked.

“His mother’s actually. It was, at least… This is where Rhys, Az, and I grew up… this whole camp is… but this cabin is where she raised us. And where we got into Mother knows what when we were young.” He said and smiled fondly. It was the same smile that came to your face when you thought about Sirona, Igna, or Oran. Something nostalgic and filled with loss, but also happiness.

“You’d give anything to go back to those days for just a few moments.” You suggested. “I know the feeling… If I could visit my home near the northern mountains again… with my family. Or when my mother was still alive… I would.” You said and looked at the cabin.

“Come on, let’s wash up and then I can show you the rest of the camp.” He said and gave you a small smile before opening the door.

Cassian showed you around the rest of the camp after you’d taken a bath and changed into some warmer clothes for the Illyrian winter night. The Winter Solstice was three weeks away, and you knew that it would only get colder from here.

You wore the coat that Mor gave you (it brought the perfect amount of warmth without making you sweat under it) as Cassian led you to the female cabins. The ones that housed the females that were without husbands, mates, or males that would take care of them. You saw the four that were training earlier. They were doing housework. They didn’t seem too much older than you were when you left Valorworth. If you were to be offered a chance to train back then… you weren’t even sure if you would have taken it. Your father certainly would not have allowed it.

And then he showed you the few shops they had in town. About five, and one of them was the blacksmith. Which he said he wanted to visit quickly. You looked around and decided to go to the tailor shop you noticed, tucking in your wings as you entered the shop. “Hi,” you said as you saw a man at the small table at the back. He seemed to be a seasoned warrior, and now you guessed he ran this shop since a war wasn’t raging at the moment. Still, something of him reminded you of your father, so you stayed on edge. As you would with every male in this camp other than Cassian. “Do you have any gloves? I seem to have forgotten mine.” You said as you looked around.

“I have wool lined or leather,” his voice was gruff.

“Leather would be best,” you said as you approached the table.

“Emerie,” he called to the back. “Grab the female gloves… 5 copper marks,” he said as he turned back to you.

“5? They should be worth 3,” you said and he rose his eyebrows, shocked that you suggested otherwise.

“5, or you can find another tailor at this camp who will sell them to you.” He growled. He obviously didn’t like that a female was trying to barter with him.

You held in a sigh and pulled out the marks, setting them on the table. You didn’t have it in you to fight with an old male today. Certainly not when he was so easily agitated by a female.

“Here you go, father,” the female said, coming out from the back and setting the pair of gloves down. Your eyes immediately focused on her wings. The small amount of faelight showed scars that could only mean one thing. Her wings were clipped. And by the looks of it, not by a healer. You looked down at the gloves and reached out for them, but stopped when the man put his hands on top of them.

“I haven’t seen you around here… what camp are you from?” He asked. The female named Emerie only stayed standing behind her father. Not in a scared, cowering way, but curious.

“Technically, Valorworth. But I live down south, in- Hewn City now.” You said, remembering how Velaris was to be kept a secret from anyone you encountered outside the city.

“Ahh… the Court of Nightmares. How does an Illyrian female Shadowsinger end up there?” He asked, his hand unmoving upon the gloves.

You managed a glance to your shadows, frowning at his tone. “I know the right males.” You said and reached down, snatching the gloves from his hand.

“I’m (Y/N).” You said and offered a small smile to Emerie. “I’ll be here for two weeks with Cassian,” you said, assuming everyone in the camp knew who he was. Being the commander of the Night Court’s army and all.

Emerie didn’t reply as her father scowled, clearly not liking that you were ignoring him. You smiled at her again before turning around. “Thanks for the gloves.” You said and walked out the door.

A/N: And now we are in Windhaven! Why do we think reader is so on edge?

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#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #the shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #katie writes

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emotionalcadaver · 2 months

Text

I've written and rewritten this post so many times, and I've debated even posting it at all.

And before we begin: I am not trying to make anyone feel bad, or place blame on anyone. I understand that many of you were manipulated or worse. But this is part of how this jackass and his behavior affected me, so I want to talk about it.

The first time I looked at his blog, it was after the wonderful @shelbydelrey messaged me to warn me that there was a new person in the fandom actively attacking Grace fans. Because I write many Tommy x Grace x OC-centric fics, I was concerned, so I took a peak at his blog to see what was going on.

And I have to say, I have never felt so unwelcome in (at least a part) of a fandom in my life.

Something I haven't seen discussed a ton is just the blatant bullying and misogyny that this man publicly displayed. Post after post of him attacking Grace fans, picking fights, laughing at them, shaming them, hurling insults at them...He'd go out of his way to find content featuring Grace and comment hate on them, and then laugh about it with his followers. And this misogyny wasn't exclusive to Grace, but seemed to spread to other women as well, just based on some of the non-Grace related posts I also saw that he made.

Now, I actually don't give a shit whether people like Grace or not. I personally have a soft spot for her, but I don't expect other people to share in my feelings, and I respect their opinions. Most of the time, if I see a post hating on her, I just keep scrolling.

But this...this really got to me. It was so disheartening to see someone behave in what-- at least to me--was such a blatantly and obviously misogynistic way while being cheered and egged on by a significant part of the fandom. It made me feel so uncomfortable and unwelcome. And considering his popularity and how so many people seemed to see no problem with his behavior, it made me question if I was even welcome in this fandom at all, and several times I considered deleting my blog and my fics and leaving entirely.

I'm not going to lie; it broke my view of this fandom a little bit. I can't begin to describe how saddening it was to see that this behavior was not only accepted, but actively enabled and seemingly practiced by so many. Obviously now I know that there were far more complicated things going on behind the curtain, but at the time, that's what it appeared to me: that an extremely large part of the fandom saw nothing wrong with speaking about women--real or fictional--in horrifically offensive and demeaning ways, and openly bullying those who did not share their views on certain characters/parts of canon.

I became paranoid, even after blocking him, that he or one of his followers would find my blog, and I would be the next target of a barrage of hate and harassment. So I blocked most people I saw associating with him (I've unblocked most of you now). Because it felt like that only way to protect myself. Not only did I not want to ever be associated with the kind of behavior he displayed on his blog, but I also was terrified of getting dogpiled onto by his followers, even for the simple act of having blocked him. I was literally convinced that if my blog was noticed by him or anyone closely associated with him, I would get run out of the fandom. So I chose to remain in my own little bubble of mutuals who I trust, and did not make any significant efforts to reach out to or connect with new people.

Again, this is not me trying to call anyone out except for him. I know many of you--or at least, I hope many of you--did not intend to enable a misogynist monster or a bully. And ultimately he was the one who created this hostile environment, and it is very possible, knowing now that he has a habit of making alternative accounts, that many of his "followers" who showed support for his behavior may have just been him on other accounts, or sending himself asks via anon.

I don't really have a specific point to this post. I just wanted to share these feelings somewhere, I suppose. I hate this man for what he has done to so many of you and this entire community. And for how he made me feel so frightened and unwelcome by huge parts of this fandom.

#no one will probably read this lol but i needed to get it off my chest #laur babbles

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scatterbrainedbot · 5 months

Text

RAT SONS LORE DUMP #1

THE HAMATO FAMILY

okay so im looking at my first few character sheets and theres a little bit of lore/context i want to give just to clarify, specifically about the last generation (of humans) in the Hamato lineage

(long text heavy post ahead!)

so background:

in the 03 version of tmnt The Ancient One (who is not a Hamato) essentially adopts three children: Hamato Yoshi, Yukio Mashimi, Tang Shen (girls dont get surnames i guess??) They seemed to have been explicitly raised as siblings. Still, love triangle trope was hungry ig. Both boys fell in love w Tang Shen and she fell for Yoshi. to which Mashimi said ‘alright bet’ and killed her. i cant even laugh at him for his pathetic Nice Guy “i was nice to you for years and u wont have sex with me???” tantrum cos like. sir, that is ur sister. boy howdy. all of yall need to go meet some other people.

mostly i chalk that whole mess up to the fact that the writing of women in most media in the early 2000s lacking like idk?? any actual characterization?? an ounce of consideration??? not a single braincell?? they were mostly just there to be a means to some plot trope, rather than an actual character in and of themselves — like im amazed april came out as lovely as she did, with her own like life and skills and autonomy (her big sis vibes in 03 are so so nice, and tbh i love her whole character a lot — still lots of misogyny moments in her writing too but im not trying to do an analysis into that rn)

so anywho!!

for the rat sons au, i decided to go ahead and scrap all the incesty undertones (idk, are those undertones? seems p straight up to me?) and completely revamp the origins of The Ancient One, Tang Shen and Yoshi <3 (and Mashimi too ig, but he essentially got cut out entirely. sucks to suck ya entitled lil douche)

Here's the general lowdown

So, the Hamato clan is one of the oldest and well established in all of Japan. The family rose to prominence in the feudal period of Japan’s history, due to their collective skill in the art of ninjutsu, their dedication, stealth, and discretion. Like most ninja, they were assassins available to hire, either for killing or simple sabotage, for politics or personal matters – though no matter the task, a Hamato’s loyalty was always to the head of the Family over their client.

Beyond their reputation as a ninja clan though, the Hamatos also had a reputation for being extremely generous to their community and highly protective of the less fortunate. (think kinda Al Capone vibes, like oh these bitches hella dangerous. but also. will def tip over $100 soooo…) This did lead to occasional conflict of interests during assignments/contracts. Most Hamatos would then seek the advice of the head of the family, and follow their lead, be it to the benefit of their client, or not.

(This also led to several members either abandoning the clan, or being killed by their clients for failed action etc etc)

As time passes and we reach the mid twentieth century or so, there is only one final heir to the Hamato lineage. A young man, named Hamato Sho. Sho spent his youth trying to serve his family and honor their name etc etc etc. But ultimately, this got him caught up in a lot of corrupt powerful nonsense that he eventually walked away from after the death of his friend.

This friend had left behind a young daughter, Tang Shen. Since he knew she had no other family to claim her, Sho took her in, expecting to only be a temporary foster at most. Surprise! this quiet five year old kiddo melted old mans cynical heart to absolute mush. his daughter now bitch.

He only ever adopted the one child, and he adored her sm. and he tried his best to be a good papa. he nurtured her curiosity and engaged in her interests and taught her everything he knew, without ultimatums or concerns about family names. at times he could have probably been considered very lax in his parenting, or far too lenient or undisciplined, but as a kid that grew up suffocated by watching eyes and guiding hands and Destiny capital D, i think that by giving his child room to be her own person and do her own shit (especially in her teenage years) he was in fact showing her a level trust and pride than he never had been given himself. basically he did everything he could to give her the exact opposite childhood he himself had (like rise splints <3)

Because of Sho’s encouragement, Tang Shen grows up to be a very independent soul, whos never met a problem she can jerry-rig, bodily move, or roundhouse kick into being fixed. She also becomes a fucking badass ninja master (and mystic warrior, lol) though mostly all she wants in life is the maintain the quiet little farm her father has started. maybe kiss the cute boy from town who walks her home sometimes (even though he lives the other direction.)

Meanwhile, Yoshi (surname pending) is in fact not a Hamato. Yet, at least. he, however, is that cute boy from town who walks home with Tang Shen most days and has been absolutely smitten with her since like fourth grade lol

(theyre besties for like a decade before they officially start to date. They get together finally after Tang Shens been trying to figure out a good date idea (one that isnt just something they already do) to ask him on for like a month, and Yoshi just leans over and kisses her goodbye super casual one day cos he thought they already had been dating for like. six months. cue her delight and his abject horror (he never wouldve kissed her if he didnt think that was already established as okay. p sure he even like asked her before randomly like, hey is it alright if i kiss u goodbye? and she was like ????? ok??? is this cos of ur european studies class. theyre both very silly) shes gonna tease him so bad about all of this. and tell Sho. Yoshi will never know peace again /affectionate)

Mashimi doesnt make any real appearance in their story i dont think. Like he might be a friend of Yoshi’s in elementary school. probably had a tiny start of a crush on Tang Shen when they were small and tried to take the ‘pull pigtails on the playground’ route of getting her attention. what he got was a kick to the chest and a broken nose. never came near her again after that. (eventually started avoiding Yoshi too since he was with Tang Shen all the time)

All that being said though, im afraid Tang Shen is not fully free of curse of the unwanted suitor. The Hamato name still carries a fair amount of pull, after all, and there are some very dangerous people looking to make some claim to its influence.....

#rat sons #rat sons lore #tmnt au #if u read all of that i am mentally giving u a lil smooch on the forehead 💕#imma queue up the first character sheet to drop tomorrow morning i think?#itll be Sho's btw #im so invested in my version of the last of the human hamatos its so sad #they are like #purely background #only come up in stories splinter tells the boys #but i love them sm <3

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stellar-constellations · 9 months

Text

An Alliance (Part 2)

Fem! Spy! (Y/N) x Yuri Briar

Parts: One, current part, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten (to be continued when Spy x Family has more Yuri content!)

(Y/N) is given her own backstory that is important for the story!

The setting for this story is based off West and East Germany's (because Spy x Family is heavily based off Germany in the 1940-1950) laws (or at least replicated to the best of my abilities since it's unknown what time period Spy x Family is exactly in, we'll go with 1950 for the sake of this story).

Historically-accurate women misogyny and mistreatment! Only small comments and historically-accurate laws (replicated to the best of my ability).

The story, plot, and settings might not match up to the Spy x Family manga as it's not completed and the manga is still being crafted.

This series contains spoilers for the manga and anime!

"Don't touch anything, unless you want to be zapped by Westalis lasers." I sarcastically spoke as I opened my apartment door.

The man waltzed into my home and looked around, his hands in his pockets as he observed the place.

"Your place is so..." he paused, looking around, "plain. And boring. And you have no furniture." He admitted honestly.

He wasn't even trying to be mean as he held a honest and slightly concerned expression.

"I'm a spy. I had to move around a lot for my missions." I admitted. "As a spy, I'm always on the move all across Ostania. Sometimes I'm traveling secretly between Ostania and Westalis too." I spoke.

"How do you do that?" he questioned.

"Oh ho ho. Look at you, already trying to put that contract to use. I'm soooo glad you're interested in me—you know, like asking about my favorite color or what genre of movies I like?" I spoke sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"You're such a doll." He sighed, rolling his eyes too. "Brat..." He murmured quietly.

He followed me to my room as I grabbed the small amount of clothes set out for my everyday convenience as I shoved the clothes into a suitcase.

"Just so you know, I'm not looking for this to be a real thing. When we're in public and at work, we'll act close—but don't expect anything kind of special treatment behind closed doors. Our 'marriage' is just a piece of paper that can easily be destroyed. The only thing that we have in common is work; nothing else." The second-lieutenant spat harshly as he walked closer to me, standing tall as he looked down at me in more ways than one.

For some reason, I felt my heart stab as my stomach felt queasy. My head felt light as I looked up.

"I'm glad we're on the same track. I want nothing to do with you just as you do with me." I stated.

I huffed and took a step to the side to get the second-lieutenant out of my way. I walked to the bathroom and grab my soaps and routine-supplies, ignoring the way my chest felt sunken and my eyes stung.

Why do I feel the need to cry? I thought to myself. That mutt doesn't know what he's talking about. He doesn't know me at all. I rolled my eyes, thinking about how pathetic I was for letting his words get to me like that.

He's the enemy. There's no reason I should grow attached like how he's thinking. I'm not going to submit and prove that he's right!

I softly sighed as I walked back to the bedroom, momentarily stopping to see the man stare at the ceiling bored. On. My. Bed!

Calm down, it's just a bed HQ rented.

Yeah. I just slept on it for two weeks for my mission I finished before getting captured. The Handler momentarily rented this room for me in this apartment so I could have a place to relax as I get through my recent slow-burn mission.

I groaned. I'm gonna kill kill kill KILL KILL THAT MOLE! I screamed loudly inside my head. I HATE THEM FOR PUTTING ME IN THIS STUPID SITUATION!

“Your bed is so uncomfortable. How can you sleep like this?” the man deadpanned.

“That’s not my bed. This is a room I was given from my boss since I had to do a mission here.” I explained, putting my supplies in one of my suitcases and zipping it up.

“What was the mission?” he seemed interested, turning his head to the side so he can face me.

“I had to get some information from city hall. The boss there is a scumbag exchanging some Ostania secrets there.” I explained.

“Huh. I didn’t know about that.” He admitted.

“Well, now that you do, you can tell the Director and have someone new to interrogate tomorrow.” I sighed, sitting down on the un-comfy bed (I hate to admit that he’s right about the bed).

“You didn’t interact with the employees, did you?” he questioned, his voice serious as his eyes dug into me, searching for truth.

“Only those I needed so I could sneak in. About two or three people. But nobody that sparked interest.” I admitted.

“Good, good…” he muttered, his voice and face softening as we stared at each other.

“Why?” I questioned.

“Nothing, I was just curious.” He spoke.

I didn’t believe it, but right now I didn’t care about it as we stared at each other.

He had pretty ruby eyes, ones I was almost envious of. He had dark black hair that matched his eyes perfectly, and his face was both innocent and stern at the same time (how could that be possible?)

I allowed myself to observe his outfit, the causal white shirt and black pants along with black shoes. But I wasn’t the only one taking notes of the enemy. I noticed he was looking at me longer than what should be comfortable.

“What?” I snapped, letting the heat in my face be anger and not something I was…afraid of, I guess you could say.

“You were staring first…” he grumbled.

Douche! I shouted in my head yet sighed.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” I commanded, jumping up from the bed and lecturing myself of my racing heart.

“Don’t boss me around, brat.” He stated, yet sat up nonetheless.

“Don’t call me brat!” I complained as he smirked.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He teased, smiling.

Now he's using my own words against me? I thought to myself yet smirked, deciding to entertain him.

“It’s alright, darling~” I retorted as his face morphed to disgust.

“Gross! Don’t you ever call me that again!” he complained.

“Then stop calling me brat! And don’t call me sweetheart, I said it first!” I shouted.

“Ugh. Like I’d ever say something so vomit-inducing again. I just wanted to mess with you.” He whined, still acting like he was sick to his stomach.

"Come on! Let’s get a move on. It’s dark and we haven’t ate dinner yet.” I spoke.

“Oh? So I’m the one treating you?” he huffed.

“Your boss never gave me back my belongings. That includes my wallet.” I pointed out, smiling.

“Then you can starve.” He deadpanned.

I huffed and grabbed my two suitcases, walking out of the apartment and to the car as he followed behind me.

“Hurry up! I hate slow walkers!” I complained, waiting for him to unlock the car.

He did, yet immediately locked it once I reached for the door handle.

I glared and waited for him to unlock the door. He sighed and did. I reached for the handle and pulled it, only to find it looked.

“Dude!” I exclaimed, looking up to see him smiling at me, proud in his childish actions.

“Okay okay!” he laughed, then unlocked the door.

I pulled, but for the damn thing to be locked again.

“YOU FELL FOR IT THREE TIMES! AHAHHA!” he laughed boisterously.

“Shut up!” I shouted, ignoring the way I slightly giggled and wore a smile on my face. “Could you please unlock the door, sweetheart?” I teased.

“Ew! Stop it!” he gagged, yet unlocked the door.

I quickly opened the door, causing him to let out an “aw” followed by a “it was fun while it lasted.” I put my suitcases in the backseat and sat in the passenger seat.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked, stepping into the car and putting the keys in, twisting them to start the engine.

“Oh, I thought I was going to starve.” I smiled, watching as he rolled his eyes and huffed.

“This is just one time…” he grumbled. “Now hurry up and choose!” he shouted.

“Don’t pressure me! Then I can’t think!” I shouted back. “I’m fine with anything.”

“Seriously? I just told you to choose! I don’t know what you like!” he complained.

“I’m not picky; besides, you’re paying.” I spoke as he sighed aggressively and backed out of the parking lot.

I looked out the window, watching as we left one of my many—many—temporary homes that the Handler has placed me in before.

I should send a code so the headquarters can decipher my message. What should I tell them? I can’t tell them I’m a double-agent, that’s for sure.

I glanced over at the man, thinking.

I can’t believe I thought this asshole was innocent-looking and hot when I first saw him—he’s just a jerk. What’s his problem anyways? Why’s he hate me so much? Sure, I’m a spy, but I’ve always tried to avoid the conflict between Westalis and Ostania.

A frown made its way to my face as I thought some more.

Can I even be called a spy ever again? I got ratted out and captured. I might never get a mission again if I’m stuck with the Secret Police. My spy days are over.

Surprisingly, it didn’t sound too bad. I was in the spy business for almost a decade. Breaking into homes, deciphering codes, protecting government officials that's killed my family, even going as far as to disarming bombs. Whether I was in the Westalis army, a Westalis spy, or now even Ostania's SSS, I’ll always have the looming threat of dying.

I really wanted to live a peaceful life too, it was the spy business that tracked me down and recruited me when I was ten. How could they manipulate me into this war? I wanted out of it after the military! I whined in my head.

It’s not like I didn’t agree. But I was ten! I didn't understand what being a spy exactly meant. I guess drastic times called for drastic measures, even going as far as to getting little ten-year-olds recruited.

“What’s with that face?” he suddenly spoke up.

“What face?” I questioned.

“The sad face. Your face looks even more ugly like that.” He deadpanned.

“Ugh! You jerk!” I exclaimed, resisting the powerful urge to punch him hard in the arm.

I would’ve, if the sudden thought of him concealed-carrying didn’t immediately cross my mind.

Yeah. He’d shoot me for punching him.

“I was just thinking! Jeez, you’re mean…” I grumbled.

He hummed, a smile on his face. He seems proud to be an asshole. . . We decided to grab quick fast food since there was no point in going anywhere expensive.

He drove to a gated apartment complex for two-income families, entering a passcode.

“Fancy apartment complex.” I commented, looking out the window.

“The job pays well.” He spoke back, driving in and parking somewhere.

He shut the car off and we both opened our doors. I got my luggage as he impatiently waited. We walked to the doors, going into a lobby and to an elevator. He pressed the second button and stuck his hands in his pants pockets. I clutched the handle on the elevator, ignoring the look the man was giving me as I felt my stomach tighten.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to puke.” He groaned. “You got a weak stomach or something?”

“Elevators just make me nauseous.” I admitted. “But I’ll be fine, thank you so much for your concern.” I commented sarcastically.

Elevators remind me of planes, planes remind me of hijacks and crashes. Just the thought of having to be in another plane going down for one of my missions makes me want to vomit. I never want to be above the ocean or ground again.

The doors opened and we walked out of the elevator. We walked a few doors down until we got to the fourth door on the right. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and opened the door.

He silently walked in and I followed, a little unnerved at being inside the enemy's apartment.

It's not like he'd kill me—at least not without getting information out of me. Right?

"Where should I put my stuff?" I questioned.

The man hummed, thinking to himself.

"You can put it in my room, I'd rather not have the living room dirty." He replied.

"Do you have any house rules?" I questioned, taking my shoes off as the man drags his off, standing with perfect balance despite being on one foot.

I hid my amazement from his balance skills as I had hopped on my foot to take my shoes off.

"I don't think I do. I mean like, don't go through my stuff? And don't go out without me. I can't really think of anything unless you do something that I'm not comfortable with, but I'll tell ya." He sighed.

"Okay." I spoke, following him to his room.

He opened the door, allowing me in. I set my suitcases neatly in the corner as the man jumped on his bed, sighing.

If it was my bed, I would've followed and laid down too since I was quite tired with today's events too, but this is the second-lieutenant's bed (who still won't tell me his name). I feel it would be rude lying down on his pretty red bed (I also feel that he will snap at me).

I looked around the room, looking at the pale peach walls. I looked down at the apartment's wooden floor, noticing how clean it is.

He must like his apartment clean. I supposed every likes a clean space to walk in though.

He had very few artworks on the wall, only two paintings. One was of a bright forest and a path. The other was a dark figure on the beach, dancing alone as the sun set behind them. I looked at his expresso drawers, seeing there was two of them. He had a closet I didn't feel like exploring.

Doesn't look very secretive and Secret Police-like. I thought to myself. Well, it does make sense. I hide my spy-gear out of sight too in case the SSS tries to do a secret investigation on me when I'm not at the place I'd be staying at during that time.

"So, what are the sleeping arrangements?" I questioned.

"I don't know..." He muttered, tired.

He's seem to have lost all that spark from earlier. I thought to myself. It's kinda cute how worn out he is.

I smiled, observing him as he threw me a tired glare.

"What?" he questioned.

"Nothing." I spoke, sitting down on the bed yet keeping a good distance. "You said you had an older sister, so where would your guest room be?"

"She'd sleep in my bed and I'd sleep on the couch." He explained. "I would rather have myself sleep on the couch than have my dear sister sleep there—she's family."

"So you can be nice." I hummed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he huffed, his energy to argue seeming to recharge as he sat up from his bed.

"Oh, don't start getting riled up just yet. I'm just teasing you." I rolled my eyes playfully, smiling as I enjoyed the way his face bloomed into a rose and he stuttered.

"D-don't say it like that! Brat..." he muttered, covering his face with his arm as he coughed out his embarrassment.

"You tired?" I questioned.

"Yeah. But I'm going to wait until you fall asleep." He spoke, sitting up from his bed.

"Okay, creep. You do you I guess, just leave me out of the equation." I giggled as he glared at me.

"Not like that. I meant I'm not planning on waking up to you gone from the apartment and running back to that stupid spy business of yours. The Director would kill me." He huffed.

"You know, I didn't just join them because I felt like it." I huffed, crossing my arms.

"What did you join them for?" he questioned, raising his eyebrow.

"You gotta earn it first." I clicked my tongue, mocking his words from earlier.

We shared a glare before he sighed.

"Fine. I wasn't even that interested anyways." He huffed.

We stayed silent for a bit before he spoke up again.

"You can shower first, I'll wait for you." He explained.

"Oh. Thanks..." I muttered, slightly surprised as I walked to my suitcase and opened it, grabbing clothes and bathing supplies. "I'll be right back." I stated.

He's a stupid jerk, but there's been moments where he's been a little nice. Maybe over time I can crack that shell. I thought to myself before immediately catching myself. Over time? What am I saying? I'm not staying with that jerk forever! No matter how much kinder he gets!

It's not like I'd have a choice either. The Westalis spies would be around searching for me if word gets out that I betrayed them. I shouldn't be the one at fault. It was that mole's fault! That, and they were the one that betrayed the Westalis spies and me! I can't believe the Handler assigned me to show him the ropes when he first came in a couple months ago. I thought he was doing a good job too!

I got dressed into pajamas and walked out of the bathroom. I heard soft snoring and looked to see the man was sleeping, having not moved from the same position I left him in.

He'd be so easy to kill, allowing himself to be in such a vulnerable position while the enemy is in his home. I sighed, not really wanting to wake him up in case he forgets who I am and flips out.

Maybe I can send that message to Westalis. I thought before quickly deciding to cross out that idea.

That'd be a stupid thing to do while I'm in enemy territory. That, and I don't want to cause trouble immediately. I've honestly been wanting to take a break from the spy business for a while, but I was afraid the Handler would kill me (she's not called the Fullmetal Lady for nothing). This will just be a mini-vacation.

I had an intense battle inside my head, wondering if I should take out Flower from my suitcase or not.

If the jerk wakes up, he'll see it and probably tease me forever. I thought, sighing as I looked at the man. Why should I care what he thinks? It's not his bunny!

I huffed and grabbed Flower from my suitcase. She looked at me pitifully with her one eye and hanging loose threads of her pink nose and mouth. She still has a slight lingering smell of ash, but it's barely noticeable now because of all the times I've thrown her in a washer. I walked over to the man and noticed the slight twitch from his left eye as his mouth frowned slightly. His eyes were slightly squinted, and I mentally gasped.

How dare he fake-sleep in front of me?! Does he really not trust me? But it does leave him open for me to mess with him...

"My love, wakey-wakey." I teased, causing him to almost shoot up immediately.

"Don't say that!" he shouted.

"I can't believe you faked sleeping!" I laughed, a disbeliefed-smile on my face.

"I was making sure you wouldn't try running or contacting the Westalis spies!" he exclaimed, trying to justify himself.

"I can't believe you would think that!" I exclaimed.

You were very right, sir. Very right...

"Whatever, just shower so we can go to bed." I sighed.

My face heated up at my wording. If the man noticed, he didn't pay no attention to it as he stood up and walked to the bathroom, suspiciously eyeing me as he closed the bathroom door.

What a pushover. I thought, before sighing and laying down on the bed. Me and the enemy sharing a bed together? I think I'm going to puke.

He didn’t take long, probably rushing to make sure that I wasn’t escaping, before he opened the door and suspiciously looked around the room.

“There’s no traps or bugs.” I rolled my eyes.

“How can I trust you?” he questioned.

“Because I would’ve forgotten them then accidentally set off one of my own traps.” I deadpanned.

He huffed, but didn’t say anything after that, that was until he noticed the bunny.

“…What the hell is that?” he mumbled, making eye contact with Flower’s one eye.

“Don’t say that!” I gasped, covering Flower’s ears. “She’s sensitive about her appearance!”

“She’s…sensitive?” he questioned, an evil smile forming on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that! Flower isn’t just some stuffed bunny, she’s my childhood warrior.”

He smiled more. “S-stuffed…bunny…childhood…warrior!” he started to cackle as I glared at him. “I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT YOU STILL SLEEP WITH STUFFED ANIMALS!”

“Flower is my friend!” I cried out. "She means a lot to me!"

“AHAHAHA! YOU’RE FRIENDS WITH A BUNNY? YOU’RE REALLY THAT PATHETIC?!” he laughed.

I huffed, walking over to him and pushing him onto the bed.

“H-hey!” he stuttered out, his face turning red as he stared up at me.

“Shut up and sleep!” I ordered, walking to the drawer and placed my glasses down (or ignore this part if you don't wear glasses).

I walked to the light switch and turned off the light, then carefully navigated through the dark and felt for the bed. I grabbed the covers and got into said bed. I felt that man’s body but I couldn’t care enough to walk all the way on the other side in the dark—however, he had other plans as he protested.

“Oi! Oi! Stay on your side!” he shouted.

I huffed, ignoring his demands. “I am. Scoot over.”

He groaned yet scooted over, allowing me to steal his side. I clutched Flower to my chest and sighed.

…

“You don’t bring girls often to your apartment, huh?” I questioned, smiling as he shifted in bed, spluttering out nonsense.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” he shouted, offended.

“I mean that your bed is small, so you never thought of sleeping with anyone when you bought it. Sad, sad little virgin.” I teased.

“Shut up! Like anybody would willing sleep with you!” he huffed.

“Ohoho~ well you’re mistaken, sweetheart.” I laughed, causing him to blow up.

“I will suffocate you with this pillow!” he claimed.

“You won’t, you need me.” I smiled.

He stayed quiet before eventually huffing, “Whatever.”

“Aw! You didn’t deny it!” I smiled, turning my head over to see him, well, try to.

I could kind of see him, my eyes adjusting to the dark. I noticed how he was already looking at me, his bright red eyes visible.

“What?” I questioned.

He squinted, glaring at me before sighing.

“It’s kinda cute…” he spoke.

I waited for him to add context to it, glad that it was dark enough to not see my red face.

“The bunny, I mean. Not you. Obviously.” He scoffed.

“I’ll take it as a win.” I smiled.

We stayed quiet, turning our backs to one another as they pressed up against each other. I ignored the heat on my face and the fact that we're so close together.

“You should get a fan. It’ll make this room cooler and it’ll be great background noise for this awkward silence.” I spoke.

He sighed. “Yeah. I will.”

Parts: One, current part, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten (to be continued when Spy x Family has more Yuri content!)

Want more Yuri content? Check out the Want more Yuri content? Check out the Yuri Briar Masterlist!

Have any requests? Check my masterlist to see the characters I write for: Masterlist (Please request, I have too much free time and too little fics).

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crookedorel · 6 months

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zinnia : how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ? has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ? >:)

Okay let's talk about loss, actually. Loss is such an important theme in Shadows of Valentia, and in the character arcs of its entire cast. If I were feeling ambitious I'd argue that loss and the way that it's handled is The Theme, which shaped the forming of the nations, to kicking off the plot, and the negative space of each of the cast's loss is so visible and apparent in every action they take, like an embrace of those they don't want to or can't forget.

But that's an essay for another time.

Berkut being one of the major antagonists, and foil to the two protagonists, his losses affect the plot just as heavily. There is of course the obvious, and we'll discuss those in a minute, but I actually want to discuss a loss that doesn't get brought up in-game but has such clear and disastrous ramifications for Valentia as a whole.

Because you see, when Berkut was a boy, his father died.

(Cut for length. You know how it goes. SOV spoilers as well)

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Oh, boo hoo, this is Dead Father the Series, and you don't see anyone else letting themselves get possessed by a war god and sacrificing their loved ones' souls for greater power." And you're right! But bear with me, because there's more to it than that.

To start putting this into context, I'm going to pull from Valentia Accordion (the Berkut entry in which was translated by our very own Ree, here's your crown regent 👑). We learn from Berkut's section that before his father's passing, Berkut was a timid boy, to the point that even riding horseback made him cry - and after his father's passing, his mother raised him quite strictly, to harden him up so that none could tease him for growing up without a father.

As with most things Valentia, this is such a dense sentence, so let's unpack it a bit.

Obviously that's a fucked up thing to expect, that your child will be harassed for having lost a parent, but kids are cruel, and from this sentence we learn that Rigel values patrilineal lines, and to an extreme extent. Since they're the imperial family with very few heirs, it seems incredibly unlikely that Berkut's father married below his station (bordering on impossible – this is no Meghan Markle situation) - and since Berkut obviously ended up the crown prince, the heir to the empire barring any usurpers, his mother clearly retained influence within the imperial court during her time there, as noble and mother to the future Emperor.

And yet, a single mother, even widowed, still casts a shameful shadow in Rigel. We do not learn how Berkut's father died, but I'm of the opinion it was illness, for a couple of reasons: first, we have historical precedent. Generally in monarchical families that have multiple sons, the first (the heir) learns military affairs and politics, the better to ascend the throne or position when the time comes – the second (the spare) would then learn ecclesiastical affairs and gain a position in the religious affairs of the state, the better to support his brother further down the line.

Secondly, his death is implied to be something to be ashamed of, something that children would tease Berkut for. Though misogyny runs strong in many cultures, it doesn't seem enough that his mother would be concerned that his father dying on its own would be enough that Berkut would need to toughen up. Given that Rigel has such a strong martial culture, and the hard turn that Berkut's mother imposed upon him after her husband's death, it would follow that for men, there is one acceptable death: battle.

As we know, I don't put a lot of stock into Heroes' characterization, but occasionally they give us nice little nuggets, such as this one, from A Splendid Soiree level 40:

Unlike his older brother the emperor, my father was a kind, gentle man. He passed ere I was 10 years old. My mother smiled often when I was small.

If nothing else, it seemed, Berkut's mother was determined to ensure that, for better or worse, Berkut did not end up like his father.

And he didn't. Kind and gentle are not words that I would associate with Berkut, except specifically when he's interacting with Rinea – but even with that influence, we see that he is definitely a young man shaped by his upbringing, and by the culture around him. He's eager to fight, even to the point of what I would consider emotional immaturity – he's unable to see human lives for what they are, and when he first meets Alm he refers to the battle as practice, as sport, as exercise, like it's just a game that he's playing.

I think it's this disconnect that he has, this inability or the inexperience to actively practice empathy (decidedly not a value in Rigel), that makes him so susceptible to outside influences: be that Rigelian people or culture as a whole, or Rudolf's or his mother's, Duma's or Nuibaba's, or even Fernand's.

Yes, Fernand's. Despite the fact that Fernand is a political prisoner, it is undeniable that he has more worldly experience (in and out of wartime) than Berkut by the simple fact of his age. We don't have an official age for him, but we can get a good guestimate based on Clive and Mathilda's ages – 27 and 28, respectively. A full decade, at the very least, older than Berkut.

Now, this is not to say, of course, that Fernand knowingly exerted any influence over Berkut, or manipulated him – but it is to say that teenagers of Berkut's general disposition are eager to show off, and will adjust the behaviors they display in order to impress the people around them, especially those who are older or more experienced. And with Fernand himself leaning so idealistic, wanting to see something specific, it seems clear to me that natural showman Berkut was eager to mold himself into that, and to show it off at any opportunity.

Which, by the way, is something that Berkut is shown doing throughout the game, in each of his appearances – mirroring the expectations presented to him, molding himself to fit into whatever those opposite him have decided he should be, and being so proud that he gets a good grade in being manipulated.

Now, I know it seems like we're getting off topic, and that I'm trying to avoid the elephant in the room, but I promise I'm not – this is all incredibly important context for what comes next, which of course that he, under the influence of Duma's possession, sacrifices Rinea.

By this point, he has lost to Alm multiple times – with an audience, no less – he has called upon the magic pushed on him by breaking the mirror Nuibaba gave him, and he has learned that this stranger who has been defeating him all over the country is actually the one who is supposed to be the emperor's heir. Not only has Alm beaten him in battle in front of someone Berkut wanted to impress, but he has, seemingly without any of the effort Berkut has been putting in over the last several years to gain Rudolf's favor, jumped the line of succession, and is coming to take not just Rigel, but Berkut's father figure.

The second father he has lost.

Watching the scene wherein Duma fully possesses Berkut, or even just reading the script, you can feel that the ground ready to open under his feet, and his grip over his own mental autonomy is tenuous at best. He is paranoid, he lashes out, and most importantly, he's confused. The scene begins by explicitly telling us that he does not know how he arrived at Duma Temple, and he is immediately beset by Duma's presence, the voice of a god offering the power that Berkut has felt slipping from his fingers.

Whether he explicitly accepted Duma, or whether Duma forced his way in, we do not know. What we do know, however, is that the change in his personality is immediate and obvious. Both Rinea and Fernand clock that whoever is speaking, it isn't the Berkut they know – by this point, though, it's too late, and he attacks and heavily injures both of them, with Fernand making it far enough to warn Alm, and with Rinea being sacrificed to Duma.

However much of Berkut remained during his battle of Alm, it's clear from his battle quote that all of these losses, one right after another, lined up in a perfect queue of dominoes, and gripped him until his death:

You… You took…everything from me. You will SUFFER for what you’ve done!

Then, after his defeat:

Alm: Why, Berkut? To have finally found family after all this time… Why did it come to this?! Berkut: Heh… I have no family…nor do I want for one.

To put a bow on the series of tragedies that shaped Berkut into a man he didn't want to be, the family and companionship that he so desperately needed had arrived, had knocked the sense back into him just in time for him to die.

But not before one final chastisement, from the one person who had never asked him to be anything except himself:

Rinea: Dear, proud Berkut… Even without crown or throne or castle… You were ever my emperor. A just, right, and noble man… Berkut: Rinea… Rinea: You were born to lead… This just wasn’t your empire. So come with me now. Let us find our empire together. If you’ll still take me for your empress? Berkut: You’re right… You were always right. The moment I turned to a power beyond myself, the man you loved was dead. Rinea, forgive me… If you’ll have me, I’d be honored to…set out with you…

For better or worse, from his mother's influence, Berkut had not ended up like his father in his death – but, in the matter of the woman he loved, perhaps he wasn't so different.

#out of character #ask memes #botanical ask meme #meta #i've been sitting on this since i received the ask #like i knew how i wanted it to be structured #words were just really hard to word fdjkfld #anyway mirae :baseball:

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jasmariswonderland · 1 year

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Shining Hearts Chapter 9 ~ Against The Current

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter Summary: Vil makes yet another fatal error where Danica is concerned but a sudden crisis finally brings her and her remaining swans together at last.

Word Count: 11222

Warnings For This Chapter: Vil being mean, Rook being tactless, lots of angst and hints of misogyny if you squint.

A/N: A huge thank you to @twstinginthewind and @twst-the-night-away for being kid enough to let me use their ocs for this story. I’m always nervous working with ocs that aren’t my own but I hope I was able to do them justice! ❤

~~~

“Mr. and Mrs. Ledelle, you are to be congratulated for raising such an exquisitely talented young woman. At twenty-one, Fiona is the youngest principal dancer in the company’s history!”

“Talented and gorgeous. She’s sure to have a dazzling career ahead of her!”

“Thank you very much, she is certainly the brightest star of our family.”

From her place in the studio, Danica heard the adults talking outside in the observation hall, fawning over her sister, as always. She bit her lip to stave off the burning sensation in her chest. Her feelings were petty, she knew they were, but it would be a lie to say she didn’t occasionally feel jealous of Fiona. Danica’s envy wasn’t so much directed towards Fiona herself but rather the praise and love she received from everyone, especially their family.

Her sister seemed to have it all; beauty, talent, grace, the primary model for their family’s cosmetic company and now a principal dancer at the Pyroxene Royal Ballet. Everyone in their world seemed to adore her and all Danica wanted was to be adored in the same way. She knew her parents loved her, but something about how they loved her was different compared to how they loved Fiona.

Perhaps it was because she was so much younger than her other siblings, perhaps it was because she was so quiet, or perhaps it was her peculiarity when she did speak. And perhaps Danica’s envy of Fiona wouldn’t run so deep if their family showed her even half the attention they would to her. Sometimes she even wondered how things would be if their roles were reversed and Danica was the elder sister. She wondered if their parents would treat Fiona with the same distance they did with her.

Still, Danica bore no ill will towards her sister and that made the comparisons their parents made between them sting all the more.

Focus, keep your mind on the barre.

Her feet went into relevè and she momentarily forgot her feelings to concentrate on keeping her position. Pointe work was far from easy, especially at barely ten years old. But it had been her own wish. After all the teachers often commented on how quickly she was improving, why should she have to wait three more years? It was still difficult though, maintaining her balance on such little support. Her sister made it seem as easy as walking.

“And it’s clear the well of talent does not stop at Fiona,” she heard one of her teachers say, piquing her interest again. “Danica has fantastic promise herself. To begin pointe work at such a young age with such incredible drive. Naturally, we have great expectations for her as well. She’s certain to follow in Fiona’s footsteps when she’s older.”

“Maybe not even that far in the future. She’s already cultivating her own grace and artistic style that differs from Fiona’s in the most striking way.”

“Danica is already proving herself to be a prodigy in her own right.”

This made her smile. Praise from the ballet masters was a rare thing and a sign that she knew she was doing well. And if they could see how hard she was working, surely her parents could too. At least, that was what she wished. Her mother's response, unfortunately, dashed that hope.

“Thank you, though I wonder if she’s too young to be wearing pointe shoes. In her enthusiasm to match her sister, we sometimes worry that she’s being overzealous.”

Danica did not hear the rest of this as she gripped on the barre in sudden frustration. No, once again the comparison was made between her and her sister. Why did it have to be that Danica was trying to match Fiona? Why couldn’t it ever be that she wanted to be the best she could be? Of her own volition? For her own reasons? And the proceeding comment from her father only made it worse.

“Really, she still has such a long way to go before she can even think to be on Fiona’s level.”

“But Mr. and Mrs. Ledelle, is it really overzealous if her talent comes so naturally?”

“She owes all her talent to her desire to be like Fiona,” her mother replied. “But if you ask me, allowing her to be en pointe is taking it too far. Fiona didn’t begin pointe work until she was thirteen.”

But I don’t want to be Fiona! She clenched her teeth. I just want whatever she has that makes you love her so much! I know I’m not like Fiona because if I were, maybe you’d stop saying things like that!

Danica was well aware of the eyes upon her and in a fit of frustration, stepped away from the barre to do’s pirouette. Hopefully showing just how capable she was with the pointes in spite of her young age. But her balance was still off and she quickly reached out for the barre so she wouldn’t fall. She tried the pirouette one more time and was slightly more successful, but her supporting foot was sickled and she landed too hard. Pain shot up her leg and she let out a little cry. She heard her mother reiterate to her teacher how she was too young to be en pointe and she gripped the barre with both hands, biting back humiliated tears.

No, I’m nothing like Fiona, I never will be.

~~~

“How’s my favorite little sister doing?”

It was later that evening and Fiona’s bright, smiling face peeked through the cracked doorway of Danica’s room. Danica was sitting on her bed, sewing a new set of ribbons to her shoes, and looked up to smile back at her sister.

“Yeah right, I’m your only little sister!” She giggled.

“All the more reason why you’re my favorite!” Fiona sat on the bed, close to Danica as she looked at what she was doing. “I know I’ve been busy lately, it seems like forever since we’ve been able to chat alone like this.”

“You’re a professional ballerina now,” Danica sighed. “And a model. You don’t have time for me anymore but that’s okay. You shouldn’t, that’s how it should be.”

“Danica! How could you say such a thing!” Fiona sounded genuinely hurt. “All of that may be true, our family will always come first to me,” she wrapped her arms around her sister. “And you’ll always come first to me too.”

Her embrace was warm, but somehow, Danica felt cold. Really, Fiona was the sweetest older sister a girl could wish for. She might have been more dismissive of her when she was younger, but in recent years, she had become much kinder and was nothing but gentle and encouraging to her younger sister. Making the indifference Danica received from their parents all the more disheartening and her feelings of envy all the more disgusting to her. She pulled away.

“What’s troubling you?” Danica didn’t respond with words, only staring down pensively at the pointe shoes she was sewing. Fiona acutely noticed a large red bruise on her sister’s foot. “Pointework can be really tough, huh?”

“Not for you!” replied Danica, feeling suddenly upset as she remembered that afternoon. “I’m sure pointework comes easy for you, like everything else!”

“Oh, Danica.” Fiona could see the tears coming and gently ran her hands up and down her back. “I still think you’re too young to be dancing en pointe, my teacher told me not to even think about it until I was twelve. But at the same time, I admire how determined you are. I know…”

“I’ll never be like you though!” Danica sniffed. “Mom and Dad are always saying I’m just trying to match you but I’m not! I can never match you because you’ll always be a better dancer than me.”

Fiona sighed, she had heard some of their parents’ comments as well and truthfully took issue with them, even if she never said anything. It was true when Danica was younger, she dismissed her desire to dance as copying her as well. But now she was older, en pointe, and had proven her devotion to the art was as genuine as her own.

To compare the sisters was not only unfair, considering how different they were in age and personality, but also somewhat cruel. Danica would never fully grow into her own as a performer if she wasn’t allowed to develop herself without having to live up to unfair expectations or comparisons. She would only continue comparing herself to Fiona and never see how gifted she truly was.

“Danica, listen to me,” she said at last. “You shouldn’t expect to be a dancer like me. You aren’t me, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a lot to offer.”

“I don’t understand,” replied Danica.

“You are talented in your own right, not just because you’re my sister. You’re your own person, your own kind of dancer. You should focus on being the best version of that person you can be and no one else.”

“I want to be the best dancer I can be, that’s what I really want. I asked to begin pointe work because that's what I want.” Danica glanced up at her sister, locking eyes with her. “I want to be like you, Fiona. But what I want more than that is for who I am to be enough.”

“Who you are is enough, Danica!” Fiona hugged Danica again. “And trust me, Mom and Dad will see your determination in time, just like I did.” She softly lifted her chin up so she could see her smiling at her. “You will be so brilliant when you’re older, I can already see that. I’m so excited to see how you grow into your own as a performer. But no matter what, you will always be enough, Danica. You are enough.”

~~~

Ramshackle Dorm ~ Danica’s Temporary Room

In her hazy mind, Danica heard her sister’s voice. Or at least, a voice that sounded a lot like hers; it was kind, soothing, singing the lullaby Fiona would often sing to her when she was still a baby. It was comforting, but also painful as this could only be a dream, a memory of times long gone with the reminder of her grim reality forcing her mind awake.

She opened her eyes but her vision was blurry from a mixture of tears and the darkness around her. For a while she lay still, softly sniffing as she remembered all that had transpired before she fell asleep. Her head was throbbing and her body felt especially heavy with all the sadness she carried with her from the day. Sadness that continued even as she was sleeping and exacerbated further with the bittersweet memory of her late sister.

Why…why did you leave me? When I need you now more than ever?

A loud sob escaped her and she pressed her face into her pillow. Danica felt something shift on her bed, and the feeling of a hand gently patting the top of her head. This forced her to turn her body around, and freeze as her eyes made out a large shadow laying inches away from her nose. She was certain she closed her door when she returned to her room for the night and when she looked towards it, she saw it was closed. Her heart stopped.

“Who’s…there…?” she softly called out, her voice shaking. In response, a hand slowly ran down her arm, taking her hand in theirs. Danica tried to pull her hand away but they tightened their grip and she gasped. A familiar voice shushed her. “Rook-san! Why are you…”

“Mon Dieu, I seem to have woken you from your slumber.”

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could now see the intense green of his eyes gazing down at her. She shifted upwards to a sitting position and reached out to turn on her lamp. Seeing him with the lights on was somewhat more alarming than the realization that he was there in the first place. It was shocking, slightly frightening, but also, secretly, it was thrilling.

“W…why are you here?” Danica asked. “And why did you…were you…watching me sleep?”

“Ah mademoiselle, I was returning to my room for the night and heard your tears through the door. Oh, how it broke my heart to hear you in such sorrow.” Rook reached out to caress her cheek, but she flinched at the contact, still unsure what to make of this strange encounter. “I know you’ve had a rough day. So I decided I would come here and be a comfort to you.”

She sighed and looked up at him. He smiled and she lowered her eyes again, blushing. Strange as this was, there was something almost sweet in his words and it was enough for her to briefly forget her sadness. The greatest difference between him and Vil. Without realizing it, she moved closer to him and didn’t resist when he placed his arm around her.

“How long was I asleep?” She murmured.

“It is half past two, so about three hours. But you did not appear to rest at all in that time. You seemed so troubled that rest wouldn’t come to you.” He gazed thoughtfully at her. “I would love to know what is troubling mon petit cynge. And what I can do to ease her worries.”

“Oh Rook,” Danica closed her eyes as she felt the burning sensation of tears. “I don’t even know anymore. It’s just so much, and just when I think things might work out with my team or with the VDC, something else happens!” She pressed her face to her hands. “I feel so lost. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m doing my best. I just want him to see that.”

“You mean Roi du Poison?”

“Yes, I feel like nothing I do is good enough for him! It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, nothing I do is good enough for anyone! I can never be enough for anyone! And I don’t know how much I can take before…”

“Hush…”

Rook hugged her, pressing her face to his chest and rubbing her back softly. She was so close that she could smell his scent, pleasantly sweet, and hear his heart beating against her cheek. And he was warm, so warm. The feeling was overwhelming and finally, all of her emotions, her frustrations with Vil, her humiliation about the magicam leak, her sadness at missing Fiona, and her doubts for the VDC, all of it broke through at once.

“Why can’t I ever be enough?!” She cried. “I want to succeed. And I do want people to appreciate what I do. I don’t want to be vilified, like Vil is worried about. But what’s wrong with me? I’m really trying, Rook. And for once I just want…”

“Il n’y a acun probleme avec vous, cherie,” he whispered, gently running his hand through her hair. “You are enough, Danica.”

You are enough.

Hearing her sister’s words again, spoken by Rook, was somehow very comforting. She looked up at him, there was such kindness in his eyes, kindness she felt she had been lacking for a very long time. Whenever she felt stressed or sad, whenever Vil’s expectations were too much for her or his critique hit too hard, Danica could always be certain that Rook would give her the reassurance and the tenderness she yearned for.

“Rook-san…”

“Do you remember what I told you before?” he asked, taking her chin into his hand. “Every word I speak, I mean from the bottom of my heart. The question is, do you believe me?”

He subtly pulled her face closer to his and she felt her cheeks heat up with a strange mix of embarrassment and excitement. She couldn’t even ponder his question as all she could think of was what a lovely shade of green his eyes were, how close they were and how, at that moment, she wanted to be even closer. His gaze locked with hers and she closed her eyes for a moment of reprieve.

Rook took this as a silent confirmation of her heart’s desire and pressed his lips against hers in a slow, intentional kiss. This time, she did not resist him, nor did she want to.

Yes, she was enough. For the briefest moment, Danica believed it to be so. She allowed Rook to push her back onto the bed and sighed as she felt him deepening their kiss. His tongue brushed against her lips, encouraging her to open them up to him, which she did. All the while, Rook refused to let go of her, embracing her tightly as though she could never be close enough to him. No matter how hard she pressed herself to him, he pressed back with double the ardor. When their kiss broke, Danica nuzzled into his neck, soft sounds of contentment escaping her as Rook peppered soft little kisses along her cheek and jawbone. Every touch of his lips was like the sweetest whisper of his adoration, though he said nothing at all, leaving her skin starving more and more for his touch.

And for the briefest moment, Danica believed that she was enough, and was glad that at least Rook thought so too.

“Tu es parfait, mon cygne parfait,” he murmured, pulling back from his kiss to smile down at her, running his hand down her cheek. “My beautiful, perfect, pure white swan.”

Perfect pure white swan

Perfect white swan

White swan…

No… Danica quickly shut her eyes, biting the inside of her lip to force the sudden, rapid influx of intrusive thoughts. She wanted to enjoy this. She wanted to savor this moment with her crush, a crush where the feelings were mutual. Rook had always been kind to her, encouraging even when Vil was critical. They had a mutual attraction to each other, and he was now kissing her. His fondness for her had to be genuine. Surely he would love her for her, no matter how she presented herself or what kind of performer she wanted to be. Surely, as she was now, she was still enough.

“My perfect white swan…”

Why would our darling little potato wish to become a black swan? When she’s already so radiant as a white one?

Indeed…she was enough. The image of the pure and sweet damsel, led on the dancefloor or romanced by her senior for all to see, the cursed white swan loved by the prince. That Danica would always be enough for people, that was clear. But the Danica she was truly? With all her confusing thoughts, complex emotions, and secret desires, would she ever be enough?

“I adore you, mon petit cygne blanc…”

No. This wasn’t right. This was beginning to feel exactly how she felt with Vil a few hours prior. No matter how hard she tried to push back her thoughts, Rook’s praises didn’t sit right with her and she couldn’t enjoy his affection. No matter how hard she tried. No matter how much she wanted to.

A black swan can never stand by the side of a prince.

He was bringing her face to his for another kiss but he paused when he saw the look Danica wore. It was pained, her eyes were squeezed shut but a few tears had slid down her cheeks. And she was subtly shaking her head.

“What’s wrong, cherie?” he asked. “Am I hurting you?”

“Ahhh…ah, no! I’m fine!

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, his deep green gaze was beyond enticing and she cursed her mind for refusing to allow her to enjoy it. She brought her lips to his and tried to continue what he had begun, but he moved away.

“Your lips say you’re fine,” he said. “But your eyes say differently. Something is still troubling you.”

With someone as perceptive as Rook, Danica knew that further denial would be useless. She turned away from him, frustration and sadness flowing down her face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whimpered. “I want this, I do. And I know I never gave you a…solid answer regarding what you asked me over winter break. When we were at your house and…”

“Non, mademoiselle. Do not apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong. And you have answered me,” he smiled, pulling her into an embrace. “When I kissed you, the way you responded to me, was that not your answer?”

Danica hesitated before burying her face in her hands. “I wish it could be. I want it to be, everything in my mind and heart is telling me this is right. But…but…”

I’m not good enough, I want to be. I want to be a perfect swan for you and for Vil. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I…?

“I can’t…I don’t know why but this doesn’t feel right. It’s not like before, maybe it’s my stress. Or something else…maybe…”

“Something else, ma cherie?” He asked, patting her shoulder to get her attention. “Or, perhaps it’s someone else?”

Ever perceptive, but Danica vehemently shook her head. Her face was still in her hands. “What? No! No! No! NO! I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I’m sorry! I just can’t!”

“Ah, mon petit cygne, you have no need to apologize,” he sighed. “You have not upset me, for I understand what you are going through.”

“No, Rook. I don’t think you do,” she shook her head. “Because honestly, I do not know myself half of the time. I want to do my best, win the VDC and meet everyone’s expectations. But sometimes I wonder if I’m being pushed further away from what I want, and then I become confused as to what I really do want.”

“Ah but that is where you’re wrong. For when you explain it in that way, indeed I do understand,” he gave her a little smile, rubbing her back in a comforting manner. “Perhaps I can help advise you in the right direction. If you will allow me to.”

“You’ve always given me good advice, Rook-san,” she managed a small smile of her own. “And it’s always been useful. So yes, please advise me. I think yours is the only advice I can trust right now.”

Rook thoughtfully gazed at her, wondering to himself how best to explain what he wished to say. How to form his thoughts into words. The truth was, he was concerned for her as well, just as Sidonie was. But his concerns were quite different and what he said next reflected that.

“I have observed you over these last few weeks,” he said. “And I’ve observed Vil, as well as the both of you together. And when I do, I am reminded of an incident that occurred when I was still a child. I was playing too close to a fast moving river, walking along a bunch of logs that buckled under my weight. Causing me to fall right in.”

“Oh no!” Danica gasped. “That sounds scary!”

“Indeed it was, ma cherie. You cannot imagine my terror, and the current was so powerful that it quickly carried me away with it. I found it impossible to escape. My heart was racing, I struggled to swim to safety but I couldn’t. I was certain I would drown.”

“But you didn’t,” she replied, smiling a little. “How did you manage to escape?”

“The current was rapid and u relenting, but only when I stopped fighting against it, did it carry me to a low landing tree branch. I quickly caught hold of it and pulled myself up out of the water. But I was only able to make my way to safety after I allowed myself to flow with the river instead of against it.”

He gave her a thoughtful look, as if to tell her she should seriously consider his words.

“You are me, Danica. Myself as a child, and Vil is the river, flowing fast and unrelenting. You are struggling against the current which in this case are his wishes. And if you continue to struggle against this current…”

I’m…I’m going to drown…

Rook did not say this aloud, but his silence after this statement was just as good as if he had. Danica suddenly felt chilled, lowering her head with a distinct feeling of sickness. It was true, in spite of all that had happened, she was ultimately still dissatisfied with the direction of her VDC performance. And she wasn’t the only one, Iman made her disdain for her costume quite clear and Sidonie frequently hinted at her real feelings even if she never said anything directly.

From the beginning, she tried to hide her feelings. She made a promise to Vil to acquiesce to his wishes and for the most part was successful. But between Crisanta’s departure from the group and the events of the last few hours, she now felt it harder than ever. What’s worse was now, more than ever, Danica felt herself close to turning her back on Vil after what he had done. He had exposed her in a very personal way, put their budding romance on full display before she was even certain about him, and worst of all, had betrayed her trust.

Danica was hurt. She was hurt, humiliated, tired and was seriously considering going against his wishes and putting on the performance she truly wanted. As it stood now, Vil had made it clear that if she were to be enough for him, she would have to remain the same forever. Danica could never evolve as a performer, she could never try new things, she would always have to worry about not being provocative because just as he had said, a black swan could never stand by the side of a prince.

But with little more than two weeks before the VDC, she knew that doing something so drastic could prove disastrous. And yet, the thought would not leave her mind. Indeed, she was swimming against the current, and was at serious risk of being swallowed by it.

“I think…I understand what you’re saying,” she said at last. “And you’ve always given me helpful advice. But…” hesitating. “How can you be sure that I won’t be swallowed by the current? Even if I follow it? What would I do if the current takes me to a place further from the shore?”

“Because no matter how far the current takes you, soon enough you will find a way to pull yourself to safety,” Rook smiled. “But you cannot fight the current, cherie. And you cannot fight what you truly know in your heart to be right.”

He sounded so sure, so certain, and she had to admit there was some merit to his words. It seemed no matter how hard she resisted, whether openly or in her mind, everything around her was pushing her to remain one way even as she felt herself becoming another. Part of her wanted to remain the same, knowing it was what everyone around her wanted and feeling she might even be happier. But another part of her still questioned why change was so terrible in the first place.

And as long as she had those questions, Danica knew she would never know peace. Rook could tell by the pensive look she wore that she was seriously considering his words. And not wanting to disturb her, he decided it was best to leave, but not before cradling her head in his hands and kissing her forehead.

“Do not fight the current, mon petit cygne,” he said. “It’s not a fight you can win. Consider what I’ve told you and worry not, you do not have to give me an answer about my proposal until after the VDC has completed. By then, I know you’ll have an answer for me.” He gave her a little smile as he closed the door. “And by then, I’m sure you will have learned how to flow gracefully with the current.”

Danica was alone once again, alone with nothing but her thoughts for company. At the corner of her room was a full mirror and she slid out of bed to look into it. As she gazed at her reflection, she considered Rook’s words as well as what Vil had told her weeks prior. In the mirror, she tried to envision the girl they wanted her to be: innocent, sweet and fragile.

Unfortunately, the girl she saw was one who wanted to allure. Someone who wanted to inspire passion and derive power and confidence through performing. And after tonight, she had now become a girl with personal desires that were extremely unbecoming of an innocent white swan.

She knew what they wanted for her, knew what she needed to do to make them happy, but knew also that her own happiness would be the price. And it was a price that, as time went on, she was more and more unsure that she wanted to pay.

~~~

And yet, somehow, life continued on. The Swans of Six continued practicing and preparing to perform for the headmage. But Danica’s heart certainly was no longer in her performance and whatever comfort Joker and Violetta had given her had completely vanished once she knew the truth about the magicam leak. From that point onward, Danica felt as though she were constantly wearing a mask, a mask of sweetness to hide the anger and sadness that was bubbling under the surface.

Naturally, Vil did not bring up what had occurred between them that night in his room and made it clear to Danica that he expected the same from her for the time being. He did not have to worry though, as much as Danica wanted to, she wouldn’t dare. And as much as she wanted to understand the depth of what he was feeling, she knew it was best if she didn’t know.

As it stood, besides Sidonie, none of her teammates were aware of what had happened or even that Vil was responsible for the leak. They knew that they had a very heated row, there wasn’t a single person in the house that didn’t know that. But they figured it was related to what happened with Epel. And for the sake of peace and getting through the VDC with no more problems, Danica resolved to keep it that way and told Sidonie not to say anything either.

“I don’t understand,” Sidonie said when Danica told her. “The fact that I was right notwithstanding, what is the use of staying quiet? Who does it benefit besides Vil?”

“It benefits everyone!” Danica replied. “It benefits both teams because there will be no scandal or drama before the VDC. Crowley told me that this is the first time girls have been featured in the VDC in more than a decade! We can’t risk that! The important thing now is that we prepare to win!”

“And what about you, Danica? How does staying quiet benefit you?”

“It benefits me because I no longer have to deal with Vil’s anger. And as buzz about the video dies down…” she sighed. “The point is, I don’t want any of the girls to know so please, Sidonie, just humor me. I know you were right but there are more important things to consider right now.”

The older girl scoffed. She really didn’t see how anything was more important than Danica’s hurt or even her own personal vindication. But for her sake, Sidonie promised to remain silent on the matter, but she made her displeasure known at every opportunity. Her icy glare whenever Vil walked into a room spoke her disdain louder than her words ever could. And as the days passed and Danica slowly became more despondent, it was increasingly becoming too much for her to bear.

Soon enough, Vil’s harshness was affecting her more than usual, Vidaria’s titters were becoming harder to ignore, and she soon felt like a part of one magnificent, beautiful farce.

~~~

The day before the Swans of Six and NRC Tribe were set to perform for the headmage, Danica woke up to the sound of heated arguing coming from across the hall. At once she knew who it was before even opening her eyes and she groaned. It was still early, couldn’t Sidonie and Vidaria at least have the decency not to start it until after breakfast? Her mind was still hazy with sleep, so she didn’t hear what they were arguing about despite how loud they were. And she did not realize that her team was about to lose yet another swan.

It wasn’t until a few hours later after the boys headed to Pomefiore for rehearsal, that Danica realized what the arguing was about. When the girls gathered in the reception hall, she saw that Sidonie was not present. She immediately thought it odd since Danica knew she had heard Sidonie earlier and it wasn’t like her to oversleep anyway. Iman and Vidaria gave each other a concerned look, both silently wondering if they should tell her what they already knew.

“Where’s Sidonie?” Danica asked, a question not quite directed at anyone in particular. “I know I…heard her earlier this morning.”

“D…Danica…” Vidaria began, rather hesitantly. “Have you and Sidonie…talked at all today? I know it’s still morning but has she…”

“Today?” Danica shook her head, thinking the question quite odd. “No, not today. We haven’t talked since last night after dinner. In fact, I haven’t seen her at all this morning, not at…”

“Are you serious?!” Iman jumped in. “How thoughtless! You mean Sidonie dropped out and didn’t even have the decency to tell you or even…”

“Sister!”

“HUH?!”

Taima and Ione collectively gasped and Danica’s mouth went agape, too shocked to move or utter a single sound. She closed her eyes as she felt the blood rush through her head and every other sound around her became a blur.

Sidonie was her closest friend in Pomefiore as well as her mentor. From the moment Danica entered NRC, Sidonie had gone out of her way to lend her a helping hand whenever she needed it. They had their disagreements, but when push came to shove, Danica knew that Sidonie always had her back.

And she had promised that she would stay with her and see her through the VDC. If Crisanta’s departure wasn’t difficult enough, Sidonie’s departure made her feel inconsolable. She grabbed at her hair, making a loud noise that was a mix between screaming and sobbing. When would this nightmare end?

“Why?” Danica asked, her voice uncharacteristically low as she quickly composed herself. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” Vidaria asked her. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play dumb! I don’t wanna hear that!” Danica glared at her and Iman. “I heard you all arguing this morning! What happened? Why did Sidonie decide to…”

“She didn’t decide! Vil kicked her off!” Iman replied, folding her arms. “Or at least that’s what she told us. Frankly, I find it hard to believe.”

“And why would Vil-san do that?!” Danica asked, but as the words left her mouth, she realized that such a thing could very well be possible. “No…would Vil really…”

“I’m only telling you what Sidonie told us. She said Vil felt that she was the weakest member of our team and was holding us back. Lowkey, that’s kind of true but even so…”

“SHUT UP!” Danica cried, her head pounding and her cheeks burning with anger. “NOT A WORD! She was doing her best, just like all of us! At least she was committed and didn’t give up like Crisanta!”

“Crisanta didn’t give up!” Ione retorted. “She wanted to stay and you know it! Maybe if Iman and Vidaria stopped instigating things between Sidonie…”

“Who’s instigating who?!” Vidaria snapped. “She’s the one who’s always hated me, not the other way around! She’s the one who’s gone out of her way to ruin my life! She’s the one who couldn’t deal with me!”

“Yeah because you’re always sniffing around Trey!” Taima replied. “Because you know she likes him you get a kick out of flirting with him!”

“Hmph, did Sidonie tell you that?!” Vidaria rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows she likes Trey, she’s not subtle in the slightest but it’s not my fault if Trey is nice to everyone!”

“Seriously! Why was she even let on the team in the first place!”

“I could ask the same about you Iman!” Shouted Danica, not even bothering to hide her tears. “Hell, I could ask the same for ANY of you because ALL you have done since day one it bitch and fight! Bitch and fight! BITCH AND FIGHT! And now we have to tailor our performance AGAIN and tomorrow we perform for the headmage! What are we going to do now?! This is ridiculous!”

“Well, it’s NOT our fault!” Iman snapped back. “We’ll get past this! We’ll probably be even better now without the dead weight!”

“DON’T refer to her like that! And you’re right, Iman, we WILL get past this because at this point, I’M NOT ALLOWING FOR ANYTHING LESS!” Danica let out another loud sob before roughly rubbing her eyes and quickly scrolling through her tablet to turn on the music. She exhaled loudly. “I’m done being nice! Everyone get in position NOW! We have less than twenty-four hours to finalize our performance and NO ONE is leaving this room until we do!”

Iman was about to say something but Vidaria stopped her before she could. Taima watched her friend with a heaviness aching in her heart. She knew how much Danica relied on Sidonie and was honestly angry at her for leaving Danica in her time of need. And she was angry at Vil, Iman, and Vidaria for whatever they did to drive her out. It was only a matter of time now before Danica snapped and what was worse was that Taima knew there was little she could do. Looking at her was like looking at a house on fire and it was all she could do not to throw her arms around her. But now, as was often the case, was not the time.

~~~

“Aww no fair! The girls get flashy new costumes but we don’t?!”

Kalim moped looking at the five girls standing beside them. It was the day of their performance for the headmage and Vil decided that they would all practice in full costume from that point onward since the VDC was now so close. While Danica’s team had white feathered costumes, custom designed by Farron, the boys would perform in their school uniforms. Vil explained how the school uniform look actually worked better for the NRC Tribe since they were a boy group. But the uniforms they wore now were custom tailored with fabric that stretched and were better suited for dancing.

“Still, I personally would have preferred outfits with a little more razzle-dazzle,” Kalim went on.

“But it’s not our call to make,” Jamil replied.

“And why would you want costumes like those?” Ace asked, pointing sarcastically at the girls. “With all that white, they look like they’ve fallen head first into a fluffy pile of feathers!”

“Shut it, Ace!” Yuulan snapped. “I think they look adorable!”

“Oui! A flock of perfect white swans!” Added Rook.

“Eh, well I personally wouldn’t wanna be compared to a bird with a long neck that can’t even fly. But that’s just me.”

“Swans can so fly, idiot!” Ione grumbled under her breath.

But Danica barely heard Ace’s comments or the others for that matter. They were all tired after practicing all the previous day with little rest and even less food. She had been true to her word and none of them left the reception hall until they knew what they would be doing today. All things considered, tailoring their performance was surprisingly easy now that they once again had an odd number of members. Memorizing it in such a limited amount of time was what was difficult.

To say nothing about their costumes. This would be the first time they performed in them and they’d be lying if they didn’t find them uncomfortable. The material was soft and similar to the fabric used for the boys’ new uniforms, but besides Ione, none of them found what they wore appealing. Danica had thought she would have time to get accustomed to her outfit since she did like the design, but after all that had happened, she couldn’t be happy with it in good conscience.

When she looked in the mirror, she no longer felt confident and certainly not powerful. Danica felt like a child or someone not to be taken seriously. Expected only to be adorable and nothing else. This was not the kind of performer she wanted to be in the slightest and far from feeling confident, Danica felt repressed.

Do not fight the current, it’s not a fight you can win.

Taima saw the look in her friend’s eyes and subtly squeezed her hand, leaning into her to whisper in her ear.

“Screw Ace! He’s just mad he won’t be singing solo for their song!”

In spite of her dark mood, Danica smiled at this and turned to Ione to whisper in her ear as well.

“Be sure to sing out for your solo, and show them what you’re made of!”

“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises!” Ione sharply replied.

“Quiet everyone!”

Vil clapped his hands to command everyone’s attention. He instructed Yuulan to turn on the music and for his teammates to get into position.

“Danica, your group will go immediately after ours, so be ready,” he told her. “And feel free to observe, and marvel.”

Danica said nothing, still baffled that he could have such a straight face even after all that had transpired between them. That he could expose her and then kiss her all in one night and pretend nothing had happened the following day, was incredible to her and she secretly wished she could feel as nonchalant as he appeared. The fact that she knew nothing of how his own inner turmoil was plaguing him was a testament to what an incredible actor he was.

With talent like yours, you could definitely take on a more heroic role in the future. She thought. Such a shame your actions of late have been so cruel.

This was the first time she was hearing Absolutely Beautiful in its entirety and whatever her current thoughts, she had to admit it was a fantastic song. The music was catchy, the lyrics were impactful and the boys dancing was on point and beyond infectious. She had to hand it to Vil, he had really made great performers out of the NRC Tribe. Even Epel seemed to be having fun with it.

“Now this is what we needed for our performance!” Danica heard Iman whisper. “Stylish, sexy, and cool!”

“Jamil’s really killing that solo!” Vidaria added. “What was it you called that, Sister? It’s called rapping right?”

“Yeah, and I love it! Man, why do the boys get to have the fun song?”

“They are all surely talented,” said Ione. “And Vil-san in particular. He truly is radiant, even compared to Neige.”

Their comments forced Danica’s stomach into knots. Yes, Absolutely Beautiful was truly a beautiful performance worthy of victory. Unfortunately, its magnificence only highlighted how lackluster Our Happily Ever After was in comparison. At least to her.

Why can’t we be allowed to be as dynamic? It sucks! I hate being a girl sometimes!

“Oh! Ohhhhhh! Oh my goodness! That was marvelous!! So in sync. Such a stunning performance!” Crowley clasped his hands together, grinning and looking on the verge of tears. “Clearly I was right to allow Vil Schoenheit to produce the boys’ performance. Every factor of your performance was polished to perfection!”

Vil and his teammates took the headmage’s praise with gracious thanks.

“Even if we do not know what RSA has planned for the VDC, I am confident that victory for our boys is within our grasp!” Crowley turned to Danica with a benevolent smile. “And I am hoping for the same for our girls' team as well.”

“Naturally, Headmage!” Danica replied, with far more confidence than she felt. “As you’re about to see, we plan to bring as much beauty and style to our performance as the boys!”

“Our White Swan Quintet will now show you what they’ve been working on,” said Vil. “I’m certain you’ll be pleased with them as well.”

With only the most minimal of groans, the girls got in position and Yuulan clicked on their music. Danica began with a brief ballet solo before turning and moving in sync with the other four. Somehow, in spite of their exhaustion and recent bickering, they managed to put on a charming performance. Each girl sang part of the song and each voice was on point. Their choreography had greatly improved and what mistakes were made were so small, they went unnoticed. Vil and Crowley appeared to be pleased.

“Ahhhh! That was fantastic! Another beautiful performance!” Crowley nodded. “You girls have such lovely faces and grace to match! Ah, were I a younger man I would…”

The headmage immediately stopped his sentence as he realized what he was about to say. Yuulan side-eyed him from the corner of the room as he quickly cleared his throat to speak again.

“Ahem! I mean…this will definitely resonate with your audience! You are to be congratulated, Miss Ledelle, for creating such an adorable performance! Certain to capture hearts!”

“Yes, Danica. You are to be congratulated,” Vil replied kindly. “You have come so far in such a short amount of time, transforming into the perfect swan I always knew you could be. And,” he couldn’t help adding with a sly little smile, “it’s good to see that you are no longer plagued by bad influences affecting you creatively.”

At this, she and he locked eyes with each other and Danica felt another twisting sensation in her stomach. Bad influence indeed! Sidonie had been one of the few around her that she could be certain would fully be on her side! She was always supportive and kind and unfortunately, Danica had taken those things for granted and now she was gone.

But if Vil thought taking her off the team would make Danica more amenable to his wishes, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, she was now more than ever embittered at how he had essentially typecasted her as the innocent white swan and made it impossible to break free of that role. For all his talk about how she would be trapped as a black swan, she was feeling incredibly trapped at that moment. It grieved her to think she was slowly closing her heart against him. Wasn’t the prince supposed to break the curse upon the white swan? Why was he so determined to reinforce it?

After both teams had performed, Crowley then handed out tickets for the VDC to every member of each team. Affiliate passes meant for friends and family of the performers. Even Yuulan was given affiliate passes, as thanks and an incentive for allowing the teams to use her residence for the training camp.

“Great work, ladies. You all are excused to return to Ramshackle and continue rehearsing there,” said Vil. “We’ll be back this evening. As for the boys, let’s pick back up with our rehearsal as well!”

“YES SIR!” the boys said in unison.

Taima, Ione, Iman, and Vidaria began making their way out of the ballroom, all of them no doubt looking forward to removing their costumes. But Danica lagged behind.

“Wait for me out in the hallway, guys. I’ll be there in a moment,” she said, now trying to catch Vil’s attention. She softly tapped his shoulder and he turned to her with more curiosity than annoyance for once. “Before you and the boys resume practicing, can I speak to you in private?

“Can it wait, Little Potato? We really must get in as much rehearsal as we can in the time allowed.”

“No, Vil. It can’t wait. And I won’t wait.”

Vil looked at her with slight surprise as this was the first time she had ever addressed him without honorifics. He folded his arms. “This had better not be about what I think it is. After I specifically told you to drop it until after the VDC.”

“No, it’s not,” she replied. “Not this time. It’s about Sidonie.”

Vil went silent but gave her a look that told her he’d rather she drop that subject as well. But Danica remained standing there, looking up at him in a way that told him she wouldn’t leave. Rook saw them and decided to intervene.

“Ah, did I hear correctly, Mademoiselle Chanteuse? You require Vil’s attention for something?”

“No, Rook. She doesn’t,” Vil said wryly. “Danica was just leaving and…”

“Oh, no! Please see to what our petit cygne needs! I can oversee our rehearsal for a few minutes,” Rook gave Danica a small wink. “It’s no problem at all. Go, go.”

“Fine,” Vil sighed. “Come, Danica. We’ll talk in the hallway, and this had better be important.”

~~~

Vil made sure to bring Danica to a place further down the hall, away from the ballroom and hearing range of the other girls who were waiting for her. Even though she was the one who wanted this conversation, he was the first to speak.

“Your performance today was adequate to say the least,” he said. “But I saw several errors made by your teammates. You guys are still far from polished so I expect you…”

“Really?! REALLY?!” Whatever anxiety Danica felt about what she was about to ask was quickly replaced with anger. “All things considered, I think we did rather well considering we LOST YET ANOTHER MEMBER yesterday! Considering NRC Tribe hasn’t lost any members, you guys have been able to improve more and more without interruption!” She stamped her foot. “So give me a break! I’m doing my best for you!”

Vil’s mouth hung slightly open. She did have a point, but it was still a rather shocking thing to hear Danica answer back to him. Such was completely out of character for her and he would sooner expect something like this from Sidonie. All the more reason he was glad at her departure.

“But on that same note, I’d like to know something,” she went on. “WHY isn’t Sidonie here?! Do you understand how much losing her has affected us?! We probably would have looked a lot more polished if she…’

“You should ask that to her yourself!” snapped Vil. “It’s true, what you were lacking today probably would not have happened if she had not left. But that is proof of her lack of commitment to…”

“LACK OF COMMITMENT?!” Danica looked up at him, angry tears beginning to form. “Sidonie was wholly committed! It was you who decided to…”

“Lower your voice!”

“IT WAS YOUR DECISION TO DROP HER A DAY BEFORE WE PERFORM FOR THE HEADMAGE!”

Vil suddenly grabbed Danica by the wrist, with enough force to elicit a small cry from her lips. He pulled her closer to him but as soon as he had done so, he let her go, turning away from her. Danica had angered him, but that was beyond uncalled for. Such a thing was far from behaving like a hero and he knew he had already hurt her several times already. Only to do it once again.

What kind of monster am I?

“First of all, lower your voice. I won’t ask you again,” he said, his voice low and his back still turned. “And second of all, I don’t know what the others told you about why Sidonie left, but I strongly suggest you ask her for yourself. But I personally won’t pretend I’m not glad she is no longer around you to cloud your judgment and influence you down a path you won’t be able to return from.” Vil pointed down the hallway. “Now go! I will be evaluating your progress again in three days' time so you and your remaining swans better get to practicing!”

With his back still turned to her, Danica formed a fist and brought it to her mouth, biting hard upon it as she staved off further sobs. He would never listen, he would never understand nor explain and she was tired of pleading. Her frustration had fully mounted and while she could honestly say she hated Vil at that moment, a part of her still hated herself for not being able to acquiesce to him easily. If only she could be more like Fiona, then perhaps she could make him happy. Perhaps they could still have a chance.

She turned on her heels and ran back down the hallway and when Vil was certain she was out of sight, he slumped against the wall and crumpled to the floor. Inside he was screaming and he blinked back several tears of his own. He was aware that he was quickly losing Danica and he had no one to blame but himself.

It had been his hope that VDC prep would bring them closer but instead, they were more a part now than ever before. In a perfect world, the world would not villainize him for his beauty. In a perfect world, due credit and fulfillment would be granted solely for hard work, and in a perfect world, what Danica wanted for her performance would be perfectly acceptable.

“Vil’s beauty is otherworldly, but I’m afraid to get closer to him.”

“They say the most beautiful flowers are often the most poisonous.”

“Beautiful and poisonous, the perfect villain.”

“That’s the major difference between him and Neige. Who would be afraid of approaching him? Vil on the other hand…”

But they didn’t live in a perfect world and if he were to ever be free of his curse, Vil needed a perfect swan, even if it meant imprisoning her by the same curse as he. Vil blamed Niege, he blamed the world, he even blamed Adela for not covering her tracks more thoroughly when she leaked the video at his behest. But more than anything, Vil blamed himself.

And with blurry eyes, he pulled out his phone.

“Mira, Mira…”

~~~

“Vil said our performance was lackluster!” Danica said when she joined her teammates in the lounge.

“Hmph, that’s rich considering he cut another person from our group!” replied Vidaria. “I might not think much of her, but we’d probably be less lackluster if we weren’t suddenly forced to work around her absence!”

“For once, I agree with you, Vidaria. But Vil said he’ll be giving us another evaluation soon so we really need to continue practicing what we currently have. So once you all take off your costumes…”

“Please, Danica! No!” Ione whimpered. “I’m exhausted and it’s a wonder I didn’t collapse mid-song!”

“Yeah, Dani, we’re each running on a single smoothie and less than six hours of sleep,” added Taima. “I know Vil-san is probably breathing down your neck but we can’t…”

“Can’t what?!” Danica glared at them. “What can’t we do?! The boys are rehearsing now so I see no reason we can’t continue as well! And there’s more riding on us cause unlike them, we’re down another member! So I don’t wanna hear any of that!”

“But Dani,” Taima tried to reason with her friend. “Please try and be reasonable, we can’t…”

“We can’t be expected to keep practicing when none of us have had decent rest or eaten properly!” Iman spoke up. “A few hours won’t make a difference! Give us a break!”

“I’m sorry, care for me to reiterate WHY Vil thinks our performance was lacking today?!” Danica’s temper was wearing thin and an angry fist was forming in her hand that she quickly concealed behind her back. “WHY were we lacking today, hmm?! Oh! That’s right! Because Sidonie isn’t here and we had less than a day to work around her absence! And WHY isn’t she here?!”

“That’s not our fault!” Iman’s patience was also wearing thin and she got up in Danica’s face. “Maybe you should ask her yourself why she isn’t here!”

“I THOUGHT you said Vil kicked her off the team!”

“That’s what SHE told us!” Vidaria stood beside Iman. “She told us Vil kicked her off but when we asked Vil about it, he said nothing!”

“We really don’t care if you think she’s your friend or not,” Iman added. “But what kind of friend just leaves without explanation or even a goodbye? Even Crisanta had the decency to…”

Danica had enough and Taima could see the chaos about to ensue. She swiftly placed herself between Danica and Vidaria and Iman with Ione trying to pull her back for good measure. Danica swatted Ione away but even as she did so, realized her actions were quickly crossing a line she couldn't return from. She pulled further away from the group to face the nearby wall. Taima heard the soft sound of frustrated crying and even as she placed her arm around her, glared at Iman and Vidaria with enough venom to cut through steel.

“And after what I specifically told you about making Dani cry…” she said.

“Look, we’re sorry,” Vidaria replied. “But it isn’t our fault that…”

“You obviously aren’t 'cause we’re still doing this!” Taima patted Danica’s shoulder to get her attention. “It’s okay, Dani. All things considered, we’re still in a good place.”

“Clearly emotions are very high at this moment,” Ione spoke up. “Can we just agree to put further rehearsals on hold until this evening? Give us all a chance to rest, eat and return with better heads on our shoulders?”

“I’m gonna agree with Wallflower on this one,” replied Iman. “And I didn’t mean to upset you, Danica. I just think it’s kind of obtuse that…”

“Sister!” Vidaria quickly grabbed Iman’s hand before she could say anything more. “We should definitely pick this up later in the evening. And in that time, I can head over to Diasomnia and drop off my VDC affiliate passes.”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Taima nodded, still holding Danica as she soon calmed down. “Dani, I know you wanna keep practicing, but we can’t be at our best if we’re burned out!”

Danica turned around, looking around at her wayward teammates before letting out a loud and exasperated sigh. They couldn’t continue like this, deep down she knew it, and she finally conceded.

“Fine, I know we’re all exhausted. We’re probably all hangry too which is adding onto things. We’ll pick this up later this evening!”

“So are we off the hook until then?” Iman asked.

“Yes, Iman, you are!” Danica didn’t even bother to hide her irritation with her. “I’m going over to change out of this costume and then head over to Heartslabyul to hand out some of my VDC affiliate passes. You all can do the same, just be back at Ramshackle by this evening, I may even try to see if we can rehearse again here.”

~~~

Danica did not return to Ramshackle immediately after giving Joker and Violetta their affiliate passes, but opted to stay a little longer and have tea with them. Their company was one of the few solaces she had during this stressful time and she wanted to savor that for a[[s long as she could. And she had to admit that the herbal tea Violetta had made her had been wonderful for helping to clear her mind.

Punch had also not told them about what he had found out about the magicam leak, feeling it wasn’t his secret to tell. And Danica decided that it was still for the best that they did not know either, for now. But that didn’t stop her from fully confiding in them her frustrations with her dorm leader, and her sadness at losing yet another member.

“Have either of you ever wanted to do something that was very important to you, but you knew it was something you shouldn’t?” she asked them. “Like, it was something very bad? Because that’s how I’ve been feeling since Vil pulled Sidonie off my team.”

“Very bad?” Joker’s eyes widened. “Come now, Songbird. I can’t imagine whatever you’re thinking could be that bad!”

“Unless it’s murder, that’s kind of bad!” Violetta added.

“Oh no, not murder, not this time anyway.” Danica tried to laugh and Violetta and Joker gave mock gasps, surprised that their normally sweet friend would even suggest such a thing. “But what I’m thinking of doing is pretty bad, well, it would be bad in the sense it would cause a lot of issues between me and my teammates. I wish I could stop thinking about it.”

“Hmmm, now I’m curious,” said Joker. “What is this very bad thing you’re thinking about? Are we talking Lilia shattering a bunch of windows with his death screams bad or finding yourself in debt to Octavinelle’s dorm leader bad?”

“Or are we talking Riddle-san when he finds one of his tarts in the fridge with a bite mark bad?” Violetta asked.

“Hmmm,” Danica thought for a few moments. “More like Professor Crewel’s rage if any of us splashed chemicals on his coat bad.”

“OH!!!” Joker and Violetta gasped again in unison, for real this time, and Violetta added. “Yeah, that sounds pretty bad! Ohhhh, I don’t even want to think about such a thing!”

“Exactly! But at the same time, I’m so dissatisfied with how our performance is, I’m worried it will show on the day of the VDC and cost us victory. What I’m thinking about is the only thing I can think of that will salvage our performance.”

“If you think this bad thing will save your performance, how bad can it really be?” Joker asked. “Does Vil-san know about it?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Danica took a sip of her tea, savoring the fragrant blend of herbs as she envisioned in her mind exactly what she wanted to do. She looked at her friend with a new, somewhat devilish smile. “If my plan were to work exactly, Vil-san wouldn’t know, not until my team takes the stage. The problems would be not only getting my teammates to agree to it but also for our dressmaker to agree to make a whole new wardrobe for us.”

“A new wardrobe? That kind of sounds like…” Danica quickly nodded, confirming Joker’s thoughts. “Whoa! Yeah, I’m not sure if I would consider that ‘very bad’ as you call it, but it would be a lot. Especially since we are eleven days out before the cultural festival.”

“Still, if it’s something you feel like you need to do,” Violetta thought out loud. “I’m not a performing type, honestly you guys kind of amaze me. But I know how it feels to want to do something you believe in with all your heart.”

“Yes, this has honestly been something I’ve been thinking about since we began prepping for the VDC,” Danica sighed. “Maybe it’s my fault for not being firm in my stance, but I think it’s why Vil-san made Sidonie leave the team because she thought it was a good idea too. Rook-san even compared me to someone swimming against a powerful current, with the current being Vil-san. He told me to swim with the current and not to fight it.”

“But sometimes, even if you swim with the current, it can still be too powerful and can spell danger if you’re not careful,” Joker said. “Hmmm, this is quite the dilemma indeed.”

They were silent for a few moments and Danica gave further thought to what she wanted to do. And the more she thought about it, the more appealing it seemed. It was becoming increasingly clear to her that the way she was developing as a performer would never suit Vil and Sidonie being forced to leave had been the final straw. If Danica was going to be miserable, she might as well have exactly what she wished for. If only she could convince Farron and her teammates of the same thing.

“But even so,” Violetta finally said. “I still don’t think what you want is as bad as you’re making it out to be, Danica.”

Danca nodded and thought further as she took a few more sips of tea. The conversation soon switched over to the light music club and their plans for the festival, when Danica felt her phone buzz in her purse. She groaned, she had been at Heartslabyul for about two hours now and she thought it was most likely Vil to chide her for skipping out on rehearsals or something equally as egregious to his mind. But when she picked it up, it wasn’t Vil after all, even more surprisingly, the text she saw was from a number she did not recognize.

TAIMA GAVE ME YOUR NUMBER! PLEASE RETURN TO RAMSHACKLE ASAP! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!

She read over the odd message several times before showing it to Joker and Violetta, asking if either of them recognized the number, they did not.

“But it does sound urgent,” said Violetta. “If you must leave, we completely understand.”

“Yeah, I know, but at the same time, I don’t know if I’m ready to return to VDC stress. But maybe…” Danica dialed the number, it rang only once before someone answered. “Hello? Who is th..”

“Danica! I need your help!”

It was Iman. Danica noticed at once how her tone lacked its usual imperious air, and quickly surmised that this was something serious after all.

“Iman, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I can’t explain this over the phone, but it’s about Vidi! She went to Diasomnia on her own to drop off some VDC passes but she never returned! I know that doesn’t sound serious but please! I’m begging you to trust me! I need you to come back to Ramshackle now! Right now! While the boys are still out!”

Iman hung up before Danica could ask any further questions. She thought for a moment about calling Lilia to ask if he had seen Vidaria himself, but something told her that wouldn’t be the best course of action. She looked at her phone for a few more moments before Joker asked what was wrong. Danica didn’t answer right away and even considered for a moment calling Iman back for a better explanation. But soon enough, her phone rang again. This time it was Taima.

“Dani, I know Iman just called you,” she said. “But now I’m calling to tell you, I really need you to get back here now.”

“Yeah, Iman did just call,” replied Danica, in the background she could hear loud voices along with what sounded like crying. The crying was coming from Iman. “Care to explain what's happening?”

“It’s Vidaria, she’s missing and has been missing since this afternoon. Iman has reason to think…well…” Taima made a sound of confusion. “I…really can’t explain this on the phone 'cause I’m still trying to figure this out myself.”

“But this isn’t something you can handle on your own, vice-leader?” Danica sighed. “I really don’t wanna leave now and if Vil isn’t there…”

“Please, Danica, just trust me. I know Iman has been hard to deal with but this is pretty serious.” In the background, Danica once again heard loud crying. “Just come back soon. We’re all here.”

Taima hung up and Danica stared down at her phone. Once again, she thought about calling Lilia but before she could, Joker tapped her shoulder, asking again what was going on.

“Just something odd,” she said. “One of my teammates just called about another who hasn’t returned to the dorm yet. And then Taima called, they both sounded…very worried.”

“Ohh! Well, that’s definitely something that cannot wait!”

Joker rose from her chair and began gathering the tea things off the table. Danica and Violetta rose from their chairs as well and Violetta gave Danica a small packet of the very same herbal tea they had enjoyed that afternoon.

“Drink this the next time you’re feeling stressed,” she smiled. “I made sure to pack enough to get you through the VDC!”

“And please keep us posted on what’s happening!” The last thing Joker did was embrace Danica, which she returned with great enthusiasm. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Vil-san, but you got this! I know you do! I can’t wait to cheer you on from the audience, Songbird! You’re gonna be amazing!”

~~~

The sun was just beginning to set when Danica opened the door and walked into the lounge to find Ione and Taima comforting Iman, who was loudly sobbing and breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. Yuulan and Grim were with them, having been summoned to join them as well.

“Okay, I’m here now,” Danica said to them. “Now tell me what’s happened.”

“I’m such an idiot! I should have gone with her! Or told Silver or Sebek to walk back with her!” Iman didn’t seem to hear Danica and continued her lamenting. “Why would she go on her own?! And why didn’t I go with her?! What the hell is wrong with me!”

“What happened?” Danica asked again.

“It’s Vidaria,” Ione answered. “She hasn’t been seen since we left Pomefiore and Iman believes she’s…”

“I DON’T BELIEVE! I KNOW!” Iman cried. “She’s been kidnapped! This isn’t the first time this has happened either! When she visited my home over winter break, they targeted her there too! That’s why the Diasomnia students wanted to stay here with her!”

“I still don’t understand,” said Taima. “Why would Vidaria be kidnapped? Wouldn’t it make more sense to kidnap Malleus?”

“Not that anyone could,” Yuulan pointed out. “From what I’ve heard about him, apparently he’s crazy powerful and one of the most powerful mages in this world.”

“That’s the point!” Iman continued crying. “Vidi is Malleus’ bride!”

“BRIDE?!” the four girls along with Grim gasped in unison.

“Vidaria is engaged to…Malleus Draconia?!” Taima’s eyes widened. “SHE’S ENGAGED TO MALLEUS DRACONIA?!”

“MYRAH?!” Grim’s fur bristled. “You mean, Vidaria is going to marry one of the most powerful mages in the world?”

“YES! And when she marries him, her kingdom will be united with his!” Iman went on, “But there are a lot of horrible groups from her home that don’t want that to happen! She’s had to deal with this shit on a regular basis since before freshman year!”

“But how would kidnappers get on campus in the first place?” Ione asked. “Isn’t the front gate supposed to be protected by magic? And isn’t…”

“YOU GUYS AREN’T LISTENING TO ME!” Iman waved her arms hysterically. “The group who took her have magic that’s just as powerful as Malleus’! She’s in real danger right now!”

“Why not just wait until Vil gets back and you can get his help?” Ione continued rather impertinently. “Or better yet, tell Malleus-san himself or Lilia-san. Why do we need to get involved?”

“If they’re as dangerous as you’re making them out to be, we’d ALL be in danger if we go after them!” Taima pointed out.

“In fact, I was very close to calling Lilia-san before I came here and…”

“DANICA YOU DIDN'T?!” Iman jumped up, frantically shaking Danica. “PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T!”

“I didn’t call Lilia, don’t worry!” Danica gently pushed Iman back. “But why shouldn’t I? Isn’t Lilia supposed to be in charge of protecting both Vidaria and Malleus?”

“That does seem to make more sense,” Yuulan said. “We are just five teenage girls and a single ornery fire cat.”

“I told you a million times, I’m not a cat!” Grim scoffed at Yuulan. “And don’t sell me so short! Just lemme see these mist fae Iman’s going on about! They’ll taste the fiery wrath of the great and powerful Grim and wish they never took Vidaria!”

“We CAN’T tell Malleus or Lilia anyway!” said Iman. “Vidi was already on probation after the incident back home! If Lilia finds out that she was successfully kidnapped one more time, she’ll be taken out of NRC! She’ll be sent back to Briar Valley and will essentially be on house arrest until her wedding day! I’ll never see her again, don’t you see?! We have to go after them to keep her from being locked away forever!”

And then, Iman did something none of them ever expected from someone normally as conceited and imperious as she. She sank to her knees, taking several deep breaths before being taken over by a fresh influx of tears.

“Please…help me find her. I…can’t lose her!”

For a few moments, there was silence save for Iman’s weeping and Danica watched her with silent sympathy moving her heart. She would be lying if she said Iman had been the easiest to get along with, and she had definitely said some things that had been very hurtful. But one thing Danica had to admit was whatever Iman thought of the rest of them, when it came to Vidaria, her devotion to her was strong enough to be called fierce. It was incredibly touching to see it and she gave a look to Taima, Ione, and Yuulan that silently told them what they knew they had to do.

“I don’t know what we could do to help you, Iman,” she said as she gently pulled her up to her feet. “But I know it’s extremely bad form for a princess to snivel and cower before situations beneath her.”

“I’m just so scared…” Iman whimpered. “I’m so fucking scared! Vidaria is one of my only real friends. She’s in danger and I feel so powerless to help her!”

“Powerless,” Danica sighed. “Yes, after these last few weeks, I definitely understand that feeling.”

“Me too,” Taima added. “Dani has been dealing with so much and for the most part, there’s been little I can do. For all my boasting about being vice-leader of our group, I haven’t done anything really and I hate it.”

“Same here,” Yuulan also spoke up. “Being in this world, I don’t know anyone here. I have no magic, I can’t even remember where I came from and I must always depend on the good humor of that fucking bird man. If I die tomorrow, no one would even know. I feel powerless every day of my life!”

“And me too, I can’t remember any moment in my life where I didn’t feel powerless,” Ione sighed. “I’ve been powerless from the moment I was born.”

“I really can’t relate,” Grim admitted, earning him a fierce glare from Yuulan. “But I think right now is a good time for all of you to find power and use it to rescue Vidaria! And I’ll help you!”

“I don’t have magic,” Yuulan said. “But I have other skills at my disposal! I’ll help too!”

“We’ll all help!” Taima pulled out her magipen and Danica and Ione did as well. “We might be powerless now, but I have a feeling all of us together can find it in ourselves to make this happen!”

Iman glanced at them, wiping her tears before also pulling out her magipen. She admittedly never had the highest opinion of ordinary people, having interacted with few in her life and most of those experiences being negative. But as she looked at Yuulan and her teammates, agreeing to help her and her friend in spite of the very real danger involved, she saw a certain nobility in them that could rival any king in the world.

And then, to the great surprise of her companions and herself, she threw her arms around Yuulan and Grim, with Taima following by embracing her, and Danica and Ione embracing Taima.

“Thank you so much, you guys,” Iman said. “I know I’m not the easiest to get along with and what I’m asking now is not something to take lightly. But I appreciate it.” When they let go of each other, Iman walked to the door with the others following her. “Come on, I have a vague feeling I know where they might be.”

~~~

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twst fic #shining hearts ~ melodies and melancholy #things i write

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eremosjournal · 9 months

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Rating my Confession: Part 2

by Colin Martinez Longmore

My First Reconciliation

I made up fake sins during my first confession. After months of preparation where I learned about the powerful soul-cleansing properties of the Sacrament, I felt a little inadequate. I didn’t have any major sins on my heart or heavy chains that I needed to be released from. I think I was worried that my confession wouldn’t count because it wasn’t bad enough, so I did what I thought was right: I lied.

I started off light, telling the priest about a made-up fight I had with my little brother. Then I followed up with the bombshell. “I also sold drugs to my friends. Crack.” I said, conjuring the worst narcotic I could think of at ten years old.

The priest didn’t have any follow-up questions, but he did offer me absolution for my sins.

RATING: 5/10, Kind of underwhelming

When I Cornered Fr. Richard Rohr in a Hotel Lobby

Back in 2016, I found out about Fr. Richard Rohr and fell in love with his type of theology. After reading Falling Upward, and listening to every podcast I could find with him, I jumped at the opportunity to fly out to Albuquerque and see him in person at one of his retreats. I was a little thrown off when I arrived and realized I was probably the only brown person in attendance, as well as the only person under the age of 50. But it didn’t matter, because I wasn’t there to make friends anyways... I was on a mission. I was going to find Fr. Richard Rohr, have him listen to my confession, and receive his profound spiritual insights that would make me superior to everyone around me.

On the second day, I skipped a breakout session and found him ambling across the hotel lobby. I rushed over to him. “Father, can you hear my confession!?”, I blurted out. He turned, smiled, and just nodded. I proceeded to absolutely trauma-dump all over him— digging up the weirdest and most embarrassing shit I could think of, hoping it would provide good fodder for the brilliant spiritual counsel I expected to receive at the end. But when I finished, he just looked at me with a sort of half smile and simply asked: “Are you trying your best to be a loving person?”

I blinked, then replied. “Uh.. yes”.

He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. “Just keep doing that, ok?” Then he slowly walked away.

RATING: 9/10, but idk if it even counts?

The Time When I Went Super High

This was one of the few times I felt like going to confession, not out of concern for the state of my soul, but because I realized I was being shitty to someone I loved.

I got stoned one morning and went on a walk to get breakfast. As the full high set in, my mind wandered to my relationship with my mom, which was strained at the time. Thoughts swirled as I walked and I cycled through every emotion: sorrow for the way things were, empathy for the pain she was probably experiencing, regret for my own douchey behavior, and a deep longing to get back on the same page with each other. Something led me to reroute my walk to the nearby church, and I soon found myself standing in line for confession instead of bagels. The conversation in the confessional was authentic and healing, and the phone call to my mom afterward was even more so.

Shout out to that Pineapple OG joint for preparing me for that moment better than any examination of conscience ever did.

RATING: 10/10, Highly recommend

The Misogyny Special

One time, my then-girlfriend and I decided to do what every good Catholic couple is supposed to do: go to confession together. We did our best to prepare for an intentional and honest sharing of our sins (spoiler: it was sex), so we were feeling pretty good as we pulled up to the remote abbey church nestled in the foothills.

I went first. “Bless me Father for I have sinned…” I said, kicking off the ritual and pushing through the thick awkwardness of the moment. However, as the confession progressed, I was surprised by the tone of the conversation. The old priest was frank about wanting me to be accountable for my decisions, but his words were also caring, paternal and encouraging. I left the booth with a sense of hope and dignity.

As my girlfriend entered the confessional after me, I flashed a smile at her, anticipating the inspiring conversation we were sure to have after her confession. She ended up being there much longer than I was, and when she came out it was clear that she wasn’t feeling as light and springy as I was.

“...So how’d it go?” I asked carefully, on our quiet drive back.

“Well, he told me I’m going to hell,” she said, “but I guess I can take communion this Sunday now.”

RATING: *7.5/10 *Results may vary if you’re not a cis, straight male.

#deconstruction #exvangelical #deconvert #ex catholic #excatholic #post christian #exchristian #ex christian #catholic #post catholic #profane #profanity

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onetrackminded · 5 months

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Upon watching HBomberguy's newest video on plagiarism, I realized I've never had a creative thought of my own.

I'm probably being dramatic, but looking back on my previous endeavors on social media, I see now how easily other's content and ideas can be flagrantly appropriated without anyone raising an eyebrow.

My partner, a year or so ago, convinced me to get a TikTok account. I eventually caved and did, but found the act of doomscrolling only worked to ruin my day. So I started creating content for a time.

I wouldn't say I had a -following- really. The height of my account hovered around 15,000 followers which, on TikTok, isn't many. The reels that comprise the user's experience take up very little time, therefore you need to follow a significant amount of creators in order to customize your "For You" page.

On my account I talked about psychology and neurodiversity, which are big interests of mine. I was shocked at how well received my videos were and thought people must enjoy what I had to say. I don't think I realized the gravity of the situation. When people listen to you, you are beholden to the truth, otherwise you do harm.

Most of the videos I created were opinions, and strongly-held ones at that. Sometimes I'd read an article and discuss it's contents without knowing the source material the article actually used. Another video I made discussed a historical figure. In that video in particular, I took the same facts about said figure from a YouTube channel without citing them.

In my mind, I was creating a synthesis of information I found interesting or useful or cool. I didn't care to take things as seriously as I should've because I never expected to have any audience at all, let alone one that would trust in my videos.

Thankfully, I quit making videos regularly. The amount of time and effort it took up, especially with how buggy the app is and how technologically illiterate I am, wasn't worth it. The entire platform, along with the community, stopped appealing to me. I deleted my account just a little bit ago.

HBomb's video was excellent. It made me realize the importance of what influencers do, and how unprepared I was to try and take that responsibility on for myself. Even with this blog, I struggle to see a point in discussing anything outside of my own, direct experiences. I'm not educated enough to truly synthesize studies and regurgitate them with my own analysis. I barely graduated the 12th grade.

One of the YouTubers HBomb discussed at length in his video is a man by the name of James Somerton. I've been a fan of James' for a bit now and always got excited for his videos. I wouldn't call myself a die hard fan, but certainly a regular viewer.

As it turns out, almost all of his videos are nakedly plagiarized from smaller, more obscure queer creators. HBomb also did a compelling section on James Somerton's seeming misogyny, as it's the only original thing you hear in any of his videos.

Obviously it's unfortunate and upsetting that James plagiarized so many underappreciated queer creators, but I was more interested in his misogyny for a variety of reasons. For one, I remember watching many of the videos HBomb cited and my reaction to them.

In James' video on Jeffery Dahmer, he discussed how white women fetishize murderers, especially when they're gay. If they didn't kill women, it's easily to separate yourself from the victims and dehumanize them as a result--or so the argument goes. HBomb points out how even James himself mentions how Ted Bundy was similarly fetishized despite killing women, unintentionally undermining his own point.

There are other examples of his misogyny. For example, James in one of his videos discusses how women often use gay men; objectify them via the "gay best friend" stereotype. Sure, the gay best friend stereotype certainly deserves criticism, but the way in which he evokes WOMEN as a the sole enablers of this harm is concerning to say the least.

I don't think it's a coincidence that I often fall for creators and YouTubers who harbor biases against people such as me. That's not to say I'm a woman (James has also misgendered afab enbies), but I'm certainly perceived as one.

It seems as though the pattern I trend towards is one of self debasement. I repeat trauma everywhere I go. I don't blame myself for liking James' videos--many people did and still do. I suppose I just marvel at how my thought processes work to uphold my trauma-ridden core belief that I'm not shit.

I remember watching James' videos and feeling weird about his comments on women. I enjoy true crime (in a self-aware kind of way, I'd like to think) and become interested in the psychology of serial killers. That aspect of me likely would have been seen by him and many others in his community as being close enough to fetishization.

I also remember watching the video where James discusses women who have gay best friends. My gay best friend, we'll call him Rick, was a manipulative person who took advantage of me in many ways. I knew that by the time I saw James' video, yet I remember beating myself up for engaging in a stereotype (despite the fact I was innocently trying to be a good friend to a fellow queer person).

It's all very confusing. The leg work of figuring out what is true and not true is a daunting one. I fall for cons every single time it seems. I believe I have vulnerabilities that make it easy for manipulative people to exploit. As much as I would love to believe my social isolation tactics and "vetting" system has fixed my issue of abuse blindness, I'm starting to realize how false that is. We are all subject to misinformation and trickery. We are all also capable of espousing manipulation and trickery, even when we don't realize it.

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kirascottage · 3 years

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words to be said

benedict bridgerton x f. reader

summary: benedict finally gathers the courage to court you.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: themes of period typical misogyny, mutual pining, mentions of anxiety and self doubt, overall fluff

join my taglist here !

“Benedict?”

You called out in momentary waiting; yet, Wysteria-clad Mansion on Grosvenor Square was fervidly silent. There was without even a peep from a benevolent maid or a pin drop from a clumsy butler as he made way to deliver tea. Your voice could cause a beam of echoes as you had welcomed yourself in (per Violet and Daphne Bridgertons request every time you had called over.)

The Bridgerton residence being entitled as silent was almost a preposterous statement as it was a house with eight siblings and their mother preparing for the seasonal ball in just a day's time.

You stood implicitly for a few moments.

“Oh, finally! Come now,” You half-expected a hoarse octave to be beckoning you with the male accustomed to it as paint and charcoal ran down the calloused pads of his fingertips but rather it was a slender teenage girl dressed in a sombre shade of plum.

Her chestnut hair was pinned tightly in an updo as her close ringlet curls dressed her scalp and the falling locks surrounded the gracile proportions of her face. Her lips were painted skillfully in a dull fuchsia tone and her cheeks dusted in a slight rose pigment.

“Eloise,” You breathily chuckled in astonishment. “You look lovely today.” A distracted question to mirror the other question in your mind as to why she was the first to greet you when it had usually been one of her older, virile brother(s).

But her words and actions left you no aching time to ponder. After your complimentary statement, Eloise’s sapphire optics turned in her skull, and a grin dressing her lips in voiceless gratitude.

“We have no time for compliments, now you must come with me. We have matters to discuss about Lady Whistledown.” Eloise blubbers from her lips as a white lie flew from under her tongue.

Yes, she had the uttermost interest in the secret identity of the writer and probably more concern than the Queen herself but those concerns could give her the least bit of interest at this waking moment. Her sole filled thoughts were the mutual heartache glances, skittish stutters and bouncing limbs in trepidation that had only occurred around you and her second eldest brother, Benedict Bridgerton.

Amid her frolicking thoughts, the slim muscle of her bicep linked closely with your own in haste as she hauled you up towards the mahogany stairs and stridden the capacious corridors nearing her bedroom. (The only most pristine people in her life were allowed in such private walls; equally known as you and Penelope Featherington)

“Oh, Eloise—“ You practically began to reprimand, “—Must we burden the night with this foolish gossip on Lady Whistledown’s behalf. I do not wish to worry about her.”

“And why’s that? Because your timid that she will intentionally expose that you are in crush with a Bridgerton Son—“

“Eloise!” You swiftly cut the young girl off with your nimble fingers pressed against her parched lips and both the strides of your clacking feet following a momentary pause at the sudden abruption of her words. A momentary shock of silence settles on you before you plead to deny her (correct) accusation.

“I’m in nothing of a sort!”

Her brow rose at your acute protest as your hand drifted back to your clothed side, her chortles tormenting your mind further. She emitted a slight whistle from between her lips as her optics bled into the scenery to continue her delayed ridicules.

“Your so brash replying to me considering your flustered antics,” She cleared her throat in derision before she spoke once more with her hand placed gracefully over her sternum. “‘Oh, Benedict. This artwork is just phenomenal. You’re truly an artist.’ You’re not deceiving anyone, especially me. I behold everything.” She mocked while thickening her concluding words.

As the scoldings on your behalf continued, it had only been moments until you entered through the withering door and her legs made their way to the ivory couch, dressed in laced turquoise throw pillows.

“Has anyone ever advised you to keep your words at bay? I don’t need your teasing!” Chastising her would be no use, but you still prevailed as you stood behind the brunet who was reaching for an aged, emerald book. Said book, no doubt, belonged to her family for generations.

“But it’s my only entertainment! You would find out so much from him if you just opened your mouth instead of pleading with me to close mine! I’m aiding you, a friendly favour I will grace you with.” She rebuked with the firm nod of her head before opening the hardcover book, Eloise’s dainty fingers scorned the page as the crescent moons of her fingernails skimmed beneath the words carved by a new and advancing printing press, no doubt.

“You didn’t acknowledge my question! I’m certain your Mama has told you plenty of times to just— Shh!— and not torment your most beloved friend of all people. I even held you after birth, and this is how you choose to treat me!”

“Benedict is unwed, there’s such a reason for that!” Ignoring your chides she merely sang in a teasing notion regarding some sort of absurd pining of concealed feelings between you both not even a single fret in her mind at the feelings you had attempted to veil with poor flirtations with men from past lavish balls with warm lemonade; but, your eyes could only stray so far till mundanely searching for the Bridgerton brood.

And yet, you couldn’t falter and had to proceed with your eyes trained forward and a faux-smile quirked on your tinted lips. It was inappropriate to initiate any acts of romance; especially a man in such high rankings.

“El, my dear… Shh!”

“If you desire me to answer your question then fine, you’re correct; my dear. I solely choose not to ‘Shh!’ as you entitle it.” The girl chortled in reply as she flipped the page like any person who apprehends words transcribed in their novels, but she was simply drinking in your ridiculous acts of denying your feelings.

Eloise had just been merely entertaining herself more at Benedict's love life; more amusing than Anthony’s distilled romance.

That damn girl, You pondered but simply did not say aloud as cursing was volatile.

“Eloise, you torture me. You must recognize that.”

“But that is why you wish to keep me around!”

Amid your childish bickering, as Violet Bridgerton would phrase it, a frustrated groan was heard reiterating in the distance along with a faint grumble of annoyance. Eloise's head perked up at the sound, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eye that you had yet to see.

“My brother, weren’t you searching for him?” Eloise disclosed while peering back at you with a slight tug perched on her lips, If you weren’t a lady of the town you probably would’ve swatted it off her.

“Yes… I believe I was.” You admitted almost shamefully due to her reaction. “He’s in the drawing-room, expecting you or not, he should be splendid to see you.” The clever girl had only winked with the flutter of her lashes as you sauntered off from her room with a groan trapped in your throat.

After plenty of polished stairs walked and many maids greeted, your irises were adequately met with a dark mahogany door with engraving. The name Bridgerton stealthily carved in calligraphy had decorated the ancienter wood. With the operative words ‘Come see me anytime’ burnt to the brim in your mind, your fingers grasped around the silver-plated doorknob and your eyes met with a frustrated man sitting in front of an easel with a canvas perched atop of it.

Your vocal cords betrayed you as his cerulean blue optics, similar to the dappled shade of the throw pillows in Eloise's room, adhered to your gradual movements. “Lord Bridgerton.” Your words faltered. In your mind, it was deemed pathetic as stammers increased around the man.

But, he only grinned at your active presence.

“Oh, you mustn’t call me that.” He gently waved a dismissive hand near his eyes as he sat up from the stool; a slight collision against the polished floor was prompted as he strut closer to you.

“My mistake, Benedict.” You whispered costively, his mind instantly dismissing your muttered tone and greeting you with a courteous bow as he would anyone else, in whom you reciprocated amiably, his pursed lips following a small kiss to the back of your bare hand.

“Much better.”

You paused awkwardly for a moment, clearing your throat before speaking. “I was to greet you sooner but it seems as though Eloise swooped me away for a moment.”

“It’s not a trouble,” He positively affirmed, for which you were beholden for. He naturally proceeded to beckon you with the jerk of his head farther into the decorated room, “I was merely unoccupied.”

“You’re painting.” You subtly conveyed with a faint smile as you wandered closer to the easel with a slight chink in your step, “Please, I shan’t burden you with my foolish mistakes. Follow me, please.” He held out a waiting arm to hoist you away from his failed painting, a familiar chant of displeasing words rung through his ears as if he was severely degrading himself for not painting poise perfection on a first attempt.

You both had silently stridden to the painting gallery of Wysteria Mansion, unappreciated by most as Benedict had justly claimed. He felt a slight plunge beneath his stomach at the unaccompanied setting you both had found yourselves in and the closing proximity between your sides.

You both had paused your steps at the most charitable one, a tan woman with umber skin sat in her endowed chair. She had an ivory smock fashionably dressing her shoulders and an onyx headband gracing her skull. Benedict inevitably began to vicariously imagine the paint strokes and successful efforts it took to coat such a masterpiece, while you strained your optics on the painting rather than the elegant curvature of his facial structuring and his slight protruding stubble.

“Eloise chastises me for our traditions.” A gentle smile was graced gently on your rosy lips before they contorted gently to accompany your words regarding the younger girl. His eyes remained on the bewitching artwork but his features were slightly upturned at your words and his brutal sibling.

“We are merely appreciating over-seen work, by admiring it multiple times.” He replied smugly.

You both stood silent for a moment; your arms linked, feet still and eyes glistening at the swirls etched upon the canvas. He experienced profound difficulty in keeping his eyes set forward, rather merely wanting to divert his cerulean oculars to the drifting pad of your thumb against his clothed bicep, that was clad in the smooth stitches of cotton and wool, and the mindlessly pleased smile tugging upon the supple cushions of your lips.

“It’s beautiful.”

And the rest of his words were left unsaid.

Every promise, every sentence and even every syllable died off his tongue as you admired the artwork displayed in front of you. The creakings of footwork, synchronized breaths and palpitating hearts were enough to fill the silent void of where his love confession was nevertheless unspoken of.

The following morning after a sleepless night he had awakened with Anthony chastising him during breakfast following Eloise's mockeries and ridicules of his undeclared affections. As you were awoken from your troubled sleep, your maid, Elizabeth wore a great-big grin plastered on her lips as her blonde locks found sanctuary in a slick bun. She began speaking while shifting the ivory curtains to allow the sun to swallow the room.

“What’s with the gleaming smile, Elizabeth?”

“You received a caller! I mustn't say anything else other than that he has arrived dawning earlier than the rest. He is awaiting in the drawing-room!” Was all she expressed, extra cheerfully, as she has prepared you in a gold dress, extra blush on your cheeks and your hair thoroughly brushed with tight curls pinned to the back of your skull.

It was not absurd to have callers as though many men had attempted stealing your eye with gifts and roses but never at such a premature time in the day.

You were bewildered though, as to whom your caller was, Benedict Bridgerton was standing amid your drawing room with daffodils in his grasp and both of his sisters concealing themselves around the corner you had yet to pass.

“Benedict, have you not got a ball you must prepare for?” You inquired with a minimal amount of sincere shock bleeding through your tone. His posture straightened and his charming smile positively trembling in apprehension.

Your mighty caller being Benedict Bridgerton of all notable pupils.

“I wish to dance with you… At the ball and I wish to call on you. If you’d allow me to do such.” Benedict practically sputtered, his lips trapped between his teeth and his heart faintly played a turbulent match of football against his ribs as he spoke.

His trepidation merely increased and his sisters grasped their palms over their lips as their presence lingered. Your silence had not even begun faltering, his only indication that you had heard his babbling nonsense was your eye sockets stretched out to the brim like ornate dinner plates as your irises bounced around his unfeigned features.

“You— You wish to dance—” You stumbled as you held out your forefinger to increase your understanding, “—You wish to court me?” You stuttered out the question incredulously while shaking your head in addition.

“Yes, I would love to. If that’s something you partake interest in?” His inquiries remained as he trekked his appendages closer to your standing point. He admired the way your brows had threaded (in which he longed to smooth with his thumb) and your hands were inert.

With slight movements he had set down the bloomed yellow flowers on the piano, that had belonged to your grandmother and apprehensively grasped both of your palms to join them together.

“Yes!” Your vocal cords almost became shrill at the question. After realizing your deafening tone, your throat had cleared before speaking more mundanely, “Yes, Benedict. I would.”

At your agreement to his question, you heard a faint “Yes! Finally!” betraying the people from behind the pillars. The both of you, in haste, peered around the corner to reveal not one, but two girls. One younger dressed in baby pink with glinting sparkles fanned out across the dress and an older girl wearing a familiar shade of violet and a few of her curls loosening.

“Sisters! You little—”

“Eloise, Hyacinth?” You called out in evident confusion as to how both the girls had arrived (most likely bribing their older brother). A rosy flush had begun dressing Benedict’s exposed neck and a prompt heat etching upon your ample cheeks that had been already dressed in a faux-rouge.

Before Benedict could typically begin to chastise his younger sisters for their ludicrousness, Eloise had pranced over with a pep in her step, unhooking your nervous hands from her brother and replacing his prescience on your ample arm.

“I must steal her away now! You see, we have a ball to dress for and we shan’t be late!” She swooped you off with an exultant yell, finally speaking quietly when she had been closer to you.

“What was that about not being in crush with a Bridgerton?” She inquired, complacent with her actions as her renowned smirk became known again.

“It’s impolite to engage people while they are in more important conversations, sister!” You undoubtedly heard the dropping octave of her brother just staircases away.

Thereupon, you merely replied with, “Oh shut it, Eloise. You loathe luxe balls.”

She had already come up with some grand excuse as to why this one wouldn't be revolting as there was a monumental library at such a convenient location, therefore she had to make an appearance.

Alas, Eloise had already prepared herself at her Wysteria Mansion, with a dismayed Violet Bridgerton of course as to why her daughter would want to ready herself so primally in the day.

But her daughter explained that she was “Doing this for the good of others.” Implying her dear brother and his love life, whilst Hyacinth had scurried back home to the maids to have biscuits with Gregory and her mother.

“Courted by my brother in an elegant dress, the women of this town would be so proud.” Without even a shrewd glance at her face, you could detect the satirical message fortify her tone as she had a fictitious grin on her cheeks and her hands swooned in the air.

The Ladys of the town had christened certain grand balls, as like this one, the most memorable of the century. Their grumpy husbands in their arms whilst their daughters and sons had inevitably found suitors or suitresses, something in which had just swooped you in and was to extend for the duration of the historic season.

Violet and Daphne would be squealing by now if they had heard the news and Colin would’ve been Benedict a righteous pat on the back as to the forthcomings of the season.

Designated carriages had come bringing you to the ball held at Lady Danbury's palatial residence where it had been decorated to the finest with shimmering lights glistening your dresses while acquaintances had come to strike you into polite conversations.

You could practically feel the muslin silk between your fingertips as you discarded a lukewarm lemonade and the words of Benedict Bridgerton wishing to have you as his beloved wife had mended to your bones and scorned your visage like subtitles. In nearing dread you had been eagerly awaiting for the brood's infamous presence and for him merely waltz up to you in the spotlight of the memorable evening.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

In such haste at the familiar voice enticing you from your thoughts, your mind spindles till your eyes are met with cerulean, “Lord Bridgerton.” At the retrogressing bow, his palm is turned upward as he speaks, “I was wondering if you might do me the honour of a dance tonight?” His vocal cords gently pull into a tone of elite confidence when inquiring you over to the dance floor. “I would be honoured, My Lord.”

Moments pass.

“Well, I am headed off to the library, do not require me to chaperone you both!”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine

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qyllenhaal · 3 years

Text

God’s Face in the Fire || Part 1

Dark!Lee Bodecker x Dark!Reader

Summary: A wife who would do anything to give her husband the world, even if it means getting herself involved with his trouble.

Word Count: 10.3k

Chapter warnings: dark themes!!! contains mention of assault, murder, non-graphic death scenes, sexual themes, oral (m receiving), smut, brief mentions of possible infidelity, misogyny, uncomfortable situations. Please heed the warnings!!! 18+ only

A/N: Sorry for the bad summary, I’ve never been good at those! This first chapter doesn’t include an awful lot of Lee but the next part will be very Lee heavy! There will only be two other parts for this mini-series, maybe another or so if I extend my ideas.

Enjoy!

The baby she held on her hip just would not stop crying. Tears stained her own eyes as she felt at her ropes end looking at her baby's red face. Nothing she had done to make her baby feel better was working. When Y/n stared at her small face, the one that looked so much like her father's, she searched for a clue on what could be the problem. All she got back was a look of anguish. She wondered if her daughter's eyes mirrored her own emotion.

"What's wrong baby? What's wrong?" She asked as if she was genuinely going to get an answer from her. Her soft voice didn't assuage the baby's cries. What baby doesn't love the sound of their own mother's voice?

Y/n tried stroking her little girls back to calm her, tried feeding her, burping her, changing her, and putting her down to sleep but all of those things failed miserably. Her daughter continued to scream her little lungs out. The tears were beginning to dry up, but she still wailed. Y/n worried if something was wrong and if they needed to go to the hospital. Her husband wasn't home and she didn't want to cause anymore trouble for him, or herself.

"Are you hot? Wanna step outside?"

She did her best to open the backdoor without dropping her daughter. The rush of cool air as she stepped onto the back porch did more to help her than it did her daughter. The porch light was nearly as loud as the cries; it was one of the first noises she had heard in hours that was something other than her daughter. She got lost in the noise as she peered into the darkness of their backyard that stared back at her. She had been afraid of the dark when she was younger, always needing a night light until she reached her teen years. It was safe here in Brewer Heights, but something about the vast darkness gave her a creeping feeling. It felt endless.

The night air was doing nothing to help her anymore, and she worried that her neighbors would hear the baby cries and think something was terribly wrong.

"Let's go inside."

The songs she often sang to her daughter that her own mother sung to her when she was younger normally made her giggle and smile. Tonight, however, it was just another thing to add to the list of things that failed to calm her down.

Around midnight she finally heard the front door opening and the heavy footsteps of her husband trudging into their home. A groan followed when he heard the sounds of his daughter crying pierce the air.

"Lee," Y/n exasperated. She came out of nowhere, blindsiding him and begging, "please take her."

Lee didn't even get a second to take his jacket off, nor was he going to be able to relax like he had planned to after his long day. This situation paled in comparison to what he had to deal with at the station today. A domestic dispute, a robbery, a bar fight that ended in a stabbing, and hefty loads of paperwork that came along with it.

"She just won't stop crying Lee."

He said nothing to Y/n as he eyed her. Y/n understood what the look he gave her meant, but she was too concerned with making the crying stop. Lee held his arms open to take the girl into his arms.

"What's wrong darlin'?" He cooed at her. He held her close, snuggling her into him and his warmth

Lee had to temper his annoyance. He didn't want to come home to a screaming baby and a helpless wife, but he was weakened by the desperation radiating off of Y/n.

"What's wrong little girl? You like givin' your mama hell?"

Y/n sighed as the screams began to die down. The sinking feeling that she was an awful mother for not being able to get her baby to calm down was present. The worst thought to cross her mind was that Lee also thought the same. She didn't want to be the wife who couldn't raise her own child and was too dependent on her husband. Lee was admittedly more present in child rearing than her own father. However, she had only started becoming so fussy in the last few months when her father decided to run for Mayor and spent more time at work than at home with his family.

When their girl was born, Lee spent an eternity staring at her face; her features were so similar to his at a young age, but with her mother's lips. Hours after her existence in this word, Lee promised his wife would be home more, maybe he'd even hire a few new officers to handle the countless petty crimes that end up on his desk. Y/n believed his promise, but it changed when he out of nowhere declared that he was going to run for mayor.

"You enjoy being the sheriff's wife. I'm certain you'd love being the mayor's wife even more. And now that we got a baby, my chances are even better."

All of her years of being Lee's wife and she never heard him express any interest in being mayor. Sure he got off on power of any type, but he never uttered the words "mayor" unless he was talking about some trouble the mayor's son ran into. But Lee did always make it clear that his career and maintaining his position was a top priority for him. Y/n often missed the man who did his best to court her and was successful after a few failed attempts. He changed a bit when they started trying for a child, but Y/n could always see it in his face that his old habits will die with him.

"She misses her father."

Lee didn't turn around to acknowledge her. He just rocked his daughter back and forth, ignoring Y/n until she began to move out of the living room.

"Be ready when I get up there," Lee called to her.

Y/n wondered how harsh he would be, or if he would be at all? When he was this on edge he liked to keep Y/n in line; he couldn't go to a stressful work environment and come home to the same. He was always gentle with their daughter and that's all that mattered. Y/n could endure his brutality, but her daughter did not deserve it when she just didn't understand much. She would be too young to remember anything but Y/n would never forget.

She washed up in the bathroom, wiping away the sweat and tears that had clung to her face throughout the day. Her appearance in the mirror looked foreign to her. Her body had changed since giving birth, something that was expected, but she looked more rugged due to stress. Lee didn't realize that whatever he felt, Y/n felt it even harder. When he ices her out, she tries to understand but the feelings of inadequacy had piled up inside of her.

Lee put their daughter to bed without much trouble. She looked so peaceful, a stark difference from the screaming she was doing when he stepped into their home. He wondered how such a sweet little thing could cause so much hell. She was completely innocent yet she made her mama cry and nearly tear her hair out. Lee felt bad for his wife having to spend days alone without help, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he didn't feel that bad.

He was still in his jacket and hat when he finally came into their bedroom. He was well-intentioned on taking a longer shower tonight but he felt all worked up. His body felt tense, but seeing his wife sitting obediently on the bed made him loosen up.

"Pretty, little nightgown," Lee whispered to himself. Y/n's face burned at his compliment. She'd never get used to him being sweet on her.

Y/n held her breath, unsure of which side of Lee she was going to get tonight. She picked out the cream nightie that reached mid-thigh. She knows just how much Lee loves her legs, he has fawned over them since they were dating, and she hoped that the sight of them would make him go easy on her. Her nipples poked through her nightgown; she was going to be leaking in the morning but her only concern was giving Lee something that would make him soften up.

She melted into the palm that was placed on her cheek. He looked down at her, his ego still stronger than ever. He was a powerful man with a strong possibility to grasp even more power, and a pretty fucking wife. He's lucky that she gave him the time of day when she had the option to run off to Cincinnati with a pretty boy. Lee was older than her other suitors, but that's what made him enticing to her then 20 year-old self.

"I overheard Phil talking about the Sheriff's wife today," Lee began to stroke her cheek as she purred up at him, "was wonderin' why a stunner like her was with a fat bastard."

"Don't call yourself that," she cut him off. He had gained a significant amount of weight since he began finding solace in sweets. She feels bad because it began when she was three months pregnant and had him bring her back something sweet everyday. Her cravings turned into his, but the difference was that hers went away after giving birth but Lee's never did. Besides, Y/n found it endearing. Maybe it's just because she's wildly in love with her husband, but she couldn't deny how much she loved to feel the weight of his belly on her back when he took her from behind and pressed her face against the bed.

"You're so sensitive, Y/n. You think I give a damn about what a man who can't keep a girlfriend for more than two months has to say about me? He was right about one thing though," Lee began to unzip his work pants, "I do have a pretty wife with a pretty mouth too."

Y/n's face burned and her eyes moved away from his. Years of marriage, a baby later, and she was still bashful when he made such sexually charged comments.

Lee pulled himself out of his pants. He was hard, the tip dripping with pre-cum. From the look of it, he had probably been hard since the late hours of his work shift. Y/n hoped that he thought of her, she always did, but she knew that station was littered with smut magazines; Lee didn't see too fond of them though.

Y/n wrapped her hand around him and gave him a light squeeze just to feel how hard he was. He grunted and more pre-cum seeped from his tip. He was going to make a mess of her gown and exposed thighs if she didn't get him in her mouth.

"Good girl...always so good for me," he sighed in content.

He placed his hand on the back of her head and she welcomed him deeper into her mouth. Moments like this and all of his stress goes away. There is no county to oversee, no mayoral election, and no whispers; just his wife's wet mouth and something else that's wet between her legs. He felt at home inside of her. She sucked on him harder and his hips stuttered. Y/n did her very best to please him, to make him proud. His sweet little wife looked so wicked with his cock in her mouth.

"You keep that up and I'm going to fall over," he said through his pants.

Y/n looked up at him with innocent eyes. She was far from that when they were alone in their marriage bed. Y/n was anything Lee needed her to be, even without asking.

Lee grabbed ahold of her head and started to thrust into Y/n's mouth. She kept herself still, letting him take control of her. Her tongue applied pressure to the bottom of his shaft. His hips bucked as he lightly fucked her face until he was cumming into her mouth. She gagged when the liquid first splashed against the back of her throat, but she quelled herself and swallowed him completely, just how he likes.

"Let me see," she stuck her tongue out to show him that his seed was no longer in her mouth and he smirked, "good girl." He patted the top of her head and zipped himself back up.

"I'll be in bed soon, but don't wait up for me."

He could see how her body was begging for rest just in the way she lazily moved and the tiredness in her eyes. She wakes up before him every morning to make him breakfast, thus making her days longer than his. She didn't get up to much like he did, but long hours of nothing had probably dulled her. It was even worse when you add a screaming baby to the situation.

Y/n wanted to wait for Lee to come back to bed despite him advising against it. However, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out. There were no sad cries from her daughter and no worrying about where Lee.

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

The sound of sizzling bacon in the cast iron skillet and percolator going in off was louder than Lee’s footsteps coming down the stairs in his heavy boots and jacket. He paused in the doorway, his daughter the only one to notice his presence in the room. A smile formed on his face as she squealed in delight and reached her arms out for him. Y/n looked over her shoulder to see her looking at Lee. She’s surprised that he came down for breakfast later than usual, but she was happy to see that he seemed to be in good spirits.

"You're going to be uncomfortable eating breakfast in that."

"I might not be able to stay for breakfast,” he tutted while smoothing the downy hairs on his daughter’s head.

Y/n furrowed her brow, but didn't protest. She continued with breakfast anyway. She felt Lee’s presence next to her as he pulled a teething ring out of the freezer. There were two little teeth coming in that contributed to last night's meltdown. She was much happier this morning after a good sleep; she was so oblivious to the world and everything happening around her.

The phone rang disrupting their regular morning routine. It was 7 am, too early for anyone to be calling. Lee picked it up anyway; his face first confused then sullen. Y/n couldn't help but try to eavesdrop when Lee turned away from the kitchen and walked away as far as the cord would allow him. Surely whatever he was talking about on the phone, he would tell Y/n. He always complained about whoever he had talked to on the phone. But, he had become more secretive since he entered the mayor’s race. He didn’t want her to worry, or worse, go around blabbing to one of her girlfriend’s or her parents about something Lee told her in confidence. Besides most of it was information that he didn’t think would interest her.

"Alright...I'll talk to you soon...take care."

Y/n busied herself with cooking again to cover up her nosiness. Lee stepped back in the room spilling the moment he put the phone back on the hook.

"People in town are talking."

"About what?"

"About me."

There was something about the way he talked to her that made Y/n believe he wasn’t telling the complete truth, or that the talking town was something much worse.

Y/n was not fully aware of Lee’s reputation when she had met him. She knew of him, and also wondered why a man like him was talking to her when she was fit for being a housewife at the time. Over time she learned that Lee didn't have the cleanest reputation. Little bits and pieces would be revealed to her, but by the time she heard the most damning things about him the two were already married; and the information came from Lee himself. While Y/n didn’t want to concern herself with what others thought about Lee, she absolutely did. His position depended on what people thought about him. Y/n believed that their marriage and the birth of their daughter made people see Lee in a different light. Y/n was a very nice, bright girl from a good family. She turned Lee into a family man and a man who doted on his baby girl and treated his wife sweeter than people expected from him. Whispers about him had gotten quieter when her belly became visible under her dresses. No one looked at Lee with contempt or worry anymore, they gazes softened when they saw him walking with his waddling wife.

Shortly after Lee became her boyfriend, Y/n began to hear about some of the rumors that followed Lee throughout the years. She had been told he was corrupt, frequented a local brothel, and turned a blind eye as long as he got something out of it. She was so naive to believe that people were just jealous of her. There were some women who wanted the sheriff from themselves. A year or two into her marriage, Lee began to confide in her about some things. It would only happen when he was drunk. He'd say a thing and Y/n would ask him to elaborate and he would. Covering up murders, drug deals, and allowing the brothel to stay open as long as he "got a sample" was all true. No one else in the town knew the extent of his troubling choices while on the job. Y/n didn't know what to say. He had done bad things, but he was her husband, she took an oath.

Y/n often imagined what would happen if she had told someone about his confessions. He was already the sheriff when they got married, and who would cross the sheriff? She believed that if she ever said anything he'd divorce her, spread lies about her, and she'd end up an outcast. Her options were very few especially now that she has a young child. Her fear and her devotion to him as a wife kept her silent. She has loved Lee since their third date; she wasn't going to throw her life away with him over her husband’s business that didn’t concern her. They made a promise to each other in front of family, friends, and God. Lee's burdens would become hers, and the same goes for Lee's darkness.

"Someone's been sayin that one of the girls' at that whore house been sayin' I beat her."

Lee seemed to explain it to her with ease, like he knew it wasn't true, but Lee was a good liar.

"Well, did you?"

"Why would you ask something like that?"

Lee started towards her and Y/n partially expected him to chastise her. He wouldn't do anything with their daughter a few feet away from them, she assured herself.

"You really think I'm stepping into a whore house when I come home to you every night?" His arms wrapping around her waist made Y/n smile. This is what Lee did often to deter her from asking many more questions, and it always worked, she melted right into his arms. "The last time I was in that place was to arrest someone for causing a fight, and it damn sure wasn't a whore I roughed up."

Y/n wasn't satisfied with the answer, but she nodded as if she was. She knew not to question him after he had given her an answer he deemed fit. No woman wants to believe that their husband would be at a brothel getting “serviced”. She never found signs of another woman on Lee's clothes or his car. All she'd come across was dirt on the bottom of his pants and candy wrappers in his car. "You've got to believe me Y/n." His eyes spoke the truth, she believed. Y/n pecked his lips and Lee’s arms dropped from her waist.

"Sorry I can't stay for breakfast, but if I want to get back home earlier then I have to go in early. You two girls have fun together," Lee kissed Y/n's lips again before walking over to his daughter and kissing her forehead. She giggled when she felt his lips on her head. He was happy to see her in a better mood, but he didn't want a repeat of last night, "don't give your mama such a hard time today, okay? If I hear you been bad, I'm gonna have to put you in baby jail." She had no idea what he was saying, she just enjoyed hearing her daddy's voice.

"Be safe Lee. Please."

He nodded at her sympathetically before leaving. She heard his patrol car rev up and he was pulling out of the driveway. Y/n worries so much, but every night Lee has come home to her without a scratch on him.

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

Paul Sullivan has been the mayor for as long as Y/n could remember. He’s getting up and age but he’s a very beloved man. His popularity made Y/n worry about Lee’s own chances. The only thing that could knock the man down was his son’s reckless behavior. Darrel Sullivan was a few years younger than Lee and had a penchant for hard liquor and trouble. When his name started being involved in almost weekly bar fights, people started to wonder how a man as good as Paul could raise a son like that?

Lee had used the mayor’s trouble kid to his advantage. It just so happened that once Lee decided to run, Darrel ran into even more trouble. The last offense ended him up with a three month jail sentence (of course his father was responsible for such a lower number of months he spent in jail). A baggy of cocaine was found in his car. When did the mayor’s son escalate to cocaine when his vice had only been alcohol for years?

“It was bound to happen at some point. That boy’s brain is so used to booze that he had to turn to something much harder.”

The talk of the town had satisfied Lee for weeks after the arrest.

Y/n didn’t have to be told by him to know that the cocaine wasn’t Darrel’s and that it was planted. She felt bad for Darrel, but he wasn’t so nice to women so maybe some time in jail would do him and everyone around him some good. Still, Y/n was sort of shocked to see what lengths her husband would go to win. He often played dirty to get what he wanted, but messing with the mayor’s son who has evaded so much trouble was a very close call. Lee was lucky that he got away with it and many people didn’t have questions about it.

That phone Lee received this morning spooked her a bit. No one has ever called just to say there were rumors about him. It was a much bigger problem than her husband wanted to let on.

Y/n did her best to campaign upon Lee’s behalf. She’d tell all the girls at the salon about the newest dress Lee bought her and let the strangers know who stopped to tell her kid was cute just who her father was. Her efforts didn’t go unnoticed either. Her closest girlfriends were always eager to tell her that they overheard someone talking about how wonderful Lee’s wife and daughter are. Y/n believed that she wasn’t going to have to do much more than that, but some people didn’t care much about pretty wives or cute babies when the sheriff was allegedly causing trouble.

Lee’s approach lately has been much more careful. He can’t get caught planting evidence on the wrong person or having someone rat him out. He was growing increasingly paranoid that the townsfolk were watching him closely. Even his deputies got the brunt of some of his delusions. Y/n saw the wild look in his eye every time he would confide his problems to her. Sometimes his words would blend together in a drunken ramble. Bodies...the river...laundering. He scared her sometimes, but she didn’t say anything. Y/n knows her husband has at least killed someone in cold blood; he confessed it in so many words. She wouldn’t be surprised if it has happened two or three times. She didn’t concern herself with the circumstances. If Lee had killed someone then it was probably justified in the eyes of morality and it wasn’t her business.

All of his revelations hardened her. She stopped being shocked after the fourth time Lee let something slip. Lee had never been violent with her the entirety of their relationship. He gets mad, he yells, and he has been guilty of calling her a name or two, but never ever has he laid a finger on her. Y/n was mostly an obedient wife so Lee never found a reason to be forceful with her. The only time Lee took out any aggression was on her was in the bedroom, but he figured she liked it because she’d moan louder than when he’s most gentle with her. Y/n wasn’t too fond of it at first, but she learned to love it and all the rough edges that began to appear as the years together had gone on.

“Here’s the plan for today, little one. You’re going to spend some time with the nice neighbor girl and you’re going to be a very good girl for her, okay? Okay honey?”

Her daughter just looked up at her from her little pallet on the floor. The toys that surrounded her were mostly bought by Lee. There were a few from her parents, but Lee was responsible for buying her too many toys.

While Y/n had never considered hiring a nanny before, it was often suggested to her. Lee even told her to hire some help before the days get too rough and he's gone for longer throughout the day. However, Y/n was always hard-headed. She didn’t need the help, this was just a tough time with their daughter’s teeth coming in. Besides Y/n’s mother was just a phone call away. She always had an answer for Y/n that came from her years of being a midwife and from raising her own children.

The only reason why she was calling over the Peterson's teenage daughter to come babysit was because she couldn’t help Lee in the ways that were needed and bring her baby along with her. Normally she’d put her daughter in her stroller and they were out and about, but this wasn't a regular daily task. It was summertime and her neighbor's daughter probably needed something to do while making some money on top of it.

"Does she need to go down for a nap, Mrs. Bodecker?"

"Not for another hour or two. She shouldn't be hungry or wet. Her teeth are starting to come in so she may get fussy, her teething ring is in the freezer and if that doesn't work then sing Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star to her."

Y/n knew it was a lot for the 16-year-old girl to take in, but she still nodded at every word Y/n said as if she got it all. Of all the little time her daughter had been here on Earth, Y/n had not left her alone with a stranger. It was hard for her to say goodbye to her little girl and leave her with a teenager, but it was bound to happen someday. And the afternoon was almost over, her day was calling for her to begin it.

Lee would be so pissed if he learned that Y/n was driving his car. She wasn't that great with the manual transmission, but she was only taking a short trip to her parent's house. Her brother was home to visit from Cincinnati. He was the child who went to the city unlike his sister. His original plan was to stay while Y/n wanted to go, but she had met Lee and decided to stay. Her brother never explained to her why he left for the city. She didn’t want to ask him too much in fear of prying into his business.

Y/n's parents were incredibly happy about Y/n’s relationship with Lee because that meant their only daughter was bound to stay near them. Her father respected Lee and often disregarded the town’s gossip because he saw it just as that: gossip.

Her brother David was a different story. He didn't really like his brother-in-law. The age gap between them was his biggest concern. “Don’t meddle in your sister’s life. Lee is a good man,” there mother had once tried to persuade him. It was tough when he heard rumors that Y/n didn't even know about at the time because she was younger. He moved to the city before he could hear just how worse things have gotten with the gossip about Lee Bodecker. David wasn't too thrilled to return for Y/n and Lee’s wedding.

Y/n found his disdain with Lee rather comical. Lee was a protective older brother just like David was, but they just couldn't see eye to eye. She recalls the Christmas fight that happened three years ago. David nearly kicked Lee's ass but his little sister protected her husband by shielding him. Y/n didn't want to involve herself, but if she had to pick where her loyalty lied, it would be with her husband.

"Why you stop by without bringing my gorgeous, little niece?" David wrapped his arms around his sister, surprised to see her pulling up by herself, but happy nonetheless.

"You can come over any time to see her David," Y/n ignores the frown that falls on her brother's face, "are mom and pop home?"

"Ma's at the salon and pop is outback cutting up some wood. I tried to stop him. His arthritis is getting worse, but he gives Ma and I hell every time we tell him to slow down. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I just need a favor."

If she was asking her visiting big brother for help instead of her husband or their father, then it must be something she's trying to keep quiet. David was weary about his sister being secretive when she has an eight month old baby at home. In his eyes, if she's sneaking around then it's some sort of trouble.

"What kind?"

"Can I borrow your truck?" Y/n didn't elaborate, she just hoped that he'd say yes.

She can't go around town driving in a familiar car. Lee's personal car was too expensive not to notice and her father's truck had a damn logo on it. David's car though was perfect; no one would recognize the plates because he bought it two years ago from a dealership in Cincinnati, but it would blend in with any car that would be driven in Brewer Heights.

"Is something wrong with the cadillac?"

"No. I just don't want to be noticed. You know Lee doesn’t like me driving around in his fancy car."

If it wasn't for the immense trust David had in his sister, he'd say no. Something about her was off; her sweet demeanor replaced by something more discomposed. It was the same look on her face the night he had caught her trying to sneak out of the house when she was 14. Whatever she wanted to do, it would probably be better handled by someone else, but he didn't ask anymore questions, just handed her the keys.

“Get back before it gets dark, and be safe.”

“You sound just like pop,” she tried to joke to mitigate his worry but he kept a stern look on his face.

“I’m serious Y/n.”

"I'll be back soon," she promised. Of course she would, she has a child at home.

David watched her peel out of the dirt driveway and his car disappeared from sight. He only worried because he didn’t know what the problem was and she looked like she was dying to say something. Maybe in due time she’ll be able to tell her brother everything. Maybe they’ll laugh about it when the years have passed and they’re up in age.

The streets started to become unrecognizable as she drove away from her parent’s home and a much different part of the county. Y/n struggled to materialize the exact location of her destination but from what she had gathered it was at the edge of town, almost entering a different county. All she's ever heard about it was that it was in a "shady part of Knockemstiff." “Shady” meant so many different things because she found the bar that Lee liked to stop at sometimes after a shift to be “shady.”

She hoped to God that Lee was stuck at the office with paperwork and not out patrolling. The sun was going to be setting soon and if he caught her over here all alone past dark, he may just never let her leave the house ever again.

Y/n was not ready to admit what she had planned, especially not to Lee. She herself hadn’t reckoned with it herself. The station her brother had on annoyed her. She turned it off and sat in silence. The only noise that accompanied her was the whirling sound of the wind that slipped through the cracked window. Her eyes peered at every building until they became less frequent. She could hear her blood moving through her veins as she gripped the steering wheel. Did Lee get this way when he did something he wasn’t supposed to? Surely he would be more composed than her, but he has the experience.

She tried to lighten herself up by putting herself in Lee’s shoes. He probably wouldn’t hesitate or second guess his actions. If he did it, he most likely believed that the end justifies the means. No one who was innocent was ever hurt. They may have not committed a crime at the time, but they had before and would do it again. Y/n would have her own confessions to tell Y/n some day. She doesn’t need alcohol to spill her sins. Lee’s presence alone was compelling enough to get her to divulge her crimes, even the harmless ones.

The fact that she’s been driving around for a good half-an-hour lessened her anxiety but increased her impatience. She didn’t realize just how big the county was. It’s been a while since she drove herself anywhere. It was freeing, but she did miss her husband acting as her chauffeur. The thought of Lee driving her to the very brothel he has been accused of frequenting before he was a married man was comical. The consequences of her getting caught was only scary when she thought about how Lee would react.

There was a large clearing of land before Y/n reached another set of buildings. A memory about one of them made her pump the break before passing the entry to turn in. She made a sharp turn into it's parking lot. Jimmy, her high school boyfriend, tried to sneak her into some bar but she was caught about her brother who also happened to be there. She remembered the distinct color of the door; neon green. It was an eyesore but it had never been changed, even when they switched owners. The place had closed down years later due to an excess of minors being able to sneak in.

The crappy bar was not her concern, but the place next to it. She remembers Jimmy’s distinct voice whispering in her ear, the smell of alcohol ripe on his breath.

"That's where the girls who got nothing but good pussy between their legs go."

She had flinched at the words he used. She wondered what he meant by that, only 14 at the time and not really able to comprehend the concept of a brothel. It was the first time she's heard anyone refer to a woman's private parts as a "pussy..

Y/n didn’t expect the parking lot to be so empty. It was pretty early in the evening, maybe people did not want to be at a whore house when there was still daylight. Only one car sat in the parking lot of the bar. There was a makeshift parking lot on the side of the building and next to the old bar. It looked like it was not taken care of properly and a fire hazard waiting to happen.

She circled around the building, eyeing it to see if there were windows to see inside somehow. Only a few small windows were on the building, but they were either foggy or covered in moss that it was a futile attempt.. Tire markings covered the dirt right in the back of the building. Y/n figured that most people parked back here so they wouldn’t get caught by any passing cars or authority. There was not much that could kill a man’s reputation like being caught in this place.

Y/n settled for parking her car on the side of the bar. The likelihood of someone driving by and being able to see the plates of her brother’s car was very slim, but she found herself being extra careful.

Upon her arrival at the door, Y/n told herself she had no idea what she's doing, nor what she should expect. It probably wasn't common for a woman to walk into a whore house unless she was a whore herself. She hoped that she was unrecognizable with her usually pinned-up hair cascaded over her shoulders and a different shade of lipstick on her lips. The sunglasses were a last minute, ridiculous purchase, but it gave her a layer of protection. At least she could wear a disguise, Lee didn’t have anything to protect his identity when he did his own sinful acts. The least she could do for her husband is to not get herself caught.

Y/n wonders if Lee hadn’t been so secretive, would she have to do this? Lee did his best to hide things from his wife, but she isn't stupid, she goes out in town and hears things about her husband. Those rumors weren't small like he tried to lead on. "Someone" always meant more than ten people. In her eyes, this had been a long time coming; it was only a matter of time before she got sucked into his world without the intention of doing so. She could only feel so compelled to protect a man no matter the consequences if she loved him more than life itself.

If he wanted to be secretive under the guise of “protecting” her then fine, but she hated that she had to piece everything together on her own. She heard his late night conversations when he failed to make sure she was sleeping. Whoever he talked to, they talked about a lot of things that didn’t sound wholly legal. From what she picked up from his phone call concerning this dilemma was that the owner of this place was referred to as “Reed”. He didn't seem too fond of Lee, and from the sound of her husband’s voice, the feeling was mutual. She had trouble keeping up with all the technical jargon of Lee’s phone conversations, but from her understanding Lee was threatening to get the place shut down. It would be a good look for him in his bid for being mayor. He would look like a hero if all the crime and sleaziness of this county was suddenly dealt with. Maybe they’d put his picture in the newspaper and dedicated a lengthy article to him and Y/n could clip it to the refrigerator.

No one would think twice about connecting the dots that Lee was connected to several illegal operations going on around the county. Of all the rumors she has heard about Lee, the whore house bothered her most. It made her feel vain that she was only concerned with her husband cheating on her and not potential murders he has committed. Insecurity crept into her as she visualized her husband stepping through these exact same doors and finding his pleasure in a woman that had more experience than her. She did believe her husband when he said he hadn't stepped out on her while they were married, but that didn’t include their entire relationship. It shouldn’t matter because she was the one he decided to marry, but it still lingered in the back of her mind.

Her body shook to the core as she opened the door. She swallowed thickly as she wondered what sight she would be greeted by. It was an anti-climatic moment when she fully stepped inside to an empty place. It looked like a makeshift motel lobby and bar at the same time. Y/n thought it would be something more shabby and slimy, but it was not. Some pin-up model posters were plastered on the wall along with photos of random musicians. There were oddly a lot of photos of Frank Sinatra that had their own little corner of the wall. It was hard to determine what the vibe of this “establishment” was. One thing for sure is that she felt like an intruder. The posers on the wall made her feel stupidly bashful; this was a man’s domains and not a place for someone’s wife.

"Can I help you darlin?"

The smooth voice belonged to an older man. Y/n figured he was “Reed” because he looked like a Reed. And he appeared to be the only person here. She doubts a random patron would take to cleaning the place up by sweeping the floors.

"Uh -- are you Mr. Reed?"

Surprisingly, he just laughed at her stumbling over her words. It hadn’t dawn on her prior to a few moments ago that he knew his way around talking to a nervous girl. She ironically hoped that he thought she was just a lost whore, and that she wasn’t recognized as the sheriff’s wife.

"I am darlin’. Is there something I can help you with?" He asked again. Y/n was surprised that he wasn't intimidating, or greasy. He seemed so simple and kind, but he just happened to run a brothel. And he was the man who was saying awful things about her husband.

"I'm looking for a job," she made sure her words were as natural as possible. The little script she created in her head seemed like it would be easy to see-through, "I-I’m just wondering if you were looking for a waitress or someone to clean the place?"

A sly smile spread across his face. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt just how insidious this man was. A glance at him and he was unsuspecting, but a few moments with him, especially when he’s alone with a pretty girl and his true nature was hard to hide.

"You've come to a good place, darlin’. Let me put this away and I'll show you to my office."

He put the broom he held back into a closet and beckoned for her to follow him. Her heart thumped loudly as she followed him to potential danger. He could assault her or do something worse if he really wanted to. She was vulnerable now and just had to trust the process.

They had passed multiple doors to get to his office, probably the doors where the girls would stay and please customers. Y/n tried not to imagine Lee being behind one of those doors with a woman touching his body. This place smelled like tawdry perfume, luckily something she has never smelled on Lee’s clothes.

"Do you have any experience waitressing?" He said the word as if he wanted her to believe that this place was anything but a brothel. For him it was possible that she really thought this place was something innocent, but he could always persuade a pretty girl who looked lost to work for him.

"A few years...I was a waitress with my friend in Columbus for a year."

"Columbus? Why did you leave darlin’?" Y/n wanted to cringe at his constant pet name. No man talked to her like that besides her husband. It felt dirty to hear him call her something reserved for Lee and Lee only.

"Got into some trouble. My ex roughed me up a bit and I had to leave," Y/n recalled the story her brother told about one of his college friends: a homely sorority girl who got caught up with the wrong guy. She felt bad using the poor girl's story and reclaiming it as her own, but a sob story would make this man more likely to take her in if she guessed correctly.

"Well, I don't know if I'm taking anymore girls in-"

"Please!? Please? I don't have anywhere else to go. I really need the money and a place to stay. It was hell getting up here," she implored.

Hearing her beg like that made his cock harden in his pants. There was something about a sweet little thing begging for his help that turned him on. He had no intention of turning her away from the beginning, but it was also nice to know how desperate a girl was; that made it easier for him to get a taste for himself.

However, Reed was either too horny or just an idiot to realize that a girl who had been traveling alone and from Columbus wouldn't be wearing such a nice dress that looked untouched. He was a sadistic bastard who liked employing girls that he can push around and Y/n was beginning to see that due to his negligence.

His appearance absolutely covered up for how mean he was. Most bruises that ended up on his girls weren't from customers, but from him. He had to control himself when customers started to complain about the marks on the girls. (It was not like they cared for their well-being, they just wanted to fuck girls who were looked clean and pretty. Those men just wanted their fantasies fulfilled). His rage was taken out in psychological ways now instead of physical. He made sure those girls were in hell with no escape. He was sweeter on them if they opened their legs for him, but he was well aware that he could get away with doing whatever he wanted to them because they had nowhere else to go. If Y/n knew half the stuff he did then she wouldn't feel as guilty for what she was planning to do to him.

"I don't just hire anyone -- say, what’s your name darlin’?"

"Mary. My name is Mary."

"You gotta prove you deserve to work for me, Mary. Why don't you stand up and turn around for me."

Y/n dreaded following his orders, obeying him and spinning around slowly in her dress for him. The only man she had done that for was Lee. She felt like she was cheating on him, but she remembered that it was for him. His face was etched in her mind the entire time. The thought of him comforted her as she pretended like he was there with her as if he was God’s spirit, wrapping her in a feeling of vengeance instead of love.

"You sure are a pretty little thing. You been fucked before?"

"Once. Just by my ex-boyfriend."

"Good. I'm sure that pussy is still tight, I can just say you're a virgin and make one of those fuckers pay a heavy price for a piece of you."

Y/n nearly looked at him in horror, but gave him a half-hearted smile instead. She would act like she was grateful for him giving her a chance to make money. Her stomach churned at the thought of possibly not making it out of here. Reed’s eyes had darkened once he knew that she was in his grasp with no easy escape. He was a big man who could easily overpower her if she tried to do something stupid. But she seemed so obedient, like a perfect little girl.

"I can get you a bed, but you're going to have to reuse the clothes that are in there already. The girl who stayed there last up and ran away,” Y/n was very doubtful about that. Reed began rummaging through his drawer, pulling out a bottle of liquor before continuing, “If they don't fit you can trade with one of the other girls. You and the rest of the girls stay in your room until it's time to open. Can't have any of you roaming around in case one of those bastard cops decide to give me some trouble."

Her eyes glanced at the clock on the wall, it was nearly 8 o’clock. She did not think it would go this smoothly so far. Her anxiety didn’t cause her to make any major flubs that would get her caught; she just came off as an unsuspecting girl. Y/n just didn’t realize how simple a man could be in the presence of an attractive woman.

"Place opens at 9 every night, ‘cept for Sundays. I’m going to let you go get ready soon but I need you to learn my rules before you go out there and do something to piss me off," he shuffled in his seat for a few seconds, his face painted with discomfort, "first I need to go piss. Can you stay here and wait for me darlin’? Of course you can,” he left without waiting for a response from her.

Y/n waited until he opened his office door and closed it behind him. She had limited time to do what she had to do. She quickly moved behind his desk and began to fly through his drawers looking for arsenic.

There was a conversation she remembers Lee having with one of the men in town when they stopped in the middle of an aisle at the grocery store to talk. Most men believed that their wives weren’t interested in listening to whatever they’ve got to talk about with other men. Or that they just don’t understand what the hell they’re talking about. That may be true for Y/n most of the time but her ears perked up when she had heard certain words. Y/n had a penchant for being nosey ever since she was a kid, but it usually got her in trouble. She tried not to eavesdrop on Lee’s conversations but he made it so hard when he started to whisper and look around to make sure no one else was near.

A word like "syphilis" had Y/n scratching her head. She hadn't heard of it before but apparently a man in town died from it after contracting it "at the whore house." It sounded serious. and from the context, something you get from fucking someone without a condom.

A few books at the library confirmed her suspicions. She had to re-read some sentences to fully grasp what she was reading. From what she gathered, syphilis was treated with “magic” arsenic before they switched to penicillin. However, with Mr. Reed being referred to as a "cheap” and “old school” man multiple times in Lee’s conversation with the man at the grocery store, she believed (or at least hoped) that he still used that old method. But instead of Salvarsan, she found something that looked much cheaper and like it wasn’t obtained legally. She grabbed as many vials as she could and just began to dump them into his glass that held his dark liquor. She did it rather sloppily, her hands shaking when she realized that this was it. It was possible that she was more scared of getting caught by him than killing the old man. He’d probably beat her until she was unrecognizable.

Y/n desperately hoped it would work. If it didn't kill him, then it would certainly impair him since he was up in age and probably didn't take good care of his health anyway. She tossed the empty vials into one of the drawers of his desk and wiped whatever residue was on her hands onto the tacky shag rug on the floor. She had to get it off of her hand before getting in her brother’s car. She didn’t consider the risk of poisoning herself, but it arose inside of her the moment she felt a few splashes onto her fingers.

"Ok sweetheart," he had caught her on her knees, "what are you doing?"

"I-I dropped my earring."

He couldn't see her ears due to her hair covering them. He grumbled something about "women" but moved to his seat without question.

Y/n got off the floor and sat in the chair in front of him. He looked a little annoyed with her now instead of eyeing her like a piece of meat like he had done for the entirety of their time alone. She watched his hand intently, waiting for him to wrap his hand around his glass and bring it up to his lips.

"I run a tight house here. None of my whores act up and I expect the same for you. If you're good for daddy, he'll be good to you."

A loud buzzing in her ears made his words unintelligible. She panicked and wondered if it was the little amount of arsenic that got on her hand that was making her feel sick to her stomach. She needed to clean herself up, and Reed needed to wrap this up. But he just talked and talked and talked while she nodded along like she really cared or was paying attention. She held her breath as he picked his glass up and took the first sip of his poisoned alcohol. Y/n isn't sure why she expected an immediate reaction from him, maybe for him to spit it out or clutch his chest, but he just carried on. It was going to take time, and she just had to wait it out. She had probably about 45 minute left before it was opening time. What if there were people already starting to come? What if one of the girls was roaming around now?

"You got that darlin'?"

"Yes," Y/n choked out, not realizing Reed had finished his spiel.

"Alright. Your room is upstairs, take a left and it’s the third room on the right hand side. Just because you’re new doesn’t mean I won’t have your ass if you’re late," he kicked up his heels and reclined in his chair as he placed a cigarette between his lips. He lit it up and blew smoke right in Y/n’s direction, disregarding her grimace, “I’ll probably just let a few men use your throat tonight. Don’t worry, I won’t let them touch that pretty little pussy yet.”

Reed smiled coyly as if he was doing her a favor. He nodded towards the door and Y/n hot tailed it out of there. She didn't realize that she wasn't breathing right until she let out an exhale and then inhaled deeply. If he wasn't going to experience symptoms right away then it was going to take some time. There she ran the risk of him being able to get some help. It wasn’t likely that many people would call the cops to help a dying brothel owner, but she panicked that maybe somebody would.

Barricading him inside of his office was the only thing to give her reassurance. She grabbed one of the bar stools, heavier than she expected, and trudged towards his door. She gently placed the first one against the door so as to not to make a noise that would cause him to see what’s going on. Y/n did her best to run back and forth in her flats and placed each stool against his door until there were no more left. She added a few chairs to the growing pile to make sure it stuck.

Y/n paused when she heard someone starting to rouse. Whoever it was, or what, stopped making noise after a few seconds. Y/n looked up and started praying to God that she would not get caught, but the irony of wishing for someone to die did not escape her.

God just may have been on her side though. She got out of there with clean hands and not a single mark on her skin. Y/n knew that Lee couldn’t know about this just quite yet, but she begins to fantasize about Lee being proud of her and taking her to bed afterwards.

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

"Where have you been?” Imagine Lee’s surprise when he saw his neighbor’s teen daughter holding his little girl. Nothing seemed to be wrong, in fact his daughter was giggling at something the teen was doing. However, Y/n had not told him hiring a babysitter, nor did he know she was going to go out. She always told him if she was going out. If it was a spontaneous decision then a new question rose of where the hell she was during the darker hours of the day.

"I went to visit my parents and must have lost track of time,” Y/n kissed his cheek like she always does. She knows how to get Lee’s attention on something else, “David is in town and I wanted to see him-”

She was cut off by the sound of her husband groaning. It wasn’t often that his brother-in-law came into town, so it was only a matter of time before Y/n was dragging him over to her parents house for dinner.

“Whatever. Just put the girl to bed.”

Probably the first time, Y/n was happy to see that Lee was too tired to talk to her. She doubts he’ll have questions later about her whereabouts, especially if the death of the brothel owner hits his desk by tomorrow morning.

Y/n won’t worry about it tonight. She’s fine. Everything will be fine.

Their daughter went down easy tonight. She was tuckered out from her day with the babysitter. “Good night baby,” Y/n kissed her forehead and prayed that she would sleep through the night instead of waking up crying for a feed.

Y/n walked into the bedroom to Lee undressing himself. “Join me,” he nodded his head in the direction of their bathroom. There was a smile on his face, a sly one but not as lascivious as Reed’s. After being in the presence of such an awful man she was surprised that her body warmed at the idea of Lee’s hands roaming her body. He’s the only man she wants to be obedient for. The hot water on her skin cleaned her and the cum that sputtered out from Lee’s hard-on anointed her.

“You feel so fucking good. Oh God...I was thinking about this pussy when I was at work...almost had to touch myself.”

Lee’s words were similar to the ones Reed had used earlier but they purified her. Her cheek pressed against the tiled wall as he fully pushed himself inside of her, hands gripping her hip. There was a low sound of their wet skin slapping together coupled with Lee’s own grunts. Y/n wasn’t particularly in the mood to have sex, but she just needed Lee close to her.

“I’m gonna cum Y/n -- I’m gonna cum honey-” his voice was cut off by his orgasm as he emptied himself inside of her.

He slumped against her, his face pressed against her back as his arms wrapped her waist to bring her body closer against his.

“Do you think I’m gonna win?”

Y/n wiggled out of his grasp and turned off the water that was beating down on their skin. Water continued to fall down his face; his eyes were more than tired, they were sullen.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think people are really going to vote for me? They love that old bastard so damn much even though he’s old as shit.”

“Lee? Where is this coming from? Why are you so worried? People respect you-”

“But it doesn’t mean they like me. You and I both know that most of the people didn’t even start being friendly with me until the little one came along.” It was sort of his own fault, but Y/n would never tell him that.

“Don’t worry Lee,” she cupped his face, something he normally does, but it was nice to switch roles, “everything will be alright. I promise. You’re going to be mayor and I’m going to be the mayor’s wife.”

He nodded at her reassurance, but his doubt was hard to push away. He felt foolish being so vulnerable and borderline emotional about this, but his wife made him feel better. Her eyes were honest and words earnest when she said, “everything will be alright.”

Lee believed her.

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker smut #the devil all the time #dark fic #lee bodecker fic #sebastian stan fic

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tamagochiie · 3 years

Text

a line without a hook | part three.

part three. “merely tolerable, really.”

chapter synopsis. Had you known freedom tasted like this, you wouldn’t have bothered to form an attachment with Mr. Ackerman. Was there really a point in what you were doing?

word count. 7.5k

tags. swearing, angst, tones of misogyny

notes. This is a very late post, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for the upcoming chapter for this week, there may been another delay. I’ve been swamped with a lot of assignments and its my finals week, so I hope you all understand :/

back to master list

<< part two. | part four. >>

Your mother always told you gossip to women is like honey to a swarm of flies: you can catch more of them depending how sweet the scandal is. But she never thought to tell you what it'd be like if you were the honey, that the women would stick to you, drinking the life out of every little thing you do and unpack it together with their girl friends over afternoon tea and biscuits.

Your name, along with Mr. Ackerman's, had travelled from one tongue to the other in the last four days.

Each story are more intricately fabricated than the last. You heard all sorts of things, too many thing to keep track of — something about Mr. Ackerman's family background and more so yours, but you didn't want to pay heed over something that didn't come directly from the man himself.

And just the other day, while you commuted to town to deliver Reiner's forgotten lunch, you overhead a group of women whispering that you were already singing with the church bells.

You had shuddered at the thought and assumed it was something your mother must've cooked up given how she easily melted at Mr. Ackerman's feet when he came to visit a few days ago.

You and Mr. Ackerman were both aware that his visit, and all the kind and loving words he had said before you and your family, were merely for show. And that it was for purpose of sweeping your house clean of all trespassers and violators of your freedom.

But nonetheless, even with a letter that came to heed you of his visit, you were still left utterly speechless.

Mr. Ackerman had strolled into your cozy home, he hadn't been swathed in his usual drab choice of clothing, but settled with more pleasing fashion that didn't say,"I'm pessimistic and moody, and I've got a reputation for killing for sport".

He had been bathed in shades of blue, but still leaned on the darker side of the color spectrum. It had been a good change save for his signature cravat, and it led you to wonder just how many he owned.

You came to the conclusion he owned quite enough to be stitched together and make a thick and long blanket to last through the winter.

However, what had left you gobsmacked and rapidly blinking in succession was not Mr. Ackerman's slight change of style, but the little smirk across his lips while he spoke to your mother. His tone hadn't been clipped and did not drip in annoyance, but was a twinge softer — completely out of pocket for a man with a reputation for being dark and brooding.

Sasha, on the other hand, had been easily tickled in pure curiosity by Mr. Ackerman, poking and prodding him with peculiar and rather personal questions. You had expected he'd yell at her, seeing he'd be the kind of person to do that.

But he didn't snap. It was obvious his patience had been wearing thing, so he kept his replies quick and short just like his temper.

Pieck never spoke a word, but had instead observed the exchange as she sat on the couch, sandwiched between Connie and Jean while your mother had done her best to entertain Mr. Ackerman in small talk even though the man reeks of disdain for it.

Though Mr. Ackerman had successfully wooed your mother, and probably the rest of your sisters and Connie, Reiner was anything but.

Your brother protectively glued himself to your side, glaring down at Mr. Ackerman with a vexed look plastered across his scruffy face. Unfortunately, Reiner's attempt to be intimidating had fallen short and made you not only you, but Mr. Ackerman, suppress a stifling laugh.

Regardless of your brother's wishes, Mr. Ackerman's visit had been deemed fruitful. Your mother's eyes as well as her heart completely set on Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Ackerman alone.

To which both requests you firmly nodded and smiled at.

But your smile had been quick to fade.

You agreed to this little sham because you admired your freedom, but ever since Mr. Ackerman's visit, despite no men coming to bother you from the early hours of the morning till the late afternoon, you find yourself anything but free.

Your mother, the seventh circle of your personal hell, has taken it upon herself to berate you—tells you to make more of an effort on your appearance. She'll comment on how you sit, how you speak or how you eat, and every other thing you do.

You may have been liberated by the lusting grips of men, your mother's iron clad hold on even the thought of you being a few steps away from marriage is much tighter, and much more stubborn than you ever imagined.

So you spend your days hidden in your room, away from your mother and the rest of the world.

Sometimes you'll read or stare out the window, and when you do decide to step out of your little bubble, you'll be sure to check if the coast is clear from any possibly ambushes from your mother.

Though the only time you really do go out is to check the mail to see if Mr. Ackerman has written to you — he has not — or spend some time with your great love, your horse, Maria.

But for the most part, you plant yourself on the couch right up against window sill with your back slumped on the wall and legs sprawled out. You stare outside, not really looking at anything in particular.

Maybe the chickens.

You heavily sigh, fogging up the class as you gaze idly, twirling the ends of your hair. You grow jealous of the chickens and the roosters because at least they have their freedom. Their simple minds and their simple lives; the lay eggs and crow at dawn.

Damn chickens, you seethe in thought.

There's a faint knocking on your bedroom door that cease your internal tanget. You turn your head as the door creaks open, revealing your sister, Sasha, poking her head out between the gap. A friendly smile adorns her pink lips as she holds a plate of food in her hands.

"Can I come in?" She asks, already stepping inside. "I brought you food. You've been cooped up in here for too long, I thought you might be hungry."

You chuckle and motion her to come in.

Sasha moves briskly and steps inside before shutting the door behind her. She tiptoes across the room and over to you. She lightly taps your foot to make room and you swing it off the couch.

She places the tray between the two of you. A few loaves of bread, some grapes, and other fresh fruit that you assume she's stolen from the batch Reiner's supposed to sell.

She swipes the loaf of bread, breaking it in half and hands you the bigger piece before chewing her's down.

"You alright?" She asks, her words muffled by the bread. "Mamma's gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

You bob your head, humming in response as you eat the bread bit by bit, taking your time.

Sasha follows your line of sight, checking to see what you've been so keenly staring at. Only to find that it's just a bunch of chickens running around.

"I'm overwhelmed," You confess breathily. You pull your legs up to your chest and rest your chin onto your knees. "I don't like the feeling one bit."

"Is it because of Mr. Ackerman?" Sasha looks at you with concern outlining the softness of her face. You don't really reply, just lulling your head in thought. "You surprise me, you know."

"I do?"

Sasha hums delightfully as she takes her last bite of her bread before moving onto the grapes.

"For someone who admires her freedom and never spared an interest in even the thought of forming an attachment, you latched onto Mr. Ackerman rather quickly." Sasha had always been mistaken for an idiot at a surface level, but she's a lot more perceptive than people give her credit for — than you give her credit for. And for once, you hated it. "One could even say that it's a bit...odd. But you've always been off, so maybe it isn't so out of the blue."

"Oh, how you read me so well," You say, sarcasm oozing from your words. You take a quick bite of bread.

"What's he like?"

You shrug your shoulders, pouting in thought. "I've only ever met him thrice," You point out, laughing at the curiosity avidly pooling from her eyes. "There's not much I can judge. If anything, I think you'd know more than me since you've pummeled the poor man with one too many questions."

Sasha takes the tray of food and scooches closer to you before putting it on her lap.

"But that's different! You've gotten first hand experience. Is he really like all the rumors?" She asks, a little too keenly. "Is he really as mean as they say? Because when he visited the house, he seemed too stiff for comfort."

You snort and are quick to cover your mouth to keep the bread from spilling from your lips.

"Mm, well, Mr. Ackerman is man of few words and very few expression, but he seems...genuine?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but the more you speak, the more you're hit with the realization you know absolutely no idea who the man is.

All you're really left with is his hatred for attention, and your mutual need for peace. Everything else you try to think of comes up short.

Mr. Ackerman hasn't written a letter to you since his visit. It's not like he said he was going to, but a very small and naive part of you thought he would.

Sasha continues to rain down on you with more questions, but it isn't as persistent as you'd expect her to be. Its either her line of concentration snaps too quickly for you to formulate a response, or she's just too excited to hear more.

You answer what you can until you can no longer think. Eventually you're too tired to talk about you and the subject of the conversation shifts to Sasha.

"Hey, Sasha," You carefully speak between chews, minding the grape in your mouth. Sasha's eyes, still colored in hunger as she takes another loaf of bread, darts to look at you. "What about you, though?"

"Hmm?"

"You and..." You shift in your seat and lean in. "You and Nicolo - are you two really - Oh! My God, are you alright?"

Sasha nearly chokes on her bread. Clenching her fist, she beats her chest to help soothe the burn in her throat, coughing for air.

"Sasha!"

"I-I'm fine!" She finally says, swallowing thickly. "Sorry, yes, I'm fine."

"Do you need water?" Sasha shakes her head as she rests her hand on your shoulder to keep you still in case you choose to leave. You move even closer to rub her back to ease her, but once she does, a smirk plays across your lips and chuckle stumbles from your lips. "So, I guess it's true. You and Nicolo really are —"

"Shut up!" Sasha interjects, her head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Please! I've had enough of mamma pestering me about this— ever since Pieck decided to tattle on me! If you're going to being just as annoying as her than—"

"I won't be!" You argue, your tone playful and lilting. "I'm only asking, and you're taking forever to say anything!"

"Well, fine! Alright." Sasha sharply huffs in defeat as she tosses her bread onto the tray and sets it back onto the couch. "Yes, okay, I suppose I might have feelings for Nicolo, but I don't know. I can't tell."

"You can't tell...?"

Sasha lets out another breath as she slumps against the wall. Her head tilts up to look at the cracked ceiling before looking back down to you, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks the right words to convey how she feels. She nervously twiddles her thumbs while doing so.

"How do you even know when you like someone?"

You blink at Sasha, taken aback by her question while she looks at you eagerly.

You realize, after a few breaths, you don't have a definite answer because unlike Pieck, you've never really experienced the feeling yourself. You always lived vicariously through fictional characters you read in novels, and Mrs. Bloom's sweet story of how she met her husband.

But other than that, you come up short—you can't tell at all.

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask." You confess, causing Sasha to look at you quizzically as confusion stirs in her mind. "I haven't really found the answer myself, I'm sorry."

Sasha sighs dejectedly.

"It's best to ask Pieck, isn't it?"

"As me what?" Pieck's voice, delicate and laced in curiosity, has your heads turn to the bedroom door.

It seems you were both too deep into your conversation to hear her knocking.

Pieck stands by the door, her olive green dress flows in the gentle window coming from the opened window, her hair into the usual messy, low ponytail that falls down her shoulders; her eyes heavy-laden with sleepiness.

Your eyes trail down to her hand, finding a pile of letters tightly held in it.

"Pieck, what's that?" You ask, dismissing her question with a question.

"Now hold on," Pieck hides the letters behind her back, pressing herself against the door to create even more distance—as if the wide expanse of the room wasn't enough. "What's the question?"

Sasha rolls her eyes. "It's silly."

"Well, if it's from you, I'm sure it is."

Sasha grumbles at Pieck's sarcastic retort, and you watch as your two sisters begin to bicker.

"If you're going to be an ass, I won't tell you." Sasha crosses her arms and twists her body away from Pieck and towards the window, her eyes falling to the clucking hens.

Peick nimbly trots across the floor and over to Sasha's side, crashing into her and quickly wrapping her arms around her shoulders, nosing through Sasha's hair bunched up in a high pony as she rests her chin onto her shoulder.

"Go away!" Sasha growls, her face contorts a sour expression as her attempts to shove Pieck off fails.

"Oh, c'moooon," Pieck coos, peppering kisses over her little sister's cheek, "won't you tell me? I hate being left out, especially when it's the two of you."

Sasha grunts as she tries to pry away from Pieck, but only to be caught in sloppy kisses on the cheek and the temple of her forehead. Though Sasha visibly shows disgust, even you can see that she loves being showered in affection from Pieck.

Pieck, being the eldest and holding the most responsibility, had always held you both with great love and adoration.

"Alright!" Sasha yells in surrender, tangled in the arms of her sister and somehow in a headlock as Pieck sits behind her. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Let me go and give me room, please."

Sasha elbows Pieck away from her, giving her enough space to breathe, and you snatch the tray off the couch and onto your lap to keep it from falling.

And as Sasha begins to explain her little dilemma, Pieck comfortably sits herself behind her, propping her chin back onto her shoulder and winding her arm around her waist as she listens intently. Pieck's gentleness doesn't go unnoticed by Sasha, and you watch as she sinks in the hug.

Pieck clicks her tongue, her eyes look at you as she falls into a thought, not deep enough to overthink and get carried away as she finds the answer.

"Hmmm, love and likeness can be complicated, but only if you let it be." You tilt your head at Pieck as she continues on her train of thought. "But you can tell if you like someone if you enjoy being with them and find their company pleasant. Do you find Nicolo's company pleasant?"

Sasha mindlessly hums in thought as her head lulls back on Pieck's shoulder.

"I do, actually." Sasha admits without hesitation. "I think..." She takes a beat to suck her teeth as she continues to think about it a little more, "I like the food he makes and that he, well, never seems to be bothered by me..."

"He's always so kind—like his eyes. His smile's nice, too, I suppose. Whenever he speaks, whether it's about food or well, other things, I can't help but listen."

There it is, the shimmer of affection in her light brown eyes and the oh-so-subtle smile across her lips. You almost miss it, but the world stills around you as you're caught in her bubble.

Pieck gives you a knowing look, smiling playfully.

Without saying a word or even slipping a sound, you and Pieck come to the agreement that Sasha'll have to come to her own realization that he loves him. The question is when she'll arrive at it.

Sasha brushes it off, not wanting to muddle herself any longer. She plucks the letters from Pieck's grasp and eagerly swifts through the pile while humming thoughtfully, completely ignoring Pieck's groan of disdain.

It's the usual; a couple of people from your father's family, inquiring when you're to sell the estate, one from your distant aunt from your mother's side that never bothers to actually visit, but diligently sends letters whether it be rain or shine, and one for —

"You've got a letter!" Sasha chirps, snapping her head up to look at you before shoving it into your hands. "It's from Mr. Ackerman! He's finally written to you!"

You throw your legs over the edge of the couch, sitting upright and fixing your hair as if Mr. Ackerman's just right there, watching you as you open his letter with shaky breaths and nimble fingers.

You quickly but carefully open his letter, scanning through his words and your eyes bulge out of it's sockets.

"What's it say?" Pieck inquires, excitement dripping from her lips as she scooches closer to try and peak at the letter. "Will he be visiting again?"

You shake your head.

"Well, don't be shy!" Sasha whines, "What is it?"

You open and close your mouth, blinking frantically as your shock still rides through your body. "Mr. Ackerman would like me to visit him at his estate next Tuesday."

When your mother heard news of your presence being requested by Mr. Ackerman, she took it upon herself to teach everything you needed to know about being "prim and proper". She stole your remaining days of peace and prepped you as best as she could.

When it came time for you to leave, she was adamant that you opt to take horseback instead of taking the carriage. All, especially your brother Reiner, were completely against it when they noticed the storm clouds reeling in. But your mother was deeply rooted in her stance, firm like a tree that not even the wind of your brother's disdain could change her mind.

So there you stand, having been caught in the rain, dripping from head to toe as the Smith estate towers over you, as if it's ready to swallow you whole in one go. You have to crane your neck back in a particularly painful angle to get a good look of the entire building, and you’re sure you’re only seeing the very tip of the iceberg.

Your mother warned you it would be much larger than you were used to - you just never imagined it to look like something out of a book.

Shivering and tightly wrapping your coat over you to trap any warmth you might have left with one hand, you swiftly knock on the door with the other. A shuddering breath escapes you when the door creaks open, revealing a servant to greet you in.

“Ah, Miss,” The servant’s eyes widen in fright, flinching back. His gulp is audible even with the thundering behind you. He scans you from head to toe, and he doesn’t bother to mask his sneering at your drenched frame and all the mud collected at the hem of your skirt. “You must be Miss Blouse, yes?” You greeted him with a sneeze, and briefly apologized. “Come quickly before you catch a cold.”

But your second and most aggressive sneeze yet tells him you might already have one.

“He’s been expecting you,” Is all the servant says before guiding you down that hall.

You rub your eyes, wiping your hairs sticking to your face as you take in the sight before you. The air in the estate is chilly and deadly quiet - enough to hear the sound of your clothes dripping with water and to catch the servant clicking his tongue at you.

You hold your breath; you didn’t think the estate could get any bigger, but it does. The hallway is vast and seemingly endless; portraits of many different men and women - all who you assume were probably family members of Mr. Smith because of the signature blonde hair and blue eyes - canvas over the great walls.

Giddiness tickles down from your chest and into your stomach as you trail behind the servant, your arms swaying to the side with a little skip in your step. You try your best to catch a peak at every room and hall you pass by, but everything moves in blur.

You can’t tell if you’re tired from your travels or if it's the pace you’re walking in. You take deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together as the servant ushers you into the drawing room.

“Mr. Ackerman will be here shortly,” is all he leaves you with, not bothering to spare another breath.

You’re surrounded by more paintings and books, but a particular painting catches your eye. It’s a portrait of a woman relaxed on a chair; she looks nothing like the ones outside. She has soft features and kind eyes, her lips supple and plump with an endearing smile. Her dark hair flows down to her shoulders, framing her face.

You squint your eyes, inching towards it with your hands clasped behind your back to avoid reaching out to touch it. The longer you stare, you find a weird sense of familiarity in her. But you just can’t -

“You’re wet.” You snap your head towards the gravelly voice to find Levi standing by the door with his brows pulled down in horror. “You’ve tracked in so much rain water, I thought a dog had stalked in.”

“Oh, I’m quite fine - achoo! Thank you for asking - achoo!” Your feeble attempt to shoot down his sarcastic remark is embarrassingly interrupted by your persistent sneezing. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove, earning a look of disgust from Mr. Ackerman. “Excuse me, I got caught in the rain.”

“I couldn’t tell,” He clips with a tight lip. “You could catch a cold -”

“Achoo!”

“It seems you already have…” Mr. Ackerman groans, and you find yourself picking at your fingers in embarrassment, your head lowered to the floor. “Follow me, I’ll give you something to change out of.”

Mr. Ackerman wastes a single breath, nor does he allow you to. But instead, with the utmost jaded expression on his face, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, expecting you to follow. You have to admit, with a fuzzy feeling buzzing in your head and the sudden sensitivity to the ache in your bones, it takes you a moment to pick up what he says and follow suit.

Has it always been this chilly?

A tremble in your damp coat, exhaling tremulously as you trot down the hall behind Mr. Ackerman. Your struggle for warmth doesn’t fall on dear ears, but it does motivate him to pick up the pace, up the winding steps and into another hallway.

Your shoes continue to click against the marble, passing by paintings and statues; for a moment you mistaken yourself to be wandering around a museum and not someone else’s home. But your head is spinning and you can’t appreciate the art even if you wanted you - you can’t even glance at a painting without wanting to vomit.

Mr. Ackerman comes to a jagged halt, causing you to nearly stumble against him. He glares at you over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” You mutter before stumbling a few steps back to give him space.

“Wait in there,” He instructs dryly, “and I’ll get someone to help you in a bit.”

“Oh, I - I don’t understand -”

“You have a cold,” He points out, “and I don’t think you’ll appreciate it if it were me helping you change out of your clothes.”

Your cheeks flush and your heart paces quickly in your chest; embarrassment overwhelms you and you wish the ground would swallow you up. He’s too direct and it makes your knees a little wobbly along with the rest of your body - you’ve turned into jello.

“Just wait in there and there’ll be a maid to bring you clothes. I’ll meet you again once you’re done.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You whisper, your eyes finally snap from the floor and meet Mr. Ackerman’s same old arid visage, but there’s a tenuous, unfamiliar gleam in his eyes you can’t seem to read.

He sternly nods, but just before trodding off you call after him, “Mr. Ackerman?” Your voice hushed and trembly.

“Yes, Miss Blouse?” He watches you expectantly, his head faintly tilting to the side. “Is there something else?”

Ironically, despite Mr. Ackerman coldness and indifference, you can feel that he cares - his warmth. And you can’t help but feel dangerously eager, a little selfish even, for wanting more. You can’t help but want to push further, but you’re reminded of the rumors and prefer not to push your luck.

“Thank you,” You say with a smile, a genuine one that catches him off guard, but not that you can tell with your glossy eyes. “Thank you fo - achoo! I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Ackerman.”

There’s a very, very subtle blush that spreads across his cheeks that reaches the tips of his ears, and maybe if it wasn’t for the odd lightly in the hallway, you would’ve caught it. But once again, Mr. Ackerman thanks his lucky stars and gulps, “Don’t mind it too much,” and spins on his heels before striding down the hallway.

You watch till his footsteps fade and his slender frame disappears as he turns the corner before finally looking at the door beside you. You stare at the door knob, your hand fidgeting over it before finally taking it in your hand and opening the door.

You gasp in awe, your eyes going round - the room can eat your house in a single bite. Even the bed that sits at the center, headboard pushed up against the wall, is bigger than the one your share with Pieck. Maybe bigger than the bed your mother and father shared.

You step inside, pushing the door shut behind you before twirling and taking in all the green and gold in the room. You’ve never seen so much gold - you’ve never seen gold in general, but here you are completely surrounded by it.

The strident knocking on the door causes you to still, staggering over your feet to find a familiar face greeting you with a cheerful smile, balancing a folded pile of clothes in their hand.

“Hange!” You squeak in shock, nearly losing your balance.

“Miss Blouse,” They playfully salute to you before entering in completely. “I saw you come in earlier and Levi said you’d be in here, so I thought to help. Though he did oppose, I'm not one to follow orders anyway.”

They cleverly wink at you, stretching their arm out to hand you the clothes and you meekly take it.

“How are you feeling?” They ask, taking a seat on the bed, “You can change over there, behind the partition,” They point to the other side of the room where it stands beside the window, and you quickly shuffling behind it.

You finally peel off your clothes, finally being freed by way your damp clothes and the way it clung to your body. You sigh heavily, tremulously.

“So, how are you feeling?” Hange’s voice echoes in the room from where they sit. They lean back on the heel of their palms, lulling their head bad carelessly as they wait for your response. “Levi said you might have a cold, and luckily for you, I’m a doctor.”

You hum in response, your focus directed on changing your clothes as quickly as possible.

“I’m, uh, I think I’m okay,” There’s a tingling in your skin and an unbearable ache in your bones. Your whole body feels sensitive; you’re not sure if you feel chilly or too warm. But you don’t want to be a burden, especially since you’re already borrowing someone else's clothes.

Whose are these anyway? You can’t imagine these are Hange’s, it’s way too small.

“He said you were sneezing!” They say, their voice slightly raising. “That you were sneezing a lot.”

“Probably just allergies!” You try and laugh it off, hoping Hange doesn’t press any further. But much to your displeasure, Hange isn’t one to simply let things go.

But the moment you step out from the partition, tying your hair up to keep from staining the dress, Hange strides over to you, placing her wrist onto your forehead and hums.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” You press.

“You’re a liar.”

“I'm not!” The whine that escapes your dried lips, takes enough energy from you to have your vision grow spotty and have your knees give in. Hange loops their arm around your waist and you slump onto their chest for support. “Right, maybe I am a liar,” You admit breathily, your eyes fluttering shut. “I’m really sorry, this is extremely impolite and my mother would kill me if she found me like this.”

“Never mind what your mother says,” They sigh before helping you over to the bed, “nothing good will come of thinking about what your mother says,”

You laugh softly, finding irony in their words.

The cushions are warm and comforting, pulling you into ease as you’re swayed by your need for rest. You try to combat it by blinking away, but drowsiness overtakes you like an unrelenting storm and you fall perilous to it the second your head sinks into the pillows.

You're greeted by a sharp, persistent ache in your head and a stubborn throb in your bones. You moan in discomfort and writhe beneath the cotton bed sheets.

You feel something cold dripping down your head, but before you can reach to check, you feel a wet cloth being placed on your forehead. You crack your eyes open and draw a bitter breath to find Mr. Ackerman towering over you. His brows pulled into a deep line of focus and his eyes colored in determination as if its taking all his verve to adjust the way the towel sits on your head.

He looks down at you and his expression softens.

It softens?

"You're awake," Mr. Ackerman notes. Maybe its the sickness, and that you're probably imagining it, but does Mr. Ackerman's tone sound a lot gentler? Its almost as if he's concerned for your well-being — almost as if he's worried and relieved you're finally awake. But his face remains unreadable, devoid of emotion. "You've been asleep for quite some time, but your temperature seemed persistent. Hange said as long as the rag is frequently changed then you should be better. How are you feeling?"

Does that mean he's been changing the rag? He said it should 'changed frequently' —

You arch your back when the ache in your bones come back stronger than ever. You whine in pain and drown back into the mattress.

"I don't feel too well," You croak, swallowing dryly.

"Do you need water?"

You can only nod.

Mr. Ackerman swiftly reaches for the glass of water that sits on the bedside table. You try and sit up , your bones feel like chalk as it grates against each other. You try to take it from him, but he raises his free hand to stop you. “Let me,” is all he says to you before bringing it up to your lips.

Baffled, you still drink it.

Your thoughts are still too foggy to draft a single thought. But all you is know your heart’s drumming in your chest and your breath is hitched in your throat for an entirely different reason that’s far from your cold.

You sigh in relief after a few gulps, muttering a ‘thank you’.

“Mr. Ackerman, you said that I’ve been asleep for quite some time,” You recount, looking at him puzzled, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He replies flatly, as if he's not bothered by it at all.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Ackerman hums as he falls back into his chair grabbing the book beside him before opening it up to the page he left off.

“You needn’t worry,” He eases without looking up to meet your eyes, as unbothered by the worry screaming in your eyes. “I’ve already written a letter to your mother the moment you fell asleep and informed her of your current state.”

“And what did she say of it?”

“She deeply apologizes for overstaying your welcome, but is pleased to know you’re in good hands.” Mr. Ackerman turns to the next page before he crosses his legs. His eyes flicker up to look at you to find irritation seeping out of your through eyes narrowed at an empty space on the floor, chewing on the inside of your cheek “I assured her that **you are in good hands, Miss Blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologize again for the umpteenth time as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair. “My mother must’ve planned this in hopes that I may grow closer to you.”

Mr. Ackerman cocks his brow at you, “Are you blaming your mother for your cold? Shouldn’t you be blaming the weather, or that you rode on horseback on a rainy day?”

"I cannot blame my mother for my cold or the weather, but I can blame her for scheming along with it." You sigh, leaning your head back onto the pillow, "My mother is an opportunist, so she must've seen the rain clouds as her 'moment to grasp'. She was adamant that I take horseback and not that carriage. My mother is many things, but most importantly, she's a scheming woman."

Much to your surprise, Mr. Ackerman smirks at your words. He smirks.

He licks his thumb before turning the page of his book, his eyes ghosting over the words without much intention to actually read.

"What are you doing?" You ask, twisting to face him, your hand tucking beneath the side of your face.

"I'm reading." He isn't.

"Here?"

"Would you rather I not keep you company?" His grey eyes blink away from the page and up at you. "Isn't this the whole point of your visit, to get o know each other?"

"W—Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd take our proposition quite literally." You voice falls soft at the end of your sentence and you feel yourself shrink in embarrassment.

"How else are we to make them believe we've formed an attachment?"

"Oh, well—"

"Is my company a bother?"

You shake your head. "Is mine?"

Mr. Ackerman chuckles and if it weren't for the whirling of your brain, you would've caught it. "Merely tolerable, really. You best get some rest, Miss. Blouse."

When you awaken again, it’s a little later in the afternoon and the sun is harshly bleeding through the glass window and casting over your face.

The first thing you notice is not the freshly changed rag resting over your forehead, but the empty chair that Mr. Ackerman sat himself earlier. You pout and you feel a little disappointed.

Disappointed?

What?

You prop yourself up on your elbows, drawing a sigh of relief. The smell of fresh sheets permeate your lungs and your tilt your head back before tilting it back up again.

Through your hooded gaze, your eyes scan through the room. You finally appreciate just how beautifully decorated it is. Shades of complimentary greens canvas the room and soft golds accent the room here and there. It’s ingrained in the walls and on the doors, and coloring the the bed posts, too.

With nimble fingers, you peel the covers off and a wave of cool air washes over your body.The floor is just as cold when your feet meet the carpet. You shuffle around the room, nosing through things but never really touching anything. You're too scared you might accidentally break something.

But the thirst of your curiosity has yet to be quenched, so you find yourself straying out the room, trotting down the hall and twirling around the space gleefully.

The estate is something written in the books. If it wasn't for the dreary, unsettling air hanging over you as thick as fog, the feeling would be magical.

Too busy to play make believe in your head, you find yourself too far off the path. Everything looks the same, and you eyes widen in panic.

Think, think, think, you chant inwardly, twisting your head around for something familiar.

Panic rises from your chest and lodges into your throat, and the last thing you need is to fall onto Mr. Ackerman's bad side.

But before your knees can shake in such unnerving trepidation, faint whispers echoing down the hall and towards you pull you from your thoughts. The voice are so faint and low, you nearly mistaken it to be elves.

You listen intently and follow the source, passing through a few more paintings and doors to lead you to a fragment of light bouncing off the wall and onto a door left ajar. You come to an immediate standstill when you recognize the voice — it's Mr. Ackerman.

Every inch of you tells you to turn around and walk away, but you aren't your mother's daughter for nothing. So the greater part of you belonging to her tugs you close, stealing a peak through the little gap as you hold your breath.

"When did you hear of this?" Mr. Ackerman's voice is gravelly, laced in annoyance. You hear him sharply huff followed by the sound of a hand slamming against the table, causing you to jolt in place. "How long have you known?"

"Not long," The unfamiliar, gruff voice says, and Levi grumbles. "Be thankful I'm telling you now and not waiting any longer. How could I with all your dallying? Since when have you taken any interest in marriage?"

"I haven't." He clips, tone dry. "The point is —"

"The point is, he's back and the last thing you need to do is wasting your time in courting a woman. Honestly, Levi, since when have you been so reckless?"

"Erwin," Mr. Ackerman grits, "my personal affairs have nothing to do with you. Who I choose to spend my time with has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Mr. Smith seethes, yelling in a whispers. "If you cannot do your job, then how can I trust you? Do you not remember the reason why we're here?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"It seems that you are," Your eyes widen at Mr. Smith's counter, "she's slept here for two days, and you for two days, you've watched over her instead of doing what I've instructed you to do."

"She was sick." Mr. Ackerman argues flatly.

"Hange is a doctor for a reason."

"And I don't trust them for a reason."

You can only assume it's Mr. Smith who sighs dejectedly and clicking his tongue agitation. It only further piques your interest, and you wish it doesn't. But you can't help it, hearing that Mr. Ackerman stayed by your side while you rested made your cheeks burn and you can't help but grin to yourself, completely overjoyed.

You mentally kick yourself for being so much like your mother.

"You cannot hold that burden with you forever." Mr. Smith sighs.

"Whatever," Is the weak counter Mr. Ackerman spits back. "I'll take care of it tonight — the one of Governor Pixy's."

"Be sure to make yourself like an artificial night when you do." Mr. Smith commands, his voice smooth and stern. "You mustn't be caught."

"When have I ever been?"

You quickly leave, sprinting down the hall the moment you hear a chair grating against the floor.

Your heart drums in your chest and you breath tremulously. You heard something you shouldn't have even if it was only in incoherent pieces. Truly, it could be anything, but with the rumors circulating around him, it shouldn't be so surprising.

So why is it?

You find yourself in a more familiar part of the estate and you breathe out in relief.

You’re about to head back into your room when you stumble past a room, catching a glance of a grand piano standing tall from the corner of your eye. You retract your steps and turn your head to get a better look, your lips falling into an 'o' when you do.

She's beautiful, you think.

It’s an alluring, glossy ebony piano — one Sasha finds herself drooling over to play on whenever she sees one. She'll hate you so much when you tell her about it.

Against your better judgement, with all the bells warily ringing for you not to, you walk over to the piano, your hand shadowing over the wood. You take a seat before the keyboard just to take a good look at her. You have no intention to play her, really. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't for the life of you.

Your eyes flicker to the fall board of the piano and find a name engraved in gold.

"Petra," you whisper. "It's very nice to meet you. You're very beautiful, aren't you?"

"What the hell are you doing?" You shoot up from the chair and snap your head up to find Mr. Ackerman fuming at you. His eyes dark with rage and his jaw screwed shut, gritting at you. "I asked you a question."

"I— I didn't touch anything." You peep. You feel incredibly small underneath his scrutinizing gaze. You wish the ground would swallow you up right then and there. "I, I really didn't—"

"Get the fuck away from her." Mr. Ackerman speaks lowly, his voice quietly trembling, but you can't hear it.

Even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you feel as if you’ve been caught red handed. Fear buzzes in your head and fogs up any line of thought.

"I'm sorry?"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE PIANO!" He bellows, his eyes as fiery as his anger, causing you to stumble back and nearly trip up on your feet. "Who the fuck do you think you are, wandering into places you have no business? Is this what you shitty farm people are like? You get a chance to walk into a place thrice the size of your home and they think they could just parade around?!"

"I—I didn't mean to —"

"You and your family are fucking disgusting."

There are many things you're willing to put up with. You don't mind if someone were to come after you and call you out, but coming after your family is completely different. So your kindness and the very last bit of your patience snaps like a twig.

"I would imagine you're the disgusting one." Your voice is still small, but you’re building up to your confidence, peeling your eyes away from the patterned carpet to stare daggers right back at Mr. Ackerman who stills completely.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll admit I've overstepped and I deeply apologize for that," You begin, your voice no longer wavering in fear, "but how dare you? My family’s been nothing but kind to you."

"I think you've mistaken that I fucking care."

"I've heard many things about you, too many, for that matter. Yet I never labelled as anything as derogatory as what you've called me." You draw out a sharp breath, closing your eyes for a moment to steady you heart before continuing, "I think its disgusting, I think, that such a man as yourself, who've I've heard has been through hell and back, would think so lowly of people that's no different than him."

You never dared to listen to the rumors or any of the gossip. Even when your mother would try to entertain any of it, you’d stop listening or leave the room if you could. But if Mr. Ackerman was willing to aim for such a low blow, you couldn't think of a reason why you shouldn't do the same.

"I think you’re 'fucking disgusting' for forgetting where you came from."

Mr. Ackerman clenches his jaw and balls his fits tight til his knuckles paint white. He's ready to fire bullets into your self-esteem, but before Mr. Ackerman can even utter a syllable, a servant appears behind him, clearing his throat to cut of the momentum.

"Apologies for the intrusion," The servant says, his tone monotonous and dry, "but it Miss Blouse's brother is here to collect her."

You widen your eyes at the servant, and your expression softens.

“Reiner’s here?” You voice is small again.

“Yes, Miss.”

"Perfect." Mr. Ackerman huffs, his whole body still tense. "Get the fuck out."

You snap your gaze back to Mr. Ackerman, sneering, "Gladly."

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