#And then called it a day with their research

[cognacdelights]

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other.  There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles

[yawnderu]

Emergency Commissions Open! 🌿 

Hello! Unfortunately, spending most of my life without access to dental care has been finally catching up to me for the past few weeks and though I recently was able to get one of my wisdom teeth removed, I need to get an emergency root canal treatment as I can't stand the pain, there's a high risk of infection, and strong painkillers don't get rid of the pain anymore either.

Though my main fandom has always been Call Of Duty, I also write for BG3, Overwatch, ATSV, RE, and The Mandalorian. If your request does not belong to those fandoms and because I like to be as accurate as possible in order to honor the characters and their universe, I'll gladly do extensive research on the fandoms you request. 🌱

Pricing:

500 words: €4

1000 words: €10

2000 words: €18

3000-4000 words: €30

+€10 per 1000 words after the 4000 word cap.

Deadline:

Works up to 2000 words will be delivered within three days, while longer works up to 4000 words will be delivered within a week.

I will write:

NSFW, OC x OC, OC x Canon, Character x Character, Character, ships, fluff, x Reader, parenthood, horror, original works, dark fiction (including but not limited to dubcon, noncon, somnophilia), as well as most dark kinks and fetishes.

I won't write:

Pedophilia, raceplay, adult/minor romance, hate speech, politics.

— How to comm me?

Shoot me a message here with the details of what you'd like to commission! If you don't have any ideas of what you'd like to request, I can also give you some suggestions! If you have any dark kinks and you're not sure if I write that content, feel free to ask me as well, no judgement. There's plenty of things I'm willing and excited to write, don't feel limited by the previous list! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Your commissions can either be sent to you in a document or posted here/on AO3 with your permission!

— About payment

Commissions are done by paying upfront through Ko-Fi and Boosty, and if requested, I can send you parts of the draft as I write it.

If you would not like to commission and if you can, donations are highly appreciated as well! I'm linking my Ko-Fi and Boosty. Reblogs, likes and comments are also highly appreciated! Thank you so much!! ;;♡♡

#emergency commissions #emergency commisions open #commissions #commissions open #writing #writing comissions #my commissions #commission #fanfiction #signal boost #writing community #writer for hire #ao3 writer #fanfic writing #comission #original fiction #fanficiton #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #comissions #3 day delivery #I'm about to go insane #cod comms #masterlist #cod mw2 #mw2 #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #cod #the mandalorian

[plentyoffandoms]

what about hook x fem reader any plot u want with tons of fluff and cute moments

Check Yes or No

Hook x f/Reader

Main Masterlist ♡ Wrestlers Masterlist ♡ Hook Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: none. Just some major fluff

Gifs & photos do not belong to me. 1st gif @bloodycowboyclub

Requested by anonymous. Hope you like it.

WC: 1055

I am so nervous.

Why am I nervous?

I mean, we have been together for such a long time, and I knew I loved her before we even got together.

I felt a hand clasp my shoulder, making me jump a little, but I could tell by the chuckle, it was my Dad.

"You seem nervous, Tyler." He teased.

"What if she decides she doesn't want to be with me. That this has all been a huge mistake, and." I started to spew out the thoughts I have been having since I woke up this morning.

"Tyler, that girl loves you, and you love her. You have ever since the third grade."

The first memory I ever had of her came rushing back to me.

It was the first day of school, and they just combined the two elementary. I was running around on the playground with my friends, and I heard this laugh.

I turned my head, and it was like staring at an angel. I actually ran into the goalpost. I was knocked out for a few moments, and I woke up to her staring down at me, with a worried look on her face.

I fell in love, and I didn't even know it at the time.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and I pulled it out of the inside pocket of my jacket.

I saw that it was from her. "I love you, baby." Short and simple, and filled with so much emotion behind it.

This brought me back to when I first asked her out.

It was the first dance of grade 8, and for the first time, my friends and I were not going as a group, but asking people to do the dance.

Every single time I tried to ask her out, I would get tongue tied and turn around, walking so fast that she would be calling my name.

It was the night before the dance, and we were in history class.

I spent that class trying to come up with to ask her, but I knew I would just chicken out.

So I grabbed a spare piece of paper and wrote, 'Will you go to the dance with me? - Tyler.' With two boxes, one for yes, and one for no.

I folded it up and tossed it onto her desk. I held my breath as she opened it. She looked over her shoulder at me and then back at the note.

She grabbed her pen and did a checkmark, and folded it back up. She waited for our teacher to turn around, and she handed me the note.

I opened the note and couldn't stop the smile from my face as she checked yes.

That was the first of many dances for us.

We went through high school together. She was there for all my lacrosse and wrestling events, and I was there for her.

We voted the couple to most likely be married. We were voted Prom King and Queen.

We didn't go to the same college, but we talked every day and saw each other whenever we could.

Then, when I decided to become a wrestler, she was there, supporting me no matter what.

When I was having doubts about following my dream, and I was about to have my first wrestling match on TV, I was pacing back and forth in my hotel room.

I kept questioning all of this when she came up behind me, wrapping her arms around me, and I instantly calmed.

"You, Tyler Senerchia, are going to be wonderful. Everyone loves Hook and has been waiting for this moment."

I started to doubt myself once more. I turned around to face her. "No buts, Tyler. Everyone will be cheering for you and only you." I kissed her, putting all my heart into it.

And, of course, she was right. She always has been. She was and is still my number fan, and I am hers.

To travel with me, she started to write. She has a very popular travel blog, but with our wrestling friends and their favourite spots to shop and eat.

During one of those times, she was out for her research with Skye in Chicago, I picked up the antique engagement ring from my grandmother.

I was waiting for the right moment, but just like the 8th grade dance all over again, so I did what I did then.

I wrote her a note.

'Will you marry me?' and two boxes labelled yes or no.

Nothing over the top, and I knew this would be perfect for us.

I left the engagement ring box on the bed, and the note on top of it. I heard her call my name, as she walked into our room, me hiding in the bathroom.

She called my name, but she trailed off as she grabbed the note. I heard her gasp as she read it.

By this point, I was behind her on my knee, holding a bouquet of her favourite flowers.

I cleared my throat, and she turned around with the box and the note in her hands.

"Tyler,"

"Babygirl, I just need to know."

"Yes, a thousand times, yes."

I grabbed the box from her hand and opened it as quickly as possible to put the ring in her finger.

She cupped my face as I started to stand and kissed me.

We broke apart as we hugged on another.

"You didn't check a box."

"Tyler!" She said as she slapped my chest playfully.

I shook my head to clear it from all the memories I am having, and I looked at my friends and family as the music started.

Everyone stood and turned to look at my beautiful bride, stunned at how gorgeous she looked. This is my first time seeing her in her dress, and it all became too much.

I could feel tears start fall.

She gave me a concern look, but I just mouthed I am okay.

She smiled at me and blew me a kiss.

"Who gives this woman away?"

"Her mother and I do."

The moment her hand was placed in mine, I couldn't stop myself.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Tyler."

"Now that we have that out of the way, let's get you two married."

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @faerieofthenightcourt @tahiri-veyla @crowleysqueenofhell

#reader imagine #reader insert #female reader #hook aew #hook imagine #hook fanfiction #hook fanfic #hook fluff #hook x reader #hook x female reader #hook x f/Reader #hook x y/n #hook x you #wrestler imagine #wrestler fluff #wrestler x reader #wrestler x f/Reader #wrestler x female reader #wrestler fanfic

[scmg11]

HAILEE STEINFELD x READER

BODYGUARD

A/N: HELLO BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE! HOW ARE YOU?

As I got swiped away by inspiration and already wrote 8 chapters for my new book, I wanted to surprise you. So I finished proofreading this a new chapter for you!

Let me know what you guys think.

Sending you so much love ❤️

-

Summary: Y/N got assigned as Hailee's new bodyguard but Hailee is not so happy about it.

Warnings: just a little bit of description for harassment, but it will be gone quickly.

Word count: 21840 words.

-

The sound of feet covered in combat boots echoing around in the small, empty hallway was the only sound filling the silence around, creating a calming melody to the girl’s ears as she sauntered to a closed door, stopping in front of it and knocking gently, patiently waiting for permission to enter in the office.

"Come in."

The girl opened the door right after and smiled warmly at the person sat behind the big, glass desk in the middle of the room, "good morning."

"What’s it with this formal shit, Y/N!"

"Oh my bad. Hello bitch, how are you doing?" Y/N smiled cheekily at her boss but also her longtime best friend, sitting on one of the two armchair placed right in front of the desk and crossed her left leg over her right, bent over one and looked at her friend expectantly, waiting for a witty remark.

"I would say ‘that’s better’ but I’m not so sure now." Y/N chuckled at her best friend rolling her eyes and winked at her teasingly, "anyway, I don’t want to take too much of your time up. Let’s get to the point and discuss why I called you here today."

"Alright, what is it?" Y/N looked expectantly at Clara, who was now leaning with her elbows on the desk and with her hands linked together, slipping ‘business face’ on.

"I know you got back from your last job about two weeks ago, but I have a new client and requested the best bodyguard I have. I would be a fool not giving you this job."

"Hm, the best bodyguard here. Flattery. A lot of it." Y/N teased with a proud smile, puffing out her chest, before deflating after a snort left her lips when Clara rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her best friend’s antics, "anyway, of course I will take the job, you know I get bored easily at home after a few days off. So who is this new client? A snotty young prince? A dumb heiress? Uh-oh! I know! A stuck-up model with a big God Complex? Ah they are my favorite. Their head is full of themselves, it makes me laugh every single time. Especially when they are male models."

"None of them actually. Luckily I would say." Y/N sighed out in relief at that before both shuddered loudly as they thought over enduring months and months of working with those kind of clients. A fucking tough job. "It’s an actress. She is also a singer and she is starting a tour soon. You will have to follow her around on tour and a few events she is invited to. If you do a good job, which I’m sure you will, more than perfectly, they will have you around her a lot. She is gaining fans quickly and her parents want her safe."

"Sounds good. Easy. Do I know her?" Y/N nodded gently at the job offer and got instantly excited hearing she have to follow the actress around tour. She is always happy with traveling around the world to discover new, amazing places.

"I don’t know. I’ve seen a couple of her movies, maybe you did too. She is Hailee Steinfeld."

"Oh yeah, I remember her. I listened to one of her songs yesterday on the radio. She has a beautiful voice and that song was such a bop."

"Oh great!"

"When am I starting?" Y/N asked in excitement, always wanting to work since she loved her job dearly. She doesn’t know exactly who her new client is, she just knew her name and her voice when she sang, but she will have time to do a small research about her. She always liked to be fully prepared for a body guarding job.

"Well, if you are ready, they would like for you to start now."

"What, now as in now?" Y/N asked in disbelief, her eyes widening in shock as she realized what her best friend just said.

"Yeah, it was kinda fast." Y/N snorted at that as she shook her head in amusement.

"That’s an understatement Clar. But I will accept. How much time do I have to get ready for her tour?"

"2 weeks I think. She is finishing a movie and then she is off for tour. You can meet her today. Her mom called me this morning asking me if it was okay to join them today."

"Sure, no problem. Are we still up for drinks tonight right?"

"Are you kidding me? I’ve been holed up here for the entire week. I need a break."

"Hm, when you say break you actually mean a good fuck right?" Y/N teased her best friend, who looked at her in fake outrage as she placed her hand on her chest feigning taking offense from Y/N’s words.

"Excuse me?!"

"Don’t act so innocent all of a sudden. I’m the one that has to be your wingwoman."

"Go before I decide to fire you as my wingwoman and as a bodyguard."

Y/N chuckled as she sat up and walked around the desk to give her best friend a big, warm hug before promising to pick her up at 7 for their usual Friday night full of drinks. As Y/N exited the building and climbed into her car, her phone dinged with a text message her best friend sent her with all the information she needed about her new job and the location Hailee was actually in right now to go there and meet her. She put the address in her GPS and drove away into the busy streets of LA.

-

"Name please?" Y/N lifted her sunglasses up her head and looked at the security guard outside the set Hailee was filming in, smiling at him politely.

"Hi, Y/N Y/L/N. I am Miss Steinfeld’s new bodyguard. My agency should’ve already sent all the information needed."

"Ah yes. Here you are. You can park right beside Miss Steinfeld’s trailer. You have to turn left, then right, then right again and you should find it right away. Her name is on the door." Y/N listened carefully to the guard’s directions after he lifted the automatic barrier and let her enter the set’s parking lot. "Have a nice day!"

"Thank you so much. Have a nice day!" Y/N followed the guard’s directions and drove through the set’s parking lot, stopping a few minutes later when she saw a trailer parked in the middle of a deserted part of the parking lot with just 2 cars parked near it. Y/N parked her car right beside a a black Porsche and exited the vehicle, locking it before making her way towards the entrance of the trailer to read once again the name on its door and to make sure it was actually Hailee’s trailer.

"Mom, I already told you that I didn’t need a bodyguard. I don’t want one!"

"Haiz please, listen to me. You are going on tour soon and for the first part of it we can’t be there with you. You are gaining fans fast and we are worried about your safety."

"Yeah, you could’ve tied me to my tour bus or you could’ve locked me into my room. It’s the same, right mom?" Y/N listens to two voices argue, loud enough for her to hear it but just quiet enough to not let everyone around them hear them. She didn’t peer around the trailer to watch who was arguing to avoid being caught eavesdropping, but from what she could hear, she assumed she pretty much was the subject of the argument between Hailee and her mother.

"Haiz, I know you are saying this because you are angry at me and your dad for making this decision without asking you for your opinion, but trust me it was a decision made for your own good."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Thanks." Y/N was debating in her mind if she should make her presence known or not, fearing she would get caught by someone, especially from Hailee or her mother.

"Excuse me Miss Steinfeld, but we are ready to shoot again." Y/N sighed out loud when she heard someone approach the two women and quickly ran to her car when she heard footsteps approach where she was leaning on the other trailer’s side.

"Thank you Simon. I will be there in 5 minutes."

Y/N had just the time to close her door quietly before two figures rounded the corner from the back of the trailer, taking just a second to look at them before opening her car door and feigning arriving just in that moment as she adjusted her leather jacket before closing her car door and locking the vehicle again, feeling a pair of eyes watching her movements. "Hm, hello?" Y/N spoke up tentatively, feeling a little bit uneasy at the two pair of eyes staring at them.

"Hi dear, can we help you?" The shorter of the two women asked in a gentle and soft voice, smiling politely at her as she approached them, while the taller one stayed in silence, standing beside the shorter woman with a rigid stance, her arms crossed and her face stoic with her eyebrows furrowed angrily.

"Yes, hi. I am looking for Miss Hailee Steinfeld."

"She is right here." The shorter woman pointed to the taller one with a smile just as Y/N stopped in front of them. "I’m Cheri, her mom."

"Oh, nice to meet you Mrs. Steinfeld, Miss Steinfeld, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I was assigned to you to be your new bodyguard." Y/N stretched her arm over to shake Cheri’s hand first before doing the same with a reluctant Hailee.

"Oh dear, there’s no need for these formalities, just call me Cheri!" Y/N returned Cheri’s warm smile and nodded softly at her request, "anyway, welcome! I’m afraid we don’t have much time to discuss things since Hailee needs to go back on set, but you can stay with me until she finishes for the day."

"That would be great!"

And they were off, walking towards the set with Cheri talking excitedly to Y/N, telling her how excited she is Y/N was assigned to Hailee as her new bodyguard, how much she admired her for doing such a difficult and sometimes dangerous job, and Y/N listened with rapt attention and with slight amusement at the woman’s enthusiasm but she couldn’t help but notice Hailee stayed quiet the entire walk towards the set with her jaw set and her nostrils flared a bit as she stared with furrowed eyebrows ahead of her. "We’ll wait here sweety, then we will discuss everything after you’re done for the day."

"Okay, see you later."

-

After about three hours Hailee joined them back where she left, her face conveying her tiredness but Y/N could still see in her eyes she was still slightly mad at her mom for hiring a bodyguard she apparently didn’t want from what Y/N gathered when she eavesdropped Hailee’s and Cheri’s argument earlier that day.

"I already ordered burgers baby. They should be here soon." Cheri told her daughter as she approached them and when Cheri’s hand caressed Hailee’s bicep, Y/N watched as a bit of her anger slipped away and got replaced by a loving glint.

"Thanks, shall we go?"

Y/N couldn’t help but notice a small change in Hailee’s behavior compared to the one before shooting back on set. Maybe she cooled off a bit or maybe she had time to think over her mother’s words during filming, but Y/N was glad that she actually came around her mother’s decision, decision she found truly heartwarming. "How was shooting, honey?"

"It was good. A little bit stressing towards the end of it since Nelly couldn’t remember the right line and she had some troubles getting it right, but it was fun as always."

"Oh I’m so sorry for her. She must be exhausted."

"Yeah, she came back from another set three days ago. She has so many projects going on right now."

Y/N didn’t know who Hailee and Cheri were talking about but she assumed they were talking about one of Hailee’s co-star. "Y/N, dear, have you already worked for another actress or actor before?" Cheri asked Y/N with a small smile as they approached Hailee’s trailer in the set’s parking lot.

"Yes, I have. Quite a few. I started my body guarding job with an actress actually. I remember being so anxious and so nervous all the time. But with time you develop more confidence, you become more confident, you learn how to control your emotions and act rationally and logically. You have to be strategic when needed and you must have a clear mind when a dangerous situation unfolds before you so you can protect your client."

"Oh wow!" Cheri exclaimed, her eyes shining with curiosity that Y/N found extremely cute but she couldn’t help but notice Hailee scoffing under her breath as she rolled her eyes, now being the one curious about the actress’ reaction to her words.

"Anyway, it becomes ‘easier’ with time, even though there is nothing easy in this job." Y/N clarified with a small smile directed at Cheri, since the singer wasn’t exactly paying attention to her as she fished her iPhone out of her pocket and started texting someone.

"Oh I’m sure. Y/N, I know how much you’ve worked with your agency and how much of an hard worker you are, that’s why I specifically asked for you. I know Clara. She is one of my dearest friend’s niece. I asked her to assign Hailee one of her best bodyguards and she immediately told me your name and everything you’ve done during your time in her agency."

"Yeah, we pretty much funded it together. We started together."

"For how long have you known her?" Y/N watched as sheer curiosity glistened in Cheri’s eyes and felt her chest flutter at how comforting her attitude is. She couldn’t help tilting upward her lips when she noticed Hailee had her eyes still on her phone but she stopped typing away on it, clearly interested in the conversation going on between Y/N and Cheri as she tried to listen carefully even if she was acting disinterested. They arrived at the trailer and settled in, Y/N sitting on a loveseat, while Hailee and Cheri sat on the couch in front of Y/N.

"We met in college. She was my roommate."

"Oh that’s wonderful dear! I’m so glad Clara assigned you-." Cheri got interrupted when a knock on Hailee’s trailer’s door echoed around the makeshift living room, "it must be the delivery guy with our order. One second, I’ll be right back."

"Yeah, sure." Y/N awkwardly looked around the room with her hands entwined, not really knowing what to say now that she is alone with Hailee, but trying to find something to say since she will be her bodyguard from now on and they will need to start some kind of civil relationship between them. "How was your day on set?"

"Good." Y/N had a feeling that that one word answer will be the only thing that will leave Hailee’s mouth and sighed out softly. The singer’s tone wasn’t exactly harsh or conveyed hostility, but it held a dryness in them that told Y/N she was still pretty mad at her mother or even Y/N herself for this situation. Not that Y/N had a say in all of this. She was just doing her job.

"Okay! Here I am!" Cheri came back a minute later, carrying two dark paper bags full of their food and Y/N immediately sat up to go help Cheri, feeling Hailee’s eyes on her in the process but paying no mind to it. "Oh thank you, dear."

"You’re welcome." Y/N smiled widely at Cheri, who grinned back at her with sweetness seeping out of her every pore before they settled everything on the kitchen table, with surprisingly Hailee’s help, who got up a minute after Y/N.

"Let’s dig in. I’m starving." Hailee stated, making her mother chuckle with a fond smile on her lips and gestured to Y/N to eat before joining them.

-

"Have you got everything, honey? Did you pack everything?"

"Yes, mom!" Hailee laughed good-naturedly at her mother’s anxiety as she made her check her suitcases 4 times and go over the list she made of things she had to pack at least 10 times to make sure she packed everything with her before making her finally close her suitcases to bring them down to put them in her tour bus. "I literally have the list memorized by now." Hailee smiled lovingly at her mother as she checked the list for the umpteenth time before meeting her eyes and nodding at her.

"Okay, yeah. You’re right. Sorry. I- I’m just a bit stressed. You’re going on tour and I want to make sure you have everything with you."

"I know mom. I got everything. I checked everything before closing all my suitcases." Hailee smiled warmly at her mother before chuckling softly under her breath with fondness swirling around her brown irises when she watched her mother fold the piece of paper with the list on it and nod gently at her.

"Good! That’s good. Hm, alright it seems you’re ready to go. Oh no! It’s getting late!" Cheri took a look on the watch on her wrist and placed her right hand on her cheek in shock when she looked at the time. They were running a bit late.

"Yeah, we need to go." Hailee hugged her mother before doing the same with her father and her brother then walked in her tour bus and closing the door, making sure to lock it before making her way further into the bus to settle everything down. She felt the bus start moving and sighed out contentedly.

"Hi." Y/N had to swallow the soft snort that was ready to come out of her mouth when Hailee jumped up in fright with a small squeal at Y/N’s voice echoing around the silent bus.

"Oh shit. Fuck! You scared me."

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know how to make my presence known without scaring you, I guess I didn’t do a good job." Y/N chuckling softly while scratching the back of her head, the grimacing to try to convey her regret for scaring the singer.

"Well- don’t worry. I guess it’s definitely better than doing a sudden loud noise or something like that."

"Yeah, I guess." Y/N chuckled softly under her breath, emitting another soft chuckle then let a small smile adorn her lips as she looked at Hailee for a few seconds before focusing on her hands in her lap, feeling slightly awkward being in a room alone with Hailee since they had never been alone again since when first meeting almost 10 days prior.

"Hm, what are you doing here?" Hailee asked as she played with her fingers, wringing them gently as she tried to focus her gaze on anything but Y/N, clearly feeling the awkwardness between them. It’s not that they started off on a wrong foot, but Hailee still strongly believes she doesn’t need a bodyguard while on tour and she hadn’t acknowledged Y/N, just the bare minimum.

"Your mom told me to stay here with you." Y/N answered with a serious, business-like tone. She had always been a professional at work and had never, not even once let her emotions show or let them control her, but since Hailee had never been friendly with her, always acting annoyed by Y/N’s presence, almost like she blamed Y/N for being there to protect her when she was just doing her job, she decided to build a wall between them and act just with Hailee just like Hailee is acting with her.

"Oh, yeah right. To protect me." Hailee stressed the word ‘protect’ out with a sarcastic tilt in her tone and Y/N felt annoyance bubble in the pit of her stomach, but she tried to swallow her comeback down to prevent starting an argument with her new client.

"Yeah." Y/N trailed off for a few seconds to collect her thoughts and try to not sound annoyed as she felt to Hailee, "that’s what I do. It’s my job."

"I don’t doubt that, trust me. It’s just that, like I’ve been trying to say for the past 10 days, I don’t need protection!"

"Yeah, I heard you. Your mother heard you. Your father heard you. But they are still worried. Fans can get crazy. They are all amazing, but sometimes meeting your idol makes you go a little crazy. Trust me, I met a lot of them. A few of them were pretty crazy."

"But not my fans."

"I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that fans can be a lot sometimes, especially after waiting for you for an entire day at a venue or at the airport. They are loyal, passionate, loving. And that can get too much sometimes."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Hailee dismissed her as she wasn’t paying attention anymore with a wave of her hand and rummaged around the kitchen for a mug. "I’m just changing a few things from now on. When we’re stopping for a break in about an hour, you’re gonna leave me alone. I don’t need a babysitter."

"I’m not a babysitter." Y/N countered back with a strong but still polite tone, crossing her arms and staring at Hailee hard.

"Yeah sure, but I still want to be left alone. I do not agree with my mother’s choice of giving me a bodyguard, but I have to accept it in some way. But what I don’t accept is you staying here when you can easily stay with the crew on the other bus. I want my privacy."

"Okay well. I will go on the other bus as you wish." Y/N gave in dryly, not wanting to keep discussing this subject, stood up right after and, without sparing Hailee another look, walked into the driver’s cabin and asked him to pull over and let her walk out of the bus. Thankfully he stopped immediately after her request, communicating what he was doing to the other driver and without even saying anything else to Hailee, she walked out of the bus and got on the other one.

-

"Yeah, yeah, totally. Oh, yes, we just got here." Hailee opened her tour bus’ door as soon as it stopped, finally arriving in Phoenix, the first city that will start Hailee’s worldwide tour. "Yeah, I am getting off of the bus right now and I’ll go in the venue for the soundcheck."

Hailee stopped in her tracks on the last step to get off the tour bus when she came face to face with Y/N, already waiting for her with her arms crossed and stoic face to accompany her in the venue. "Hi."

"Yeah no, sorry mom. Line got interrupted for a second." Hailee ignored Y/N and visibly rolled her eyes, letting out a huff through her nose as she descended the last step off the tour bus and walked away from Y/N, huffing out again when she heard over her mother’s voice through her iPhone’s loudspeaker steps following her, annoyed about Y/N following her around. "Okay, I will. I need to go now. Okay, bye mom. Love you."

Hailee waited for her mom to say ‘I love you’ back before hanging up the phone. "Are we ready to start our first soundcheck for the first date of this tour?!"

"Hell yeah!" Hailee high-fived her guitarist before doing the same with the drummer, joining her at her sides then walking inside the venue. Hailee took a second to sweep her eyes all over the place, taking it in and smiling widely when she imagined the venue being completely filled with her fans that night. "Hm, I missed this so much." Hailee stated out loud, letting out a sigh as she soaked up in the feeling of finally being back on tour.

"Hey, Y/N! It’s nice to see you again." Y/N smirked smugly when Hailee furrowed her brows and turned her head around in confusion when her drummer said ‘hi’ to Y/N, Hailee then noticed the smug grin on Y/N’s face and rolled her eyes in annoyance before turning back around and walking towards the stage.

"Hey Mick. How is it going? Everything already set up?" Y/N asked enthusiastically at the young man smiling back at her, who walked into step with her as she walked behind Hailee, now a few feet from them. "Excited for tonight?"

"Oh yes! Everything is set up. I’m so thrilled for tonight. I can’t believe it’s sold out on the first night already." The brown eyed young man looked at the stage with a big, bright smile before looking at Y/N again, "so everything is going good. Great even."

"Cool. Are we ready for the soundcheck? Can I go get my in-ear monitors in?" Hailee butted in the conversation and asked just as enthusiastically, eyeing the stage some more before focusing her attention back on her drummer.

"Oh yes! I have them already. Go get ready."

"M’kay, ready for soundcheck in 5 minutes, Mick."

"Okay!"

-

"Are you ready?" Hailee’s makeup artist asked in a soft voice as she applied the last touches of makeup on the singer backstage, Hailee nodding gently as she stared ahead of her after taking a deep breath, making the makeup artist smile warmly at her.

"I’m a bit nervous." Hailee admitted as she bit on her bottom lip anxiously, watching from her position in the backstage the lights on stage changing colors while the music in the background became louder and louder each passing second, signaling and warning her she only had about 10 seconds before going on stage, the beats of the drums reverberating through her ribcage, filling her up with adrenaline.

"You’re gonna do great." Y/N shouted over Hailee’s fans loud screams and smiled encouragingly at her, shocked to see a small grin directed back at her after the singer moved her focus from the stage to her, meeting her gaze briefly then returning her eyes back on stage, taking one last deep breath before running on stage, saying ‘hi’ to her fans that erupted in the loudest collective scream yet.

"Hello everybody! How are you?" Hailee laughed into the mic when her fans screamed louder and shook her head fondly before continuing, "I can see you’re doing great! Let’s get this show started, shall we?"

-

Y/N had to admit the concert was amazing. The fans were crazy for Hailee and Hailee put one hell of a show for them. Y/N had travelled a lot and she had seen a lot of concerts when she was a singer’s bodyguard and she had seen a lot of crazy fans, a lot of them were crazy, but she had never seen so much love being directed at a singer with that intensity, with so much warmth. It was endearing, truly. "WOHO! HOW WAS THAT?!"

"You did amazing. Congratulations."

Hailee turned around to stare back at Y/N, still not expecting her acting so nicely after treating her so poorly. "Thank you!"

Y/N smiled warmly at Hailee but the brown haired girl just reciprocated with a tight lipped smile before turning towards her dancers engulfing her in a big group hug, "hey, great show!"

Mick high-fived Y/N enthusiastically and giggled alongside her while bumping their shoulders together, watching as the dancers surrounding Hailee now started jumping up and down with her in the middle and screaming at the top of their lungs. "And it’s just the beginning."

"Do you think it will get crazier?" Y/N asked with an incredulous voice, watching Mick nod with widened eyes. "Really?!"

"Yes! Hailee’s fans are the best. They are so passionate about her! It’s amazing."

"I saw them during the concert. I still have to ‘encounter’ them in other occasions but I can see they are passionate." Y/N admitted as she watched Hailee interact with her dancers as she smiled widely, "I guess I will need to be extra careful, right?"

"Eh, not that much. They are respectful. Most of them at least. She had almost zero encounters with ‘batshit crazy’ fans."

"That’s good to know. I had a quite a few with that kind of fans and trust me, it’s not a pretty sight to witness."

"Oh I’m sure." Mick snorted under his breath before shaking his head softly, "but I’m sure it’s fun and exciting, am I right?"

"In some way yeah. But I guess when you need to protect your client, you are worried too. Even if there isn’t too much danger."

"Oh yeah, right." Mick seemed to ask something else, but he never got the chance because Jasmine, one of the dancers, came sauntering towards them with a big grin and interrupted them.

"GUYS! GET READY! WE’RE GOING TO PARTY!"

"What?" Y/N snorted when Mick asked that question with his eyebrows furrowed and a confused expression on his face.

"You heard me. We are going to celebrate the first concert of the tour!"

"You already planned everything, didn’t you?" Mick asked with a mischievous grin on his lips as he crossed his arms and looked at Jasmine knowingly.

"Well, yeah! C’mon, we’ve known each other for years!" Y/N watched as Mick chuckled with a small nod as Jasmine circled her arm around his shoulders and side-hugged him tightly.

"Fair enough. Anyway, I’m always in when there is alcohol involved."

"Y/N, are you in?" Jasmine asked with a smile, rolling a strand of hair around her index finger and looking at the Y/H/C girl expectantly.

"I kinda have to." Y/N replied with a snort, "you guys kinda have to be friends with me, because wherever Hailee goes, I go too. But I’m glad you invited me, so I don’t feel like I’m crushing on you guys’ night."

Mick and Jasmine laughed at her joke and both punched her shoulders as they shook their heads, "you sound like a jealous girlfriend."

Y/N snorted out loud at Mick’s joke before flipping him off, making him laugh harder alongside Jasmine. "C’mon you two, let’s get drunk!"

-

"I know! But at least I got free alcohol!" Jasmine laughed care-freely as she sipped on her drink, moving her head to the beat of the song playing in the club while eyeing her friends in the vip area dancing.

"We got free alcohol. Thank you Jaz!" Mick leaned over the table and high-fived Jasmine then doing the same with Y/N, who was only paying half attention to what they were saying as she tried to keep her gaze focused on Hailee dancing with a few of her dancers on the dance floor not too far from them. "Dude you now look like a jealous girlfriend. Chill. She is with us. She is safe."

"Stop harassing her Mick. She is doing her job." Jasmine leaned over the table to slap Mick’s shoulder before sitting back on her chair and patting Y/N’s hand gently, drawing her full attention. "Don’t listen to him Y/N."

"Oh trust me, I’m not. And I never will." Y/N joked with a mischievous smile directed at Mick, making him gasp with an offended face, his mouth opened in an O shape and his eyebrows drawn together, but she purposefully ignored him and focused her attention on Jasmine instead. "I just- I don’t want to be too oppressive. She doesn’t want me here. But her mom does. I want her to trust her mom is right. I am not her enemy. Nor are her fans. But sometimes things get crazy and I am here to protect her if it will ever happen."

"Don’t worry Y/N. She will come around eventually." Jasmine assured Y/N with a warm smile.

"Yeah, she will. I am sure of that." Mick caught Y/N’s attention by laying a hand on the Y/H/C girl and patting it gently.

"Thank you guys." Y/N smiled in appreciation at her friends, who just lifted their drinks and winked at her with small grins of their own.

"I need a drink." Y/N snorted under her breath when another dancer, Tess, walked at their table and sat unceremoniously down on the chair beside her, a bit sweaty and out of breath. "Can you go get me one Mick?"

"Sure. For 200 dollars."

"What?! C’mon! You came here to sit three songs ago! I need to rest." Tess argued as she groaned at Mick’s mischievous expression.

"Not my fault. You could’ve joined me then and you could’ve rested enough to get a drink." Mick countered back with mirth glowing in his eyes. Despite his words, Y/N saw Mick gripping the chair’s armrests, a clear sign he is ready to get up, and that gesture made Y/N smile fondly as she witnessed the drummer mess around a little bit with Tess.

"Ugh, you’re an asshole." Tess flipped him off before sending him a kiss when he got up from his chair right after. "Love you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Mick waved Tess off before walking towards the small group still dancing and talked to Luke and Mark quickly, before walking towards the VIP area’s bar. He probably asked his friends to get drinks for everyone and not too long after everyone joined the table when Mick, Luke and Mark brought shots and drinks. Everyone except Hailee. Y/N was ready to sit up and join her to keep an eye on her closely, but Tess passed her a shot and made her cheer with everyone else. Then another. When the third one arrived in a very short time, Y/N declined it since she was technically working and that made her senses go back on alert, chancing a look at Hailee, expecting her to dance with the few people dancing on the dance floor, but she was met with uncomfortable eyes that were clearly asking for help. With a lightning-fast movement she sat up from her chair and strode towards the dance floor.

"C’mon, let me buy you a drink babe."

"Do not call me babe. I said no. Thank you." Hailee talked slowly but with a firm voice, her tone a bit lower and full of anger and annoyance.

"Then let’s dance a bit before getting that drink. I promise I will make worth your while."

Y/N wanted to punch that douchebag’s face repeatedly when she heard the conversation going on as she got closer to Hailee and a small curly, dark brown haired boy, watching as he ogled Hailee with his brown eyes. "Is there a problem here?"

"No. Bye."

Y/N had to restrain herself when the boy answered before Hailee could, not even moving his eyes from her chest before meeting Hailee’s gaze with a disgusting flirty smile, "where were we? Oh yeah, we were about to dance. Or we could skip the dance and the drink and get right to the good part."

"Like a said no. A million times no."

"But-."

"You heard her. No." Y/N interrupted him as she crossed her arms under her chest and approached Hailee slightly, noticing how she leaned a bit over her as she tried to move away from the boy.

"Who are you?" Y/N had to physically restrain herself from punching repeatedly this douchebag’s smug face by closing her hands into tight fists, feeling her short nails sink deep into her palm and creating a grounding stinging, and by taking a deep, calming breath but it proved to be a really difficult task when the douchebag’s face twisted in disgust, "go find another girl to hit on, she is not interested."

Y/N’s patience was becoming thinner by the second and closed her eyes for a second to stop from head-butting hard this jerk, before opening her Y/E/C eyes again and focusing her cold gaze on him, "the only person I want to hit, hard, right now it’s you. Don’t test my patience. I’m here to tell you to go fuck yourself."

"Nice try, but I’m not going anywhere. Not without her at least." Hailee frowned in disgust when the boy winked at her in something that he may have considered seductive before focusing his gaze back on Y/N. "So why don’t you go bother someone else?"

"Did I stutter? Go. Fuck. Yourself."

"Listen-."

"No you listen for once. I said no. NO. A million times no. I guess you don’t take a no for an answer but I don’t care. I said no. I’m not going anywhere with you. And apologize to her since she had been nice enough to not beating the shit out of you."

"Oh I got it now. You two are together. It’s fine. We can arrange something." Y/N and Hailee facepalmed right away as they stared dumbly at him for a few seconds but they sighed loudly when they noticed he was actually serious.

"We’re not together. I am her friend."

Hailee was glad Y/N didn’t use the word ‘bodyguard’ since this jerk seemed to be so dense and dumb that he would’ve thought about some kinky role play shit he would’ve wanted to join. "We are her friends and we tell you to go nicely. Don’t let me repeat myself or the word ‘nicely’ won’t be used again."

Hailee turned her head around and smiled warmly at Jasmine and Mick behind her mimicking Y/N’s pose and watching the boy with a withering glare, "ugh fine, you bitch were too fucking haughty and snob to fuck."

The boy turned around with a scoff and went to walk away, but Y/N stopped him right after, "oh hey! You forgot something."

"What?" The boy didn’t have time to turn fully around before Y/N’s fist collided with his cheek hard and made him fall down on the floor with a grunt that almost got covered by the cheers and loud wolf whistles from her friends as they cheered Y/N on.

"There. Now you can go to hell asshole."

-

After about an hour, Y/N walked out of the club, following Hailee closely as she talked animatedly with two of her dancers about something Y/N wasn’t exactly paying attention to. "You don’t have to worry about that, we will blame Pete for that."

"Hey!" Y/N smiled softly at the boy in question protesting, lowering her head down and watching her feet move on the concrete for a few moments before looking up ahead again.

"Don’t worry, we won’t do that." Hailee was quick to reassure with a calming, comforting tone but her innocent expression then broke into a mischievous smile a second later, "maybe."

"I hate you two!" Pete put his hands on Hailee’s and Lorna’s shoulders, walking respectively on his left and on his right side, and pushed them to the side, making them stumble in their steps.

"That’s our stop. We’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Haiz." Lorna and Pete hugged Hailee tightly, doing the same with everyone that wasn’t on the bus they were staying in then walked in their bus.

"I’ll join you guys in a second. I will walk Hailee to her bus."

"Okay." Jasmine lifted her thumb up and nodded at her after she hugged Hailee goodnight and walked alongside her friends to their bus.

"Hm, I need to walk you back to your bus then I’ll leave you alone." Y/N told Hailee in an awkward stance and shrugged softly.

"Okay." Hailee nodded and started walking the few steps towards her tour bus, hearing Y/N catch up with her not even a second later.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Y/N didn’t believe Hailee not even for a second, she saw her bite on her bottom lip and fidget with her hands nervously since they left the club not too long ago, making Y/N ask if Hailee was okay.

"Are you sure? You seem a little bit- lost? Deep in thought. I just want to make sure you are okay."

"I am just a little bit shaken by what happened." Hailee finally admitted after a few seconds of silence, causing Y/N’s heart to clench at her quiet voice.

"I am so sorry." Y/N apologized with a regretful expression on her face and looked at Hailee with remorse clear in her Y/E/C eyes, "I shouldn’t have sat down at the table. I should’ve been right beside you so he wouldn’t have approached you in the first place." Y/N looked down at her feet for a few seconds in shame before looking back into Hailee’s brown irises when she felt them on her, finding nothing but fondness in those mesmerizing irises.

"Y/N, it’s not your fault. I actually really appreciated you giving me space and not staying glued to me all night long. I might not wanted and I might still not want you here since I don’t think getting a bodyguard was necessary but I understand my mother’s worries and I respect your job. And you did an amazing job. You came at the right time and helped me out and I’m grateful for that. Stop beating yourself up. You did nothing wrong."

"I know, but I should’ve arrived earlier. I should’ve stopped him before he could’ve approached you. I was distracted and I shouldn’t have been distracted. Not when I am working."

Hailee smiled tenderly at her before placing a hand on her right shoulder and caressed it softly in a comforting manner. "It’s okay. You need to have some fun too!"

"I don’t. Not when I’m working." Y/N countered back with her eyebrows furrowed and shook her head in denial, "my priority is your safety and I can’t protect you if I am distracted. It won’t happen again."

"Okay, stop. Hold on. Let me open the door and we can keep talking." Hailee rummaged in her purse to find the tour bus’ keys and opened the door, then signaled for Y/N to enter, but the girl shook her head and signaled her to go in first. Hailee rolled her eyes good-naturedly and shook her head with a small smile before she realized Y/N wasn’t going to give in and walked in first.

"Wow, what a mess!" Y/N said out loud and widened eyes comically as she took in the place, full of clothes scattered all over the living room’s floor and couches.

"Yeah sorry, I was trying to unpack a few things."

"All of this is a bit more than a few things." Y/N joked as she looked at Hailee comically and the girl shrugged shyly.

"Anyway, we started on a wrong foot. Especially because of me. Let’s start over. I will try to be more polite to you if you will try to have fun when needed."

"Oh I didn’t realize this was a negotiation." Y/N cracked another joke, smiling mischievously at Hailee while shaking her index finger to point at Hailee and herself, the singer scoffing with another good-naturedly roll of her eyes. "Anyway, I will try. But your safety has to come first."

"Deal."

-

"Ugh, Y/N relax. You don’t need to walk me back every night to my trailer, especially when it’s 10 feet away from the entrance!"

"I am sorry, but this is the protocol. It’s my job to be sure you are safe in your trailer."

"Yeah, okay, but no one is around. My fans are on the other side of the venue."

"I still will walk you back in your trailer." Hailee huffed out a small laugh as she fished her keys from her stage pants she stashed in there after grabbing them on the counter in her changing room before walking out of the venue and unlocked her tour bus door. "I-."

"Like every other night for the past month, no. You don’t need to check the bus. It was locked."

"Okay." Y/N sighed dejectedly, scratching her forehead in frustration at Hailee’s stubbornness as she looked the singer in her eyes, "you did great tonight by the way."

"Thank you." Hailee smiled widely at the compliment, adrenaline still pumping hard in her veins at how wonderful the concert was that night. The crowd was ecstatic and the atmosphere was amazing.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight Y/N."

-

Y/N could hear Hailee’s name being screamed by the ecstatic crowd from the backstage and couldn’t help but smile at how passionate Hailee’s fans were and how much love they showed her, "okay, all set. You can go on stage now."

"What’s up everybody!" Y/N smiled widely when Hailee run up on stage and the whole crowd erupted in a loud scream of excitement at her sight, "wow, I see you are happy to see me!"

No matter how many times she saw it, Y/N was still stunned how much loved Hailee was by her fans. She had travelled a lot and she had been pretty famous singer’s bodyguard before, and even if Hailee’s fans weren’t that much compared to the singers’ fans Y/N had worked for, she could see the real passion, affection and love they had for Hailee. A lot of really famous singers have also a lot of ‘occasional’ fans in the crowd that are there at their concert just to watch them live, but with Hailee’s fans Y/N could see every single one of them would go to every single one of Hailee’s shows, they weren’t just occasional fans. "WOHO! WHAT A GREAT SHOW!"

"Fuck you Mick! You will make me go deaf one of these days."

"Nah, you’ll be just fine." Mick waved her off and snickered as he circled his arm around Y/N’s shoulders and hugged her closer for a moment before pulling away.

A few seconds later a body crashed into her back as it crawled over it, giving her just a few seconds to react and grab the person’s thighs to prevent them to fall on the ground, "Y/N! I missed you!"

"Jaz we saw each other 2 hours ago!"

"I know! But I still missed you!" Y/N smiled warmly at her friend as she hugged her tightly and shook her head before putting her down gently.

"Oh yeah! I’m gonna change quickly. I wanna say ‘hi’ to them." Y/N heard Hailee speak to her manager not too far from her and watched curiously as she run to the hallway that led to the dressing rooms, already knowing she was talking about going to say ‘hi’ to her fans waiting outside the arena. She followed her and waited patiently outside her dressing room as Hailee finished changing from her stage clothes and walked her to her fans when she finished, watching with fondness in her eyes Hailee talk to her fans, signing their pictures of her and taking selfies with them. It was calm for almost 10 minutes until a fight started not too far away from them, a few rows back, between a few Hailee’s fans. A few screams could be heard and Y/N, waiting patiently a few feet behind Hailee until then, immediately jumped into action and went to take Hailee away from the scene, since the arena’s guards already got it covered, but the singer walked forward to try to calm everyone down slipping from Y/N’s grasp. Y/N saw from the corner of her eyes as she walked again towards Hailee, a girl crashing into another girl holding a beer and accidentally breaking the bottle onto the barrier on her left, before another girl crashed onto her side and made her stumble forward, dangerously close to Hailee, as she walked a few steps forward to try to help and calm everyone down. "Guys, please let’s just-."

"Hailee!" Y/N got in front of Hailee’s just in time. The Y/H/C girl grabbed the singer’s forearm and pulled her behind her back as she got in front of her a second before the broken bottle got pushed into her lower stomach while the girl holding the bottle fell down on the floor right in front of Y/N’s feet. Y/N grunted in pain when she felt a big piece of glass embed in her skin and flesh, while the rest fell down on the floor and crashed into pieces, but the Y/H/C girl pushed the pain away to protect Hailee and moved her away from the hassle. "We need to go."

"Oh shit- Y/N!"

"We need to go now. I need to escort you away to a safe place."

"B-but we need to look at that-."

"I’ll be fine." Y/N gritted through her teeth as she ignored the excruciating pain and grunted out loud when she pushed Hailee towards the direction of her tour bus.

"Y/N we seriously need to call someone." Y/N grunted back in protest as she kept pushing Hailee towards the bus and signaled for her to open the door as she looked around for anymore treats. "Y/N, please. You’re bleeding."

"I will check it as soon as I am sure you are safe and now-." Y/N trailed off as she closed the door behind her and locked the door. "Now you are." Y/N sighed out loud as she laid her back on the closed door for just a moment before she pushed past the pain for a few more seconds to check the entire bus to be completely sure Hailee was safe.

"Okay, now please, stop here and let me check." Hailee leaned her hands on Y/N’s shoulders when she joined her back on the living area and pushed down gently to let her lay her butt on the small table behind her. "Oh fuck. It looks bad." Hailee stated, examining the big red spot on Y/N’s white t-shirt with a worried expression on her face.

"Can you- l-lift the shirt?"

"I don’t know." Y/N grunted in pain when Hailee just grazed the hem of Y/N’s shirt and stopped her movements right away.

"Fuck." Y/N hissed out loud and retracted her body abruptly from Hailee’s grasp, "sorry, just- be careful."

"I am." Hailee replied softly with a small smile, "I think we should let it be checked." Hailee repeated as she looked once again at the blood stained patch on Y/N’s white shirt, biting her bottom lip nervously. A few seconds later she felt the bus move and instinctively looked at the closed door separating the living area from the driving cabin at the front of the bus with her eyebrows furrowed together. "No, no, no! We should stop."

"No, it’s okay. It’s important that we get away from that chaos. We can handle it. Wait, let me rephrase that. I can handle it. I don’t want to bother you too much. I will go into the bathroom and as soon as we are far away I will go into my bus." Y/N announced as she lifted herself off the table with another pained grunt and limped a few steps towards the bathroom to check herself the damage that broken bottle did to her, but a gentle hand on her right bicep stopped her in her tracks.

"You can’t be serious Y/N. I will help you." Y/N smiled in appreciation at the soft tone Hailee used and nodded gently at her, who nodded back with a small grin of her own, "okay, now stay put. I don’t want to hurt you if you move."

"Yeah, okay." Y/N let herself be lead by Hailee back towards the table, making her sit back down on the table and slowly but more firmly this time, lifted Y/N’s t-shirt to assess Y/N’s injury, carefully slipping the shirt away from the glass before pulling it up under her chest.

"Oh shit." Y/N gasped out loud when she felt the cold air hit her hot skin and chanced a glance down her lower stomach.

"Oh shit." Y/N repeated Hailee’s words and stared at the big piece of green glass embedded into her skin. "Fuck."

"Sorry!" Hailee grimaced in apology as she tentatively grazed the piece of glass to assess the damage.

"Don’t worry." Y/N said through gritted teeth as she tried to subdue the stinging sensation in her lower stomach, "it has to be taken out."

"Wait- do you want me to-? No! No way." Hailee asked when she moved her eyes away from Y/N’s injury and found her Y/E/C eyes staring at her expectantly.

"Hailee please, we still need to drive for a bit more and I am starting to feel dizzy. So we need to take this out and stop me from bleeding out. I would have done it myself but I don’t have enough energy in me to pull it out neatly, I would cause more unnecessary damage. So please, I know I am asking too much, but you are my greatest option right now."

"Geez, talk about ‘no pressure’." Hailee joked and made Y/N chuckle airily under her breath as she smiled fondly at the singer.

"Yeah." Y/N shook her head and looked at Hailee amusedly, "sorry but it is what it is."

"No I got it." Y/N smiled fondly at Hailee and nodded once before letting her continue, "I just don’t want to screw it up. And I don’t want to hurt you."

"Don’t worry, you won’t. You will do great. I will guide you through it all."

"Why do I feel like it’s not your first time being this heavily injured?"

"Because it’s not. I liked to get into a lot of trouble in high school." Hailee smiled mischievously down at her but in her eyes Y/N could see worry and apprehension as she stared into her brown irises.

"Hm, why am I not surprised?" Y/N snorted under her breath and blushed slightly under Hailee’s gaze, "anyway, we should probably focus. I seriously need to take this shit out, you look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah. It also hurts like a bitch. So we should hurry."

"Okay-." Hailee took a big, deep breath to ground herself and closed her eyes to focus, a few seconds passing before she opened them once again and with her index finger and thumb took a solid hold of the big, broken bottle’s piece. She stared at the glass a couple of seconds, took another deep breath then looked into Y/N’s eyes firmly, "on three. One, two, THREE!"

Y/N groaned out loud, trying not to scream too loudly at the searing pain in her abdomen and closed her eyes shut hard, "ow! Fuck, fuck, fucking shit!" Y/N felt dizzy and hold onto the table’s edge hard to prevent herself to fall on the ground. "Sorry for cursing. It won’t happen again." Y/N murmured quietly after she gained some consciousness, her head spinning slightly and feeling a little bit weak.

"Are you serious right now?" Hailee asked incredulously as she walked to the trash can and dumped the broken bottle’s piece into it and walked back to Y/N to assess her injury. "You were in pain. Hell, you are still in so much pain. There is no need to apologize."

"I know, but I’m still working right now, so I should try to at least be well behaved." Y/N tried to reason with seriousness but the small smile that Hailee sent her way broke her deep serious frown into a big grin of her own as they both chuckled under their breaths.

"I don’t care. You are not working right now. You are a friend that got hurt and I am taking care of you."

"I should consider myself lucky, shouldn’t I?"

"Oh yeah, very lucky actually!" Hailee replied with a serious face as she nodded once before breaking her serious façade with another grin, her hands still lifting Y/N’s shirt up some more to prevent the shirt’s fabric to stick onto Y/N’s deep cut on her lower abdomen, "I will take care of you really good, you’ll see!" Hailee winked playfully before looking down on Y/N’s cut to see if there was any small pieces of glass left that she didn’t take out earlier, luckily there weren’t. When she moved her eyes once again back on Y/N’s face she was met with a small blush on Y/N’s face and a big, mischievous and cheeky grin on her lips. "What?" When Y/N just kept staring at her knowingly, Hailee thought about what she had said and immediately blushed furiously as she fumbled over her words to try to clarify, "NOT LIKE THAT! Y/N!" Hailee slapped gently Y/N’s shoulder, who chuckled softly under her breath.

"Hey! You are the dirty-minded here, you should hit yourself! And I’m injured, I’m in a lot of pain right now, it’s not fair hitting me!" Y/N caressed her left shoulder where Hailee slapped her and chuckled under her breath at their banter.

"Not enough to stop you from being the only dirty-minded here!" Hailee countered back before lifting a challenging eyebrow up when Y/N opened her mouth to try to counter her back. She smirked triumphantly when Y/N shut her mouth and grunted out childishly.

"It’s not my fault, you said it like it was meant to be dirty!" Y/N replied a few moments later and pouted softly, trying to play her trump card and make Hailee relent and say she was the one dirty-minded between them, but it only blackmailed when Hailee smirked cheekily.

"Well, this only proves you are the dirty-minded here. Because even if I decided to specifically say those words with a dirty meaning, I covered it all up with an innocent look and I made it sound innocent. You were the one that caught the dirty meaning behind that phrase. But it wasn’t the case anyway, because I didn’t realize what I said only after you pointed them out, you horndog."

"Ugh, fine you won. Now please, tell me if I need stitches because I seriously need to disinfect the cut before it could get infected."

"Oh yeah! Wait-uhm- how do I know you don’t need stitches?" Hailee asked with an insecure voice, her eyes now back analyzing the cut intensely while her eyebrows were cutely furrowed together in concentration.

"Check the central portion of the cut. How distant are the two flaps of skin?"

"Hm, I think not too much. Maybe just a tad bit of a quarter of an inch."

"Okay, that’s a good thing. You don’t need to patch me up-." Y/N trailed off as she thought over what Hailee said while she tried to see the cut’s damage for herself too.

"Yeah- wait, hold the fuck up. I would’ve had to patch you up? Are you insane?" Hailee asked incredulously and stared at Y/N like she just grew two heads, who simply chuckled in amusement as she shook her head good-naturedly.

"No, I’m Y/N."

"I-hm." Hailee opened her mouth to prepare herself to counter Y/N’s words back, but as soon as her brain registered Y/N’s witty joke, she closed her mouth shut and looked at Y/N unamused. Y/N then chuckled softly under her breath and shook her head, but didn’t add anything else, wanting to hear what Hailee would counter back, excited for their new teasing and bickering dynamic. "Wow Y/N, that was really mature of you, I must admit. Very, very mature."

"What can I say? I’m a book full of surprises and plot twists." Y/N replied with nonchalance, shrugging and smiling innocently at Hailee.

"Unbelievable." Hailee shook her head good-naturedly and rolled her eyes in amusement as she walked to the cabinet where she knew there was the first aid kit and joined Y/N again. She place the bag beside Y/N and grabbed a cotton wool, soaked it with hydrogen peroxide and lifted it to Y/N’s cut. "Okay, this will hurt a little."

"OHW! OWH! OWH! FUCKFUCKSHIT!"

"Almost done, stay put!"

"I’m trying!"

"Not enough!" Y/N grunted at Hailee’s reprimand and tried to stay as still as the excruciating pain on the left side of her lower stomach allowed her to, closing her eyes shut as Hailee cleaned her cut. "Almost done."

"Finally, ugh it hurts so much, shit."

Hailee then stopped altogether when her eyes moved up from the cut just an fraction of second and got met with Y/N’s defined abs, every muscle standing out due to Y/N contracting them from the pain. "Uhm-." Hailee opened and closed her mouth like a damned dumb fish, slapping herself on the forehead in her mind for not getting a grip on herself at the sight of just defined abs and a well-defined body, her hand frozen on the cut.

"Hailee please, hurry- fuck! Ohw, ohw, ohw!"

"Oh, shit! Sorry!" Hailee apologized as she lifted the cotton wool from the ugly cut after she started pressing on it too much without notice in her distracted state and cursed herself under her breath for hurting Y/N more than necessary due to her being an- horndog? A stupid? "Here, done!"

"Uh, fucking finally. Okay, it is starting to subside." Y/N started to breath evenly back a few seconds later Hailee stopped mending her injury and relaxed her previously contracted abdomen when she could just feel a light and small stinging sensation from her lower stomach cut.

"We need to put an antiseptic cream on it otherwise it will get infected." Hailee pointed out as she walked towards the bathroom and opened her medicine cabinet, finding the aforementioned cream after rummaging a bit in the cabinet. "Wow, I need to thank my mom for thinking about everything. She packed a whole pharmacy in my medicine bag."

"A big thank you to Mama Steinfeld." Y/N breathed out as she nodded oxygen Hailee before chuckling softly under her breath with her as Hailee approached Y/N back and opened the bandages.

"Ugh, it looks ugly. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Not as much as before but it still hurts." Y/N explained with a shrug as she looked down at her injury too.

"Okay good. This will sting a bit but it will get it better." Y/N nodded and gritted her teeth to prepare herself for the stinging, flinching just a bit when Hailee’s delicate hand applied the antiseptic cream on Y/N’s cut with a cotton swab.

"Do you want me to blow on it just a bit?" Hailee did all her best to refrain her face to break into a big grin and tried to keep a serious face as she asked the question and it got even more difficult when Y/N looked down at her incredulously but she kept applying the cream not looking at Y/N, fearing she would crack and laugh out loud if she looked into Y/N’s incredulous eyes.

"How old do you think I am?"

"I don’t know, 5 years old?" Hailee then cracked as she looked at Y/N with her bottom lip trapped under her teeth to prevent her smile to broaden but as soon as she met Y/N’s eyes she bursted out laughing.

"Ha-ha very funny." Y/N rolled her eyes good-naturedly and snorted under her breath, her heart fluttering alongside her stomach at the cute laugh Hailee was emitting for her own joke.

"I know, I am hilarious."

"Debatable." Y/N countered back jokingly, "ohw, hey!"

"Sorry!" Hailee smiled apologetically but Y/N saw through that and rolled her eyes at her pushing on her cut at her mocking words.

"Thanks." Y/N breathed out gently as soon as Hailee stopped applying the antiseptic cream and smiled in appreciation for her care and patience.

"Okay, time to patch you up and we’re done!"

"Finally!" Y/N exclaimed out loud, amusing Hailee to no end as she wrapped the bandage around Y/N’s lower stomach. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Hailee smiled affectionately at Y/N after placing the other unused bandages back into the emergency kit and looked at her in gratitude, "I actually should be the one thanking you. Not the way around."

"I was just doing my job."

"You almost got hurt badly for it." Y/N shook her head with a soft smile and lifted her hand up in protest.

"It’s nothing. I’ve been worse injured." Y/N admitted with a mix of shyness and resolution, trying to make Hailee stop feeling bad for her.

PART 2

#hailee steinfeld #haileesteinfeld #hailee steinfeld x reader #hailee steinfeld fluff #hailee steinfeld x female reader #hailee steinfeld imagines #hailee steinfeld imagine #hailee steinfeld fanfiction #hailee steinfeld fanfic #hailee steinfeld x y/n #hailee steinfeld fanfics #hailee steinfeld fic #hailee steinfeld fics #hailee steinfeld fanfictions #hailee steinfeld x original female character #hailee steinfeld x original character #hailee steinfeld x oc #hailee steinfeld x fem!reader #hailee steinfeld x you #kate bishop #katebishop #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop imagines #kate bishop fics #kate bishop fanfics #kate bishop fanfic #kate bishop fic

[creatureheart]

PSA: Be careful where you send your donations/money - Save A Fox

( PT: PSA: Be careful where you send your donations/money - Save A Fox )

----

I wanted to make a post because of seeing a certain controversial organization run as an animal rescue being presented as a good place to donate to on a post about buying and finding real tails as gear in the community. The organization being Save A Fox or SAF.

While there is no ill will against the original poster of the otherwise good post about looking for tails and how certain sites can falsely advertise real tails as fake ones, it would be a disservice to the community to not bring up the known problems with this rescue, if one could even call it that.

It is not a secret that the owner of this group, who claims to be against fur farming, will go out of her way to buy foxes from fur farms, in doing so giving money to the farms she says she is so thoroughly against — including on the same day that one of her other foxes died.

From the information that has been gathered on this organization, it is agreed by many that it is basically, as another user put it, "an animal hoarding situation with good PR".

All these blogs below have tags on Save A Fox and the things that have happened to the animals under their care. Please also be aware that these linked tags talk about animal death, animal injury, bad animal husbandry in caring for wild animals, admittance and promoting of taking and keeping animals from the wild when it is illegal, and other things that may be distressing:

@/whats-this-mustelid - Tag Here

@/is-the-fox-video-cute - Tag Here

@/is-the-owl-video-cute - Tag Here

Wanting to help and save animals, our kin, is a large part of the community, but just like with finding tails, research into what organizations you support is necessary as to make sure that your money is going towards something that is reputable and practicing the best animal welfare it can.

One can start by looking into local rescues and shelters to your area, and being sure to thoroughly research groups and organizations you may find both on and offline.

Thank you for reading or listening.

#alterhuman #otherkin #therian #nonhuman #alterbeing #therianthropy #otherkind #otherhearted #therian gear #nonhuman gear #otherkin gear #creature; the voice #saveafox

[youremyheaven]

Mrigashira: Always On The Run

TW: abuse, kidnapping, r*pe, murder, stalking, violence, incest

I have been doing more research on Mrigashira simply because for the last month or so, I have been seeing more Mrigashira like incidents more and more often (synchronicity, I suppose). It's so fascinating to me how literally the themes of this nakshatra manifest in real life.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the mythology of this nakshatra, it goes like this:

Rohini was Brahma's favourite daughter. He loved her to such an extent that he tried to be sexually intimate with her. Traumatized, Rohini decided to leave heaven. She descended down to earth and took the form of a deer (a deer's head is the symbol of Mrigashira and the word "Mrigashira" literally translates to animal's head) so that she can hide away from her creepy father. Deers are animals who spend their lives in fear of danger. Every day it wakes up knowing that it will have to run for its life because its prey to many predators. There is no sense of safety.

In real life this translates to paranoia, stalking (being stalked as well as stalking others), kidnapping, being held hostage, incestual abuse, obsession, being exiled, going into hiding, being deprived of your "freedom", being gaslit/manipulated, stockholm syndrome, having a violent/unsafe home, being on the run, chasing as well as being chased etc

Lindsay Lohan, Mrigashira Rising (she is also Bharani Moon and Venusian women are highly susceptible to abuse, which I'll explore further in a separate post)

Lindsay starred in a movie called I Know Who Killed Me which revolves around a young woman who is abducted and tortured by a sadistic serial killer. After surviving the abduction, she insists that her identity is that of another woman.

I would say both the themes of being abducted and held hostage and also being very confused about your identity are linked to Mrigashira (I won't give away the twist of the movie, but you should watch it, its not as bad as some people say it is). You have to remember that in the mythology, Rohini changed form from a woman to a deer, so changing identities, being confused about who you really are and by extension being susceptible to gaslighting and manipulation and also being paranoid about the same are all Mrigashira themes.

However, its not just victims who have Mrigashira placements, unfortunately, many perpetrators have Mrig in their charts as well.

Boy George- Mrigashira Sun

In 2007, Boy George imprisoned a male escort in his house, chained him to the wall and beat him up. It was apparently a psychotic episode as George was struggling with cocaine addiction at the time. He was convicted and served a 15-month sentence.

Sia- Mrigashira Moon

Sia felt uncomfortable being in the limelight and would suffer from constant anxiety and nervous breakdowns as a result of it in the early phase of her career. So when she made a comeback, she decided to wear wigs that covered her face and basically kept her hidden from view (all of these are Mrigashira themes).

Sia's relationship and obsession with Maddie Ziegler (Saturn in Mrigashira) has been extremely inappropriate. In 2014, at the age of 11, Maddie starred in Chandelier for Sia who was 38yrs old. Sia was a huge fan of Maddie after watching her performances on Dance Moms and reached out to her to star in the video. This began a long series of collaborations and performances.

Sia kept creating projects for Maddie to be in just so that she can keep her close and in her own words "protect her". But she cast Maddie as an autistic teen in a movie called Music for which Maddie received huge backlash and is considered very insulting movie to the autistic community. Maddie didn't even want to be in it but Sia forced her.

For many years, Maddie was the ONLY person that Sia followed on IG (now she's one of the five people she follows lol). Maddie would apparently have sleepovers with Sia and they'd snuggle in bed together? 🤮🤢🤮idk why a teenager has to live and snuggle with some middle aged woman who isn't even related to her?? Sia gets away with all this bc she's a woman, if a man did all this to a teenager he'd be accused of grooming her. Sia even bought Maddie her first car and tried to adopt her?? Sia basically made Maddie codependent on her from her early teens. I hope one day all the truth comes to light because their dynamic is seriously disturbing and Maddie has yet to speak up about it.

I personally find it morbid that a woman who found fame so nerve wracking and damaging as to hide behind wigs for her entire career would put a literal child out there as the "face" of her brand and then claim that she was "protecting" her. What or who exactly is she being protected from lol? if anything she is being exploited by a creepy older woman.

Linda Hamilton, Mrigashira Moon

Linda played the iconic Sarah Connor in the Terminator who is supposed to be executed by a cyborg sent from the future. The entire movie basically features Sarah running for her life. This is a very literal manifestation of a Mrigashira trope.

Bae Doona, Mrigashira Moon

several characters that Doona has played echo Mrigashira-esque themes. In Cloud Atlas, she plays a humanoid clone who has to eat "soap" which is the food that clones eat to remain acquiescent (it takes away their ability to remember or form new thoughts that aren't programmed into them- basically a scifi dystopian version of being gaslit). She eventually breaks free and learns the "truth" about her condition (another Mrigashira theme is "learning the truth" because Rohini escaped heaven after learning the truth behind her father's love).

Ewan McGregor, Mrigashira Moon

Ewan starred in a movie called Big Fish which is about a frustrated son trying to determine the fact from fiction in his dying father's life.

Ewan plays the father in question. The son does eventually learn about the truth but blurring fact and fiction and not being able to distinguish which is which, being overly suspicious of others and their motives etc are all Mrigashira themes.

Liam Neeson, Mrigashira Sun

In The Taken movies, Liam stars as a former CIA operative who must rescue his teenage daughter and her friend who has been abducted by human traffickers for sexual slavery while on a trip to Paris.

Liam is on the run throughout the movie, except he's the one chasing them and he is on a mission to rescue his abducted daughter (extremely on brand Mrigashira trope).

Bear Grylls, Ketu in Mrigashira

speaking of running and chasing, lets talk about surviving in the wild, which also arguably correlates to Mrigashira. Bear Grylls aka the man who made a career out of teaching people how to survive in the wild has his Ketu placement here. i include Ketu placements because Ketu is how we channel our latent creative potential. it represents our imagination and creativity bc its the lowest point of our subconscious.

BTS made their debut on 12th June 2013, so they have Mrigashira Sun atmakaraka & Jupiter (Pushya Moon, Mercury in Punarvasu amatyakaraka)

I have often wondered why Armies are so uniquely obsessive and why BTS seems mutually obsessed with their armies. For the most part it is a wonderful rapport (minus the saesangs) and knowing their Mrigashira connection cements it further.

Amelia Earhart, Venus in Mrigashira atmakaraka

The Mrigashira urge to be an explorer of some kind is very interesting to me, I feel like they're always breaking into new territories and doing unprecedented things but always paying a personal price for it

Amelia was an American aviation pioneer. On July 2, 1937, Earhart disappeared over the Pacific Ocean while attempting to become the first female pilot to circumnavigate the world. To this day, no one is quite sure what happened to her.

Mrigashira nak is quite prominent in the charts of many people who have similarly gone exploring and never returned.

Michael Rockefeller, Venus AK in Mrigashira, Mars Amk in Mrigashira

In 1961, he was on an expedition (??) in present day Indonesia (then Dutch New Guinea) when the boat he was in had overturned. He was with the anthropologist Rene Wassing who was rescued the next day but Michael was never seen or heard from again despite intensive searches all over the area. He was declared legally dead in 1964. There have been speculations over the years that he may have been a victim of cannibalism (which was practiced by the local tribes).

Joshua Slocum, Ketu in Mrigashira

He was the first person to sail single-handedly around the world.

In 1909 he set sail from New England in the Spray (the name of his ship) to spend the winter in Grand Cayman and was lost at sea. He was assumed to have been the victim of a collision; he and the Spray were never found, and in 1924 he was declared legally dead.

To go exploring and never be found is tragically Mrigashiracore

Hart Crane, Ketu in Mrigashira

On April 27, 1932, Crane, in an inebriated state, jumped off or fell off the steamship USS Orizaba and into the Gulf of Mexico while the ship was en route to New York. His body was never found.

Glen Miller, Mrigashira Rising

American big band conductor, arranger, composer, trombone player, and recording artist before and during World War II, when he was an officer in the US Army Air Forces.

Miller went missing in action (MIA) on December 15, 1944, on a flight over the English Channel. In keeping with standard operating procedure for the US military services, Miller was officially declared dead a year and a day later. Nobody is sure as to what exactly happened to him and his body was never recovered.

Jodi Sue Huisentruit, Mars in Mrigashira AmK

She was an American news anchor for KIMT in Mason City, Iowa. She disappeared in the early morning hours of June 27, 1995, soon after telling a colleague that she had overslept and was running late for work. Since there were signs of a struggle outside her apartment, Huisentruit is believed to have been abducted. However, extensive investigations failed to uncover any clues to her disappearance, and Huisentruit was declared legally dead in 2001.

Victor Grayson, Mars in Mrigashira AK, Shravana Moon

He was an English socialist politician of the early 20th century. 

On 28 September 1920, Grayson was out drinking with friends when he received a telephone message. He told his friends that he had to go to the Queen's Hotel in Leicester Square and would be back shortly. He did not return and no one knows what happened to him.

It has been speculated that Grayson was murdered to prevent his revealing evidence of corruption.

Salman Rushdie, Sun & Moon in Mrigashira

After his fourth novel, The Satanic Verses (1988), Rushdie became the subject of several assassination attempts and death threats, including a fatwa calling for his death issued by Ruhollah Khomeini, the supreme leader of Iran. Numerous killings and bombings have been carried out by extremists who cite the book as motivation, sparking a debate about censorship and religiously motivated violence. In 2022, a man stabbed Rushdie after rushing onto the stage where the novelist was scheduled to deliver a lecture at the Chautauqua Institution in Chautauqua, New York.

After the fatwa was issued, Rushdie took the name of Joseph Anton and lived in hiding under police protection for several years. The theme of Mrigashira running away and trying to hide manifests once again in this unfortunate example.

Vili Fualaau, Uttara Ashadha Moon, Mrigashira Stellium (Mercury, Mars & Rahu)

In the 90s Vili Fualaau's case made major headlines when Mary Kay Letourneau, his teacher was arrested for raping the 6th grader whom she had known since he was in 2nd grade. She was 34 years old and pregnant with 12 year old Vili's baby 🤢🤮🤢and claimed that she did not know that it was a crime to have sex with minors??  While awaiting sentencing, she gave birth to Fualaau's daughter.

Shortly after Letourneau had completed three months in jail, the police caught her in a car with Fualaau. A judge revoked her plea agreement and reinstated the prison sentence for the maximum allowed by law of seven and a half years. Eight months after returning to prison, she gave birth to Fualaau's second child, another daughter. She was imprisoned from 1998 to 2004. Letourneau and Fualaau were married in May 2005, and the marriage lasted 14 years until their separation in 2019. She died from cancer in 2020 and even though they were separated, Fualaau took care of her until she passed away. He publicly claimed that he never saw anything wrong in their relationship.

Obviously many victims struggle to form a coherent understanding of what happened to them. Some eroticize their experiences, others romanticize them or normalize them. Its often difficult for Mrig natives to fully comprehend or understand the insanity of the really messed up things they went through. Fualaau was groomed and raped by this woman since he was a child yet he held her in positive regard and remained married to her for nearly two decades and took care of her until she passed away?

Its similar to Brooke Shields, Mrig Moon who always spoke glowingly about the mother who made her do a full frontal nude playboy shoot as a 10yr old child??

Mrigashira being a deva gana nakshatra is quick to forgive and forget, it is also a Mridu or gentle nakshatra and often times, just how ??? sympathetic they are towards people who have abused them baffles me.

Gary DeVore- Jupiter in Mrigashira AmK, Uttaraphalguni Sun

He was a Hollywood screenwriter.

DeVore disappeared in June 1997, while driving at night from Santa Fe, New Mexico to Santa Barbara, California, prompting an extensive search and media speculation. DeVore was working in his office in Santa Fe trying to finish a script. DeVore had recently complained of writer's block, and so had decided to change his environment. When he finally finished the script, DeVore decided to drive home through the Mojave Desert. His wife Wendy was waiting for him at their beachfront house in Carpinteria, California. When she did not hear from him, she decided to call around 1 am (it was later discovered the call had not been recorded by the telephone company). He answered, but was not very specific on his location. This was the last time Wendy spoke with him.

A year later, he and his Ford Explorer were discovered submerged below a bridge over the aqueduct in Palmdale, California. After police had retrieved the vehicle from the water, it was found that his laptop containing the script (titled The Big Steal) was missing, as was his gun. DeVore's hands were missing; hand bones were found nearby but could not be conclusively identified as DeVore's. The discovery of DeVore's vehicle was considered suspicious, as the aqueduct was searched shortly after his disappearance was reported and nothing unusual was discovered. Police concluded that for DeVore to crash his vehicle in this location meant that he would have had to have driven 3 mi (4.8 km) against traffic without being seen. This would have been doubly difficult because the vehicle's lights were not switched on. DeVore's death has not been solved to date.

Patty Hearst, Jupiter in Mrigashira AK, Sun & Venus in Shatabhisha (I had previously explored how Shatabhisha natives often endure abuse)

She first became known for the events following her 1974 kidnapping by the Symbionese Liberation Army. She was found and arrested 19 months after being abducted, by which time she was a fugitive wanted for serious crimes committed with members of the group. She was held in custody, and there was speculation before trial that her family's resources would enable her to avoid time in prison.

At her trial, the prosecution suggested that Hearst had joined the Symbionese Liberation Army of her own volition. However, she testified that she had been raped and threatened with death while held captive. At the time of her arrest, Hearst's weight had dropped to 87 pounds (40 kg), and she was described by psychologist Margaret Singer in October 1975 as "a low-IQ, low-affect zombie". Shortly after her arrest, doctors recorded signs of trauma: her IQ was measured as 112, whereas it had previously been 130; there were huge gaps in her memory regarding her pre-SLA life; she was smoking heavily and had nightmares. She is said to have been brainwashed into committing crimes for the SLA

There is a really unfortunate pattern of Mrig natives being brainwashed by others, living in hiding, being on the run and generally feeling unsafe. These are some extreme manifestations of the themes of this nakshatra.

#mars #mrigashira #astrology notes #sidereal astrology #vedic astro notes #astrology observations #astro notes #nakshatras #astrology #astro observations #astroblr #vedic astrology

[bitterchocoo]

Hey ! I have seen you write for Twisted Wonderland ?👀

Can I ask for Ignihyde or Diasomnia students with a boy [friend or not, you choose] who is like Sherlock (from BBC if you have watch) ? I just know he will try to understand how overblot work and why there is a lot of overblot-

Ignore it if you don't want to write it ! And have a good day ! Or night ? Idk when you will see it (if you see it)-

The Game is On!

Ignihyde Students | M. Reader as Sherlock Holmes [BBC]

----------

"I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research!"

----------

The day [Name] Holmes has entered Night Raven College was the day Azul had become even richer.

Ever wonder if your crush likes you back? Or maybe you wanted to know yourself better? Or perhaps you wanted to know if your partner's cheating on you? Well look no further than the Mostro Lounge!

Being stranded in a different universe, [Name] merely sees it as an opportunity to gain more information and funding. This whole new world is so much more interesting than his previously awfully predictable world.

Which then led to Ignihyde's Housewarden's first encounter with the high-functioning sociopath. At first Idia found it skeptical that someone could have the ability to see right through everything and anything. Until [Name] had read him like an open book in their first meeting.

To say that Idia was traumatized by the sudden exposure is an understatement. But after calming down, he can't help but think on how similarly [Name] acts with one of the characters in the anime he watched. Cough Moriarty the Patriot cough. But nonetheless, the two of them soon bonded and became close with one another.

Before long, [Name] was introduced to Ortho and his interest was immediately peeked by Idia's "younger brother."

Although school life is as boring as his world's. It's just the same thing but with magic and stuff... but all of a sudden these things called "Overblot" showed up? Oh he got to know what this is about right away!

----------

Idia Shroud

"Um.."

"Shh."

He instantly shut up the moment he was hushed by the other. Just when he decided to leave his room and visit the Ramshackle for a change. Idia was greeted by a sight he never thought he would ever see in his life! [Name] pacing around his room with two hands together placed underneath his chin and the elephant in the room.. His room was filled with papers and stings attracted on the walls!

Idia thought that his room is messy but this is just on another level!

Newspapers, printed out articles, [Name] own illedgiment handwriting, etc. Every single wall is covered in it with some strings connecting some parts.

This thing. This "Overblot."

Why did it happen? Is it because of intense emotions? Negative or positive? Does it really matter? And why do they show up in a blob, ink-like thing? The stain on the gems of their pens? Is this common? Or are they something one has to go through once in their lives? Like puberty? So many questions. So little time.

Idia could only sit and watch as [Name] drove himself insane. He knew that S.T.Y.X. is also trying to figure this whole Overblot out too. But seeing how unhinged [Name]'s acting while also trying to figure out the same thing his family is doing is just concerning. It drove Idia to the edge just how... [Name]'s acting..

There's a thin line between inquiry and insanity. And [Name] is using that line like a freaking jump rope!

----------

Ortho Shroud

[Platonic]

The day the high-functioning sociopath saw Ortho. His interest is peeked. A robot? That acts like a human? Even back in his world this would've taken years maybe even centuries to accomplish with how incompetent the human kind is! Therefore, [Name] would ask Ortho multiple questions within the span of a minute. I live for Sherlock's rapid fire deductions and questioning.

And how [Name] loved it when Ortho answered each and every question without him needing to repeat himself nor explain it. Ortho's happy to help whenever he can! He was so happy that his brother made a friend!

Whenever he saw [Name] pacing around like a mad man. Ortho tries to help by either reducing [Name]'s burden and helping him to make deductions and hypotheses or by simply bringing snacks and reminding him to rest.

While Idia looks at [Name] with a nervous and unsure expression. Ortho steps in by suggesting that maybe he should rest. "[Name] maybe you should take a nap! If you do, your productivity will go up by 10℅ or maybe even more! And since you're energized, you could be more focused and—"

"I'll rest once I've figured this out."

Oh boy. This is going to be a long day for the three of them huh..

#seme male reader #top male reader #x male reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twst #twst x reader #twst x male reader #idia shroud #idia x reader #ortho shroud #twst idia #twst ortho #ignihyde

[petrawood]

I keep thinking about the Jonathan Harker Time Loop and how most posts are about the poor guy having flashbacks or trying to somehow sidestep The Horrors. You know, all reflection about how we see him.

But listen.

How about how HE sees US?

Imagine you are Jonathan Harker, and you are leaving for a work trip. You haven't really travelled much, and you are very excited, so you do research about that fascinating country called Transylvania, you write down your train schedules, the names of the cities you pass by, the recipes you find interesting or unfamiliar. You really want to remember everything, after all, you know you are going to spend some time away and you are sure Mina would love all the details of this little adventure! You are going to miss her so much, so making sure that everything is accurate so you can later faithfully recreate your journey makes you feel closer to her.

You could do without those weird dreams, though.

Moreover, since the beginning of your travels you have kept meeting more and more people.

They strike you as strange.

Most of them greet you as if you were old friends, clapping you in the back and talking about how happy it made them to receive the letter about your upcoming job trip, which you find mildly confusing, and the familiarity that they spark on the depths of your mind somewhat soothing.

Others smile at you and wish you fast and happy travels, something mournful gleaming in the depths of their eyes, and you feel like they are not really looking at you, but at some other man standing right behind you.

"Maybe this time it will go well, right?"

And you have nothing to say about that.

Some people you can tell recognize you, but don't really come near. They seem hesitant, and not as overtly familiar as the previous groups of people, acting instead in a manner more fitting to strangers. They follow you at a distance, looking torn between curiosity and dread, and you can tell that this is their fist time making this journey as well.

Then you get to Transylvania, and the entire crowd seems to go mad.

While you had only been meeting people in groups before, now they seem to cover almost every free inch of the country, coming together in thick clusters that somehow never actually seem to encumber your travel. They read what you write over your shoulder, they nod at the scenery and watch all the people getting in and out of your carriage.

They seem to be specially fond of the villagers, in spite of the country people's apparent lack of interest in them, since as far as you have seen the two groups never actually cross words.

In one particularly noteworthy morning you have paprika for breakfast, which is met with great approval by all.

You get closer to Castle Dracula, and the amount of people still increases, although a low number of them appear and disappear just as quickly, checking on you and then departing. They explain that they will come back later, or that they are waiting for someone else, and sometimes you swear you can hear the sound of waves in their steps.

Of the ones that stay, some get close enough to stand with you, while others prefer to stay by themselves, either taking notes on their own journals or -something that baffles you every single time you see it- sitting behind some kind of canvas and mixing colors while they wave away your worries at the bumping of the carriage ruining their work.

And at last, after weeks of travel that somehow only feel like three days, you arrive at Castle Dracula.

You stand before a great door, waiting for great man, while a great multitude surrounds you, all their eyes on you.

You hear steps approaching through the wood, and the very universe around you seems to hold their breath, waiting for the beginning of a path that seems new but well tread, a path that just for that endless second you feel extending behind and in front of you, strengthening and waning, with its first knot waiting at that door.

So the strong wood opens, a Count makes his greeting, and you, together with all the people next and behind you, friends new an old, step through the door.

#dracula daily #dracula #jonathan harker #time loop

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Azul meets Finn's father, and he is very afraid.

Word count: 3872

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Mister Clearcove

"Papa wants to meet you." Said Finn, and Azul nearly choked on his tea.

"Pardon?"

"Papa wants to meet you." Finn repeated, munching on a biscuit. "He thinks you should come over during the holidays."

He was so casual about it, as if he were telling Azul it was going to be sunny tomorrow, and not that the possibly most terrifying man Azul had ever seen wanted to meet him.

Azul gazed at Finn wordlessly for a moment. Was this a joke? Was Finn trying to prank him?

"I...I see." Azul said slowly.

Finn did not say "just kidding" as he had hoped. Instead, he licked the crumbs from his lips and carried on sketching the possible menu designs he and Azul had brainstormed.

"You're sure he wants to meet me?" Azul blurted.

Finn put his pencil down and raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course. Papa doesn't ask to meet just anyone. Don't tell me you're scared now."

"Of course not!" Azul exclaimed, frowning. "I'm just... surprised. I didn't think he would be interested in meeting me at all."

Finn sent him a small smile. "You underestimate how interesting you are."

Azul flushed. "I suppose so. Shall we set up a date, then?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah. I'll ask Papa when he's available."

The two of them went back to what they were doing, and silence reigned once more.

Azul was awake long after curfew that night, staring at the incomplete nautilus shell earings he had spent days painstakingly crafting by hand.

He planned to give them to Finn sometime, but... should he? He didn't know.

If he were to end up in Silas Clearcove's bad books, it would make any attempts at a relationship or gaining a potential seafood supplier for the lounge quite difficult.

If they were to meet, Azul wanted to make the best impression he could. Naturally, making a good impression meant knowing the person you wanted to impress, and in order to know the person you wanted to impress, one needed to do research.

Unfortunately for Azul, Finn's father was an utter mystery. Most Atlantica residents did not like Silas and preferred to avoid him, fearful of him and his origins.

"The... the abyssal mer? I can't believe some people buy food from him, if you ask me."

"Silas? I had to move my daughter to a different elementary school because that monster's son was attending hers."

"Tainted blood, that's what he is."

Rumours, often wretched and gut-churning, did their rounds often.

Azul wasn't stupid enough to believe them, of course. Call him a sceptic, but he was quite sure Silas did not murder Finn and cause Finn to become a ghost.

Most of what Azul himself knew about Silas was through osmosis and from Finn. The basic facts were: he was a cookie cutter shark from the Abyss, he was a butcher, a single father, and was married to a powerful mage named Morrigan who died before Finn was born.

"He was a mage, too." Finn would say if asked about Morrigan. "He went to Night Raven. He was a Savanaclaw student, and then he became a teacher. He was quite talented."

The cause of Morrigan's death was something not even Finn knew, and most of the city pretended it didn't happen.

"Oh, you know, Morrigan was like, fifty when he died." Some would say. "Who knows what health complications he could've had."

Azul also attempted to ask his mother about it, but she became unusually cryptic.

"It was awful." She had said sadly, dabbing her eyes. "Simply awful. Oh, poor Silas, he was heartbroken..."

Azul made a mental note to steer clear of the topic of Morrigan in case it was a touchy subject.

Azul's own memories of Silas were few and far between. They were fuzzy, blurred by time, and unreliable. Finn swam to and from school by himself most of the time, so Azul didn't see Silas every day.

All Azul could really remember was vague parts of his appearance and a presence that made crowds part and parents whisper.

There was only one clear memory that stood out, but even that one had been tainted by age.

Azul remembered cowering behind his mother, taking a peek every now and then at the large, looming shark speaking to his mother in a low, gruff voice.

He was scarred and a bit odd looking, but what truly drew Azul's attention was the ribs of... something that decorated Silas' tail, and the twin sets of orca teeth necklaces around his neck. It was terrifying to see back then. Now, though, he was concerned his seashells would be an inadequate courting gift, considering Silas was apparently very traditional.

The lack of reliable memories left Azul to rely on individuals close to him for information, although it didn't turn up much. Silas was like his son. He kept to himself and wasn't prone to chatting .

"Old man Silas?" Floyd's expression turned thoughtful when Azul asked him about him. "Don't see him a lot. When he comes to Ma and Pa's parties, he just hangs out in the corner and stares at his glass till it's over. Then we never see him until the next one."

"He'll engage in conversation if we initiate it." Jade added. "But he doesn't say much. He's not a very talkative fellow."

Azul sighed. "Do you know anything else?"

"Well," Jade tapped his chin. "He's from the Abyss. But everybody knows that."

"He's got a legendary resting bitch face." Floyd chimed in, grinning. "It puts Finn's to shame. He looks like he'll snap your neck if you look at him wrong."

"I see."

He asked his mother about Silas next, during one of their biweekly phonecalls. She had more to say than the twins, and definitely more pleasant things too, but none of it was particularly helpful.

"Oh, Silas is a dear!" Azul's mother sounded delighted. "So helpful and hardworking, and so very polite. I keep saying he should come for dinner sometime, but he's always so busy."

"Do you know anything about his preferences?"

"Hmm. No. Sorry, dear."

"No no, it's alright. Thank you, Mama."

It seemed the only one who knew anything at all about Silas Clearcove was Finn, and Azul most certainly did not want to ask him and risk his intentions coming to light early.

Azul was frustrated that his research was inconclusive, and far more nervous than he was originally. When he finally returned home for the holidays, and the reality truly hit him, the nervousness became utter stress.

It seemed he wasn't doing as a good a job at hiding it as he hoped, since when Finn arrived to fetch him one early morning, he tilted his head to the side with a bemused smile.

"You don't need to be so nervous." Finn said as he began to lead Azul to their destination. "Papa won't bite."

***

The Clearcove property was far away from the city, starting at a sand bank and stretching on to the edge of a cliff. Only the faintest tendrils of sunlight reached down there, but it was promptly snuffed out by the towering kelp forest that stretched on for miles. The kelp swayed eerily in the ghostly quiet, lit up by only a few lanterns strung about.

It was a stark contrast to the sunlit streets and bustling noise of the city.

It gave Azul the creeps, and he suddenly understood why the rumours that spread were always so supernatural in nature. It was like they were swimming through a haunted patch of sea.

They followed a stone path through the maze of kelp and rocks and fish, keeping to the light of the lanterns. It was a long swim, and Azul wished he had better endurance.

Then, the faint scent of blood made Azul stop swimming, concerned.

Finn tugged him forward. "That's just the abattoir, don't worry."

The scent got stronger the further they went, and Azul had to clench his teeth to stop himself from darting away in terror until they got to it.

The abattoir did not look quite how Azul expected it to. Rather than a dark, dilapidated building, it was a large cave with an entrance marked by the gaping maw of a whale skull. Lanterns lit the area up brightly, making it look just a little less daunting.

Mers darted about the place, lugging in fresh kills, nets of crustaceans and molluscs, and large containers.

A few of them waved at Finn as he passed by and gave Azul a curious look, but other than that, they didn't pay their presence much mind.

Finn and Azul carried on for another half hour or so until finally, they came to a circular clearing, and the small stone path led towards a garden of coral, seagrass, and seasponge.

Nestled amongst the garden was what one could supposedly call a "house." Really, it was a large rock that had been carved into, its walls etched with little patterns that Azul was sure Finn was responsible for.

Finn swam forwards to unlock the purple coral door, then let Azul inside.

"Papa, we're here!" Finn called as they swam in. Well, Finn swam in. Azul squeezed himself in through the door, coiling his tentacles close so he didn't knock anything over. He was skinny, but the Clearcove home was undoubtedly cookie cutter shark sized.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of food. It didn't have quite as strong an aroma as food on land, but he could definitely smell it. The next thing he noticed was the cosy little lounge slash dining room he found himself in.

Pictures and paintings that were probably made by Finn when he was a child were hung up on the walls, and large clumps of sea sponge, coral, and bone formed couches and chairs.

Azul didn't have much time to take it in, as Silas then swam into the room and dusted his hands, crossing his arms, and Azul went still.

"Hello, Finn." He said. His voice was as soft as Finn's, but deeper and more gravelly. He nodded at Azul. "Ashengrotto."

"H...Hello, sir." Azul greeted, his voice coming out far more wobbly than he wanted it to.

Silas... didn't look quite how Azul remembered. From his child perspective, Silas was large, larger than life, even. Now, though, as a teenager, Azul could see Silas was not much larger than Finn. Azul himself was several times bigger than both of them.

When Azul was trying to research Silas, his mind filled in the blanks and created an image of an older looking Finn. Now, though, he could see how different they were.

Finn was chubby. Soft, pudgy, and round. His skin was absent of any marks aside from the scars on his shoulder, the freckles on his face, and the stretch marks on his stomach. His hair and body were a lively forest green that blended perfectly with his surroundings.

Silas, on the other hand, was very thin. His skin stretched just a little too taught in some places. His body was littered with scars of various degrees of severity. On his face, his abdomen, his tail, his arms, his neck... even his gills. The long, jagged scar that sliced across the gills on his neck made Azul's own gills itch.

His fins were riddled with holes and tears that hadn't healed properly. It looked painful, and it made Azul wince when he looked at them.

He was purple in hue, and his face, aged and weathered, housed the only thing he had in common with Finn appearance-wise. A pair of bright amthyst eyes that shone like gems in the light of the lanterns.

It was then that Azul knew he was looking at someone who had seen and done things he could not even begin to comprehend. Someone very dangerous and very powerful.

Azul's gaze eventually drifted to the necklaces that hung around Silas' neck. The teeth that were strung up on them were quite obviously orca teeth. Each necklace had a volute shell and a skeletal murex shell, respectively.

Courting gifts. One belonged to Silas, the other, his late husband.

Silas' necklaces were difficult to make. There was a risk involved, a certain amount of power and skill required to get the materials. Orca teeth were not small trophies.

Azul felt like Silas' gaze had frozen him in place with magic. Those eyes, so deep and knowing, made goosebumps ripple across his skin, and his heart jump into his throat.

His unique magic had a benefit that few knew about. It allowed him to sense others' magic and said magic's essence or power, and dear Seven could he sense Silas'.

It was dark and twisted, rolling off of Silas in waves of power that made something primal in Azul's mind begin to panic.

It was ancient. Pulsing. It bubbled just below the surface and promised a taste of the horrors found leagues down below.

Abyssal magic.

Silas' magic was far stronger than Azul's, far stronger than Finn's, far stronger than some of the professors at Night Raven, and it filled Azul's heart with a mix of awe and terror.

The familiar urge to take it for himself was strong, tugging at the back of his head. But he knew better. By the Sea Witch, did he know better.

Finn once told Azul that Silas never had any proper magical training of any kind. In fact, Finn was the first person on Silas' side of the family to attend school at all.

The fact that Silas still held this much power despite that... it was incredible and terrifying all at once.

The fear that filled Azul turned his veins to ice. The overwhelming knowledge that he did not have the advantage, that he did not have the most powerful magic, and that he was neither the smartest nor the strongest in the room made him feel like a guppy in the jaws of a great white.

"Azul, you look pale." Said Finn, though he was clearly more amused than worried, the bastard. "Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine." Azul said quickly. "Just tired from the trip here."

Silas hadn't said a word at all. He simply stared at Azul, and Azul stared back.

Then Silas hummed, a deep rumbling sound, and swam back into the kitchen. Azul let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and shot a glance at Finn.

Finn smiled. "Don't mind Papa." He said. "He's not big on conversations. It might not be obvious, but he's happy to have you over. He's even letting you eat with us today."

Azul looked towards the kitchen, then back at Finn questioningly.

"That's not something he usually does." Finn clarified. "Sharing food that he hasn't sold, that is. He always says it's safest to be selfish when it comes to meals."

Azul nodded slowly. "I... I see." He murmured, overcome with the dreadful realisation that he could not skip out on whatever would be served without looking like an ungrateful brat with no manners.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Silas returned with a number of plates and platters in tow, piled high with all kinds of food.

Finn perked up, finns fluttering. "Oh, he used the vents. We're lucky today."

The... vents?

The platters were gently placed down with magic, as well as three empty plates. Azul stared at the vast amount of food, trying to see if there was anything small with few calories he could eat.

Seaweed wraps, crab rolls, whole crabs, shrimp, lobsters, mussels, clams, scallops, abalone, tuna, hake, even sushi, and so much more was available to choose from.

Azul's mouth opened and closed in surpise, and for the first time since greeting them, Silas spoke.

"I was not too sure what food you preferred. Finn told me you're quite strict with what you eat. I hope this is suitable."

Azul looked at Silas and once again felt frozen in place by that stare. Floyd wasn't kidding about him looking like he would snap your neck at any moment...

"I-" Azul had to swallow so he could try to speak clearly. "It is. Thank you, sir. You're very kind."

"Alright, then. Sit down. Choose what you want."

Azul obeyed, wondering how on earth the twins managed to make Silas sound like a stone faced introvert when he seemed more like a retired soldier or something.

Silas and Finn seated themselves opposite him. Finn, ever the food lover, happily began piling up his plate. Silas simply watched Azul, silent once again.

Azul avoided his gaze and selected some Sushi (where did Silas get rice from?) and a few oysters.

He paused when he got to the lobster, which he was not going to eat due to the hugh cholesterol by the way, and stared at it. It... it wasn't raw. It was cooked..?

"Hypothermic vents." Said Silas, noticing Azul's confused expression. "They work like an oven or a place to boil food if you use them correctly."

Azul's eyes widened in surpise. "Really? That's... That's incredible. I would never have thought to use thermal vents to cook food. How do you not burn anything?"

"I use magic to alter the heat." Silas explained quietly, his lips quirking up a bit. "It's something my grandfathers taught me."

"So I assume you alter the heat to different temperatures to allow for different methods and cook times?" Azul asked curiously.

Silas nodded.

"Incredible. Have you not thought of selling this? You would intrigue a lot of people with something as rare as cooked food. I-" Azul hesitated, realising Finn was raising his eyebrows at him. "I-If you want to, of course."

Silas gazed at Azul for a moment, and Azul began to panic internally, cursing at himself and his inability to shut up about business.

"You are your mother's son," Silas finally rumbled, sounding more amused than angry. "I'll tell you what I've told your mother. I have no interest in monetizing this."

Blood rushed to Azul's cheeks, and his fear and panic turned into embarrassment.

"Idiot." He snapped at himself. "You ruined a nice conversation."

Silas didn't say anything further, so Azul went back to picking at his sushi, taking little bites every now and then.

The urge to say something, anything, to fill the awful silence was overwhelming, but neither Silas nor Finn were particularly talkative, and Azul didn't want to be the irritating chatterbox of the group.

Finn was currently tearing through his meal, absolutely delighted at the special use of the vents. He cracked open a scallop and popped the meat into his mouth with a happy sigh.

Silas hadn't eaten a single thing. Apart from the occasional glance at Finn, his eyes were completely trained on Azul.

His gaze was intense. Terrifying. It was as if he were mentally taking Azul apart, looking for flaws, for weakness. Azul wondered if this was how his fellow classmates felt when he made deals with them.

"Finn's told me a lot about you." Silas said suddenly, and Azul gulped.

"He... He has?"

"Yes. He quite likes you-"

"Papa!" Finn squeaked, flustered. "You didn't need to say that part."

"-and I hear you're starting a restaurant of your own at school?"

"Ah- yes." Azul nearly choked out, relieved. Now, this was something to talk about. "Mostro Lounge. An establishment for gentlemen, neutral ground between the dorms of Night Raven College where you can wind down after a long day."

Silas hummed. "What a clever idea. My husband attended Night Raven when he was your age. I remember he once told me he wished he didn't have to go all the way to town to eat something that wasn't served at the cafeteria."

Azul puffed up at the compliment, glad to finally feel like he had some semblance of control. "Why yes, it is a pain, especially if you don't have time for such trips. The comfort and satisfaction of my fellow students is my primary goal, and I hope to achieve that with Mostro Lounge."

Silas' lips quirked upwards again. "How kind of you," He said, and Azul was pretty sure he didn't entirely mean it. He sounded too... knowing. "I hope you're successful."

Azul couldn't hold back the smirk that crossed onto his face. "Believe me, sir, I will be."

Silas nodded but didn't answer, and Azul went back to eating.

"Finn," Silas said after a while, turning his head to his son, who had been quietly listening to the conversation while digging into a small lobster. "Could you please tell Timo to move his hunt to the fourth quadrant for me?"

Finn looked a little confused, but he nodded anyway. "Sure." He said, then sent a small smile Azul's way. "I'll be back in a bit."

He disappeared out the door, and Azul was suddenly very aware that he was alone with Silas Clearcove watching him like he wanted to take a bite out of him.

Azul put his hands on his lap to hide the fact that they were shaking and stared back at Silas like a deer in headlights.

"You've built quite a reputation for yourself around here over the years, Azul." Silas said. "With those little deals of yours. Your magic is quite impressive, I must say."

There was a long pause, and Silas tapped his long black claws against the table.

"I was concerned at first when Finn started telling me about you." He said. "You're quite a greedy young man. But... I trust Finn's judgement. I'm not going to sit here and threaten you or tell you not to hurt Finn. I know you won't. However,"

Silas' eyes narrowed. "I'm well aware that you like... collecting magic, shall we say. Abyssal magic seems to have piqued your interest recently. Listen to me carefully. Finn is not to make contracts with you, and you are not to try to convince him to do so. You're a smart boy, Azul. I'm sure you understand."

The unspoken implication hung in the air, and Azul understood it all too well. He's heard the rumours, and while he wasn't sure how true they were, he'd rather not risk having his magic sucked dry.

'He's like a magic parasite.'

'He'll suck you dry until you're nothing but a husk'

'If he can't take your magic, then he'll take your soul.'

The voices of Azul's old classmates echoed in his mind.

"I understand, sir." He said, feeling a little sick.

Finn returned shortly after, informing Silas that Timo had moved his hunt.

"I hope you didn't scare you too much." He whispered as he swam past Azul.

Azul just laughed.

***

After Silas gave Azul that little warning, the old mer was much more relaxed, though most of the conversation was still carried by Azul and Finn.

The day seemed to fly by now that the fear that had swallowed Azul whole began to ebb, and soon it was late afternoon and time for Azul to leave. He needed to be home before sundown.

"I'll come visit you." Finn said softly before Azul could exit through the door."

Azul smiled a bit. "Thank you, I suppose." He murmured, feeling his cheeks burn once again.

"Thank you for having me over, Mister Clearcove." He said to Silas, bowing his head. "I greatly appreciate your hospitality."

Silas hummed in acknowledgement. "I'm always happy to Finn's friends over. Get home safe, now, Azul, and..." His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "Be careful with those contracts of yours, alright?"

Azul blinked, confused.

"Of course, sir."

-End

...........................................

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the fear of god being put in Azul! I had a lot fun writing this.

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly

@jovieinramshackle @galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00

@krenenbaker @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @am0nline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @ramshacklerumble @elysia-nsimp

@skrimpyskimpy @casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @the-banana-0verlord @skriblee-ksk

@poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch @tixdixl (lemme know if you'd rather not be tagged :))

@quartztwst if you're interested in Azul being scared shitless lmao

#azul ashengrotto #finn clearcove #octavinelle #silas clearcove #morrigan clearcove #jade leech #floyd leech #twisted wonderland #twst oc #oc x canon #writing

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

The way substance abuse has been handled on the show thus far genuinely upsets me and reeks of writers who either 1.) don't understand the subject matter they're presenting and haven't done even the bare minimum to research it or, worse, 2.) simply don't care.

Apologies for the slight rant incoming, your comment about how it has been mostly "handled" off-screen got me going because that's 100% true and in that truth is such a missed opportunity for the show. The way it has been handled winds up feeling incredibly shallow and juvenile at the end of the day, especially for a piece of media that is attempting to present itself as "adult" and navigate multiple incredibly sensitive topics. I'll try not to get into my own personal experiences and will speak broadly, but the show uses substance abuse more as a cheap character flaw to poke fun at or something to magically handwave away when it is inconvenient, rather than the life-altering, debilitating illness that it is.

Nothing about Angel's use is ever meaningfully explored. It's so (apparently) unimportant to his arc and development that one rude comment from Husk (a character who ALSO has a problem with gambling and alcohol that is never addressed) is all it takes for him to suddenly "resist temptation" and be shown as "recovered" (unless I'm misremembering). Or was he suddenly going to counseling off-screen too and its just another thing that will be told to us rather than shown? And how does Charlie even handle that at the Hotel (I'd be really interested in this as a moment for her character to have to grow/change too)? Does she even understand substance abuse and the many unaddressed systemic factors that can influence it? Or is the entire recovery process just shame based (because that works so well /s) combined with some more corny trust exercises? Why is this incredibly serious topic relegated to the background as if it's unimportant?

Recovery is hard. It is emotional and exhausting. Withdrawal (depending on what you're coming off of) can sometimes mean excruciating, unimaginable pain and in some cases people literally die. It is not a funny "ha-ha I take drugs because I'm chaotic and wild" quirk to be adored or glorified and it definitely should not be presented as something that can be wrapped up in a month or two off-screen without any development whatsoever. That's just insulting.

When you approach a topic like substance abuse and recovery, I personally feel you need to take in all sides of it. All the missteps that come with it (two steps forward one step back - mistakes are expected and okay), the self-loathing, the guilt and shame, the joy, the sense of freedom, the loss, and the best part of all: the incredibly difficult but liberating journey that is rebuilding your life and learning to love yourself and your body again, once you've chosen to be free and to live life.

Mad props to anyone who has ever battled this disease. You are strong, you are worth it and you are valued. Lol I am so sorry for going off here but I so appreciate you calling out the lack of exploration on this topic in the show. I guess I didn't even realize how annoyed and upset it was making me feel (praying this is coherent...).

This was absolutely coherent don’t worry!! Im really glad to see other people talking about this. I myself have not struggled with drug addiction but I have struggled with other kinds and as someone that studies a bunch of medical junk, I’d say I’m decently knowledgeable.

I’m mainly going to focus on Angel for this since he’s the main character I write for, but I assure you other characters addictions are also handled in my rewrite.

During the actual canon show, we don’t see Angel actually abusing substances that often; there’s a few times, most notably in episode 4, but from the rest of the show onward we hardly see anything. Yes in episode 6 they mentioned relapsing, which, mind you, was done horribly, but I digress. They touch on relapsing; Angel relapses, and then… what..??? What happened from that? I don’t feel upset or second hand guilt of any kind from this scene because we haven’t seen Angel’s attempts to stay sobre and off drugs.

His name is fucking Angel Dust. You don’t, I dunno, think that’d entail a higher dependency on drugs? Why do you think he named himself that?

About his name before anything else, the show has so much potential later on to talk about Angel picking out his drag name and why he chose that specifically. So much potential to explore how he views drugs and himself. He sees them as an escape and something “fun” to take his mind off of his actual life. When you die in a fucking coma and wake up in hell as a spider you’re going to want an escape. You will want to ignore reality. I am fully convinced Angel picked his name once he started performing because thats what he needed at the time. He needs to be like that to survive in hell. Angel is an incredibly mentally ill, troubled, traumatised, and unstable person, and being surrounded by so much intense negative influence only amplifies his current problems. I don’t mean to drag Vox in here but in my last redesign post I mentioned how very mildly bad people can become even worse people in hell because of the environment and this is no different for Angel. He’s been surrounded by crime and drugs his entire life and unable to live comfortably because of his sexuality. He has very likely been struggling with substances since he was a teen. Possibly even younger. He is not going to suddenly get over his addiction because of something like this. It could pave the way to him looking into dealing with it, but things like this can take years. I don’t remember when my addiction started; I’ve been clean for 2 1/2 years now I think, but the amount of relapsing and anguish I experienced while working towards that isn’t something that can be done in a few days or months. I still struggle with feeling like I deserve to say I’m recovering.

I’m hoping they tactfully handle this as they should, but my hopes are low. It’s okay to show a character relapsing. It’s okay to show a character feeling guilty. What matters is that the struggle is there to signify they’re trying. For a character with a song called “Addict” you really don’t see much of it. Drug and alcohol addiction is not a silly thing to just twiddle your fingers with and be like “well I guess thats over!” It’s incredibly insensitive to do so.

Whenever I write about Angel’s struggles with addictions, I focus on how small they can feel until you realise what’s actually happening. Just me talking about my rewrite again, but to get my ideas out here: Angel smokes often. He smokes at the studio when he’s stressed, he smokes at the hotel when he’s stressed, he smokes at in alleyways when he’s bored, there’s almost no location he won’t, but sometimes he tries to smoke less. His lungs aren’t the same as humans and technically he has 2 pairs of lungs, but smoking causes him to cough. This is painful in general and especially painful for Angel since he has barbs going down the back of his throat. Imagine choking on sandpaper, kind of like that. It’s painful, he doesn’t like the sound, Fat Nuggets REALLY doesn’t like the sound, and it’s an overall inconvenience, so he tries to stop smoking as much. Periods like this usually go fine for him until the stress returns or he starts to feel the withdrawal. Withdrawal from any sort of addiction is terrible, and in Angel’s case, just from not smoking it worsens his mental state further. He becomes irritable and stressed and that stress leads to wanting to smoke again to calm down. He may resist a few times and those times should be praised, but he gives in eventually. One cigarette to calm down becomes two, then three, and before he can process himself getting carried away, the entire pack is gone. It’s things like this that make addiction horrible. It’s something that deeply scared me when I was struggling. When I was struggling I was still in the mindset of “I can stop when I want to” and then being so suddenly hit in the face with the realisation that I’m not longer in control of this is terrifying. I could not stop when I wanted to. There were even points where I didn’t want to stop. Even just getting the smallest glimpse of this in an incredibly serious manner with Angel Dust would surprise me. To think the bar is this low on a show that seemingly prides itself on tackling such sensitive topics like you said is appalling. Your show shouldn’t have to be told how to write itself.

#hazbin hotel #raimble #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin angel #angel dust hazbin #anti vivziepop #tw drugs #cw drugs #tw addiction #cw addiction #tw relapse #cw relapse #tw relapse mention #cw relapse mention #tw substance abuse #cw substance abuse

[bestworstcase]

most baffling response to the child soldiers post is definitely “they’re not really child soldiers, though, and it’s like how for physically demanding pastimes like ballet you need to start training young so thirteen is actually pretty old, and the students aren’t actually meant to be fighting in real combat anyway”

the huntsmen academies admit seventeen-year-olds—or younger teens with their guardian’s permission. all of the adults, including ozpin, refer to huntsmen students as “children.” (curiously, salem is the only character who ever gets flak in the fandom for calling the nineteen-year-olds children. i wonder why that is 🤔)

from the mouths of the children themselves:

WEISS: Well, Ruby’s still just a kid. BLAKE: She’s only two years younger. We’re all kids. YANG: Well. Not anymore. I mean, look where we are—in the middle of a war zone and armed to the teeth!

the narrative makes it very emphatically clear that these “warriors” are children. they are consistently referred to as children, and the only one who ever objects to being called a child is yang, on the grounds that children don’t fight in wars.

secondly: “when ozpin's predecessor founded the schools, he built them around the relics to act as a fortress. not only would they be easier to defend, but they would constantly be surrounded by trained warriors.” not only are the huntsmen students expected to face real combat (mountain glenn is explicitly considered a war zone), they are the first line of defense for the relics inside the schools. the point of putting the relics in the academies is so that the students will defend them should salem attack. which is exactly what happens at beacon, because the system works as designed.

thirdly: children die at these schools. gretchen rainart died on a training mission. younger students—the ones attending combat schools, which begin at thirteen if not younger—also sometimes die on training missions involving real grimm:

She had some idea why. The research she had done on her teacher had turned up a story Aurelia would probably much rather forget. A student of hers had died on a training mission at Patch Combat School, lost in a scuffle with Ursa Grimm. The school didn’t hold her responsible—she had managed to protect her fifteen other students, and it was all part of the risk. But there was plenty of blame to go around. The child’s parents vowed to have her pay for the death of the girl, and Aurelia’s official statement was, “I blame myself. She should still be with us. She was always so capable, perhaps I put too much faith in her to take care of herself while I got the others to safety.” The girl had been the same age as Trivia, only fifteen.

the huntsmen academies are more intensive, but new students are expected to show up already capable of mowing through hordes of grimm on day one, because the combat schools also send students into the field with minimal supervision (one teacher, sixteen students 14-15 years old, involved in a “scuffle” with grimm). and that teacher leaving one student behind to cover the retreat of the other fifteen and herself isn’t considered to be negligence—she isn’t held to be at fault for this student’s death—because being killed by grimm is “all part of the risk” of attending a combat school.

which again, enroll students 13-16 years old, if not younger.

so yeah, they’re child soldiers. in the real world we define child soldiers as anyone under the age of eighteen recruited for participation in military activities; in rwby it was a deliberate narrative choice for the huntsmen academies to begin at seventeen, for the characters to consistently refer to the students as “children,” and for one of the major villain’s motivations be that his seventeen-year-old sister enrolled at beacon academy and died on a training mission. the text is very clear about the situation.

#interesting how they’re children for condemning salem but ‘college students’ for defending ozpin. isn’t it #team oz does that rhetorical trick too! they’re children except when it sounds better to say warriors instead :)

[reduxulousoctopus]

Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.” Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.” Logan: “I don’t.” — X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"

~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized

If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.

--

After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.

Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.

“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”

Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”

Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”

How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.

They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.

“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”

Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.

Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.

Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”

She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.

“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”

Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.

He reaches for the knob. Pauses.

Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.

Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.

Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.

“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”

Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.

With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.

“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”

Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.

He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.

This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.

His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—

Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.

“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunts.

The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.

He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.

Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.

He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.

Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.

Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.

Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.

Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.

Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.

And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.

Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.

Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.

Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.

Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.

When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

I miss you.

I hate you.

Something terrible happened.

Come home.

I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.

I don’t deserve you.

“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”

Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”

“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”

Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”

Morph laughs again. “Right.”

“What’s it do?”

“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”

“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.

He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.

“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”

“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.

As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.

“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.

“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?

“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.

“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”

Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…

Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”

“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.

“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”

As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”

“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”

“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”

Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”

“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.

Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.

When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.

There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.

–

Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.

“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”

“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.

“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.

Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.

“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.

Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?

Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.

“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”

A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”

“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.

Right?

“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”

Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.

Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.

“Logan…?”

“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.

“Why are your claws out?”

Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.

His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.

He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.

He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”

Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.

Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.

The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.

“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”

“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.

While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”

“You don’t.”

Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”

“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”

Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.

—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—

—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—

—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—

“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.

A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—

“Oh.”

Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.

After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.

Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.

—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—

“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”

Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.

“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.

Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”

“No,” Logan growls.

“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”

“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”

“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”

It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.

“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.

“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”

Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”

“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”

“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”

Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”

Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”

Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.

Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.

Logan is pretty damn good at healing.

#x men #wolverine #morph #morpherine #my stuff

[severevoiddragon]

I didn't know you were a dm, can I ask about your campaign? :00 /np

Yesyesyesyesyes you can!!!! I can't share too much behind the scenes (as much as I'd love to) BC Alien will most likely see this n Munts may see it too- Putting this under a cut purely BC this is so long bc ive ended up infodump sm-

So, it started w each character getting a letter from someone they know, an old friend for Hecate and Nivaira, and Izumi's half sibling, called Ammon. (All 3 letters were from Ammon just to be clear-) Ammon invited them to his house, as well as 3 others. Eventually, Ammon made it clear that she wanted the group (all 6) to locate an amulet, but that they couldnt SAY where it was bc. Evil can hear. BC you see, Ammon, who is a divination wizard/wild magic sorcerer had been studying the amulet, and got a dream that a great evil was looking for her and got scared. So ran away. The other 2 NPCs also left. There's a lot of plot holes but shhhh-

Anyway the party found the amulet, and the party discovered that Relania, one of the others summoned by Ammon, decided to try and take the amulet, resulting in a big battle which ended with Relania tied up and. Somehow escaping. She's still loose to this day.

The second adventure had the party meet a little girl called Ruby, and her mum. Ruby's mum was exhausted from lack of sleep so told Ruby to go to her granny's house in the woods (no this isn't a werewolf adventure). The party were asked to accompany Ruby, to ensure she got to her granny's safely. The party decided that because this nice little old lady lived in a SCARY part of the woods, she was evil. So stalked Ruby's granny, Winnie. They went down a whole rabbit hole of nettle/false nettle like plants n then decided Winnie was a night hag. And then Ruby's mum died. And so Hecate (the group's researcher), decided to see if there's any way of discovering if someone was killed by a night hag post death. There is! They just needed truesight. Noone had truesight. So, they put up a notice on the community board and hoped someone followed it.

Meanwhile, the Banducci Carnival was coming to town, and the group went to the carnival that night while waiting for the post to be found. While visiting Madame Banducci, the fortune teller (and owner of the carnival), Izumi got a lil. Hypnotised. Although he acted as normal until later :)

The next day, a cloaked figure with a kitsune mask appeared to use truesight as per the notice. They called themselves "Bob" and had an awful deep southern American Etomian (the name of the country "Bob" is from) accent. "Bob" did cast truesight on the body of Ruby's mum, and yeah, it was from a hag. And then "Bob" revealed herself to be Bella Banducci, daughter of Madame Banducci. Who then got Hypnotised!Izumi to steal the amulet for her, and give it to her. The rest of the party didn't notice.

The party went back to Winnie's house, to confront her, but. Ruby and Winnie were gone. They party then discovered how hags reproduce and then went "oh shi-" as they realised exactly what had happened.

Eventually, Hecate, who was in charge of the amulet, realised it was gone, and something happened that I don't remember and eventually Bella appeared like "heyyy I've got the amulet you idiots and I'm gonna sell it BC my mom wants me to but idc who to, so you guys give me 500gp and you can have it <3" the party managed to persuade Bella to join them (she hates the carnival), as they do a 500gp bounty (to retrieve an object)

THE CURRENT ADVENTURE!

The party follow the bounty to Sirraux', an expensive artifacts shop, ran by Monsieur Sirraux, a tiefling. It had the object the party needed to retrieve - a dwarf's magic pickaxe - buutt Sirraux didn't wanna give it up. In exchange, it asked the party to collect a sample of an interesting flora on an island far away. It got it's dwarf assistant to bring the party to the island. It was an island that Nivaira knew very well :). It was also infested with mushrooms. Currently they just got to Nivairas hometown, where all the people have been turned into evil myconids (evil mushroom ppl). Fun times!

There's also Eiwin Tamiel, an important NPC who hasn't been adventure relevant yet but will be! Just you wait for the Christmas special!!! He's a human cleric (???) and works in a small artifact / trinket shop. They're also definitely crushing on Ammon <3 Who is definitely not crushing on him back <3 I ship them sm- they write notes to each other in celestial and arghkejrjfkwf i cant share all the cute info bout them bc. Spoilers.

ANYWAY if you read all that well done, I'm impressed-

Now tell me bout your campaign :DDD

#pixies rambles #asks #inkydiamonds

[isfjmel-phleg]

@inklings-challenge forgive me for being a day behind, but for yesterday's Chesterton Challenge prompt of "Mystery," here is an excerpt from a mystery story from the world of The Blackberry Bushes, a Morrick Hopeley story by L. D. Melbray, with annotations by Elystan Liddick. This is from the book that he annotated in the Christmas Chapter with the intention of presenting it to Levico as a gift.

(If you're unfamiliar with this, this is my fictional world's equivalent of Sherlock Holmes! So I am writing mimicking that style.)

In all my acquaintance with my friend Mr. Morrick Hopeley, I had never known him to seek out the company of a lady for any cause beyond his professional services.[1] Even his dealings with my Maira, despite the role that she played in the case of the Batsford Murders,[2] dripped with the distant courtesy of a gentleman toward a lady shopkeeper. If he ever had a mother or a sister or an aunt, he has never confided in me,[3] but I doubt not that if he did, he would regard them with his own peculiar mixture of aloofness and polite disdain. Exactly what was his reason for regarding the fair sex in this manner I cannot say with certainty;[4] it was among the unfortunate defects of my friend’s otherwise admirable character,[5] and a fault for which I have dared to rebuke him multiple times.[6] Once, when Hopeley and I shared rooms in Fisher Road, I went so far as to suggest that his aversion stemmed from a secret fear, and was rewarded with utter solitude for the rest of the evening.[7] Yet in the strange case of Miss Celeas Arkwright, which I am about to relate, Hopeley made an exception to his inexplicable rule, for indeed Miss Arkwright was an exceptional woman,[8] and it is by that designation that Hopeley has come to regard her—The Exception.

If I recall correctly, it began in the autumn of 1898.[9] Despite the moderate success of my literary career, the call of the stage once again had compelled me,[10] and I had joined the cast of a respectable, if not grand, production of The Misfortune of Mr. Naym.[11] My role was but a supporting one,[12] yet it provided enough comedic interest to keep me as diverted as our audiences for the next month. I had not seen Hopeley in weeks. If he had heeded my telegram pleading with him to attend my first night if he could, I had missed his unmistakable features among the crowd—no surprise, for my friend is a master of disguise.[13] I expected him to turn up anywhere during our run in some outlandish persona or another,[14] but on this particular night he chose, as ever, to defy my expectations and turned up in my dressing room in his own character after the end of the performance.

The expression on his face, as he leaned against my dressing table, arms crossed over his chest and long legs stretched out before him like a frog’s, plainly indicated that he relished the prospect of startling me.[15] I confess that I took some umbrage at his neglect of my first night,[16] and determined that I would not give him the satisfaction of my genuine reaction to his abrupt manifestation in my private quarters. I flatter myself that I am a creditable enough actor to maintain such a ruse.[17] Without a glance at him, I strode into the dressing room, shed the outermost layers of my costume, donned the dressing gown Maira gave me for Christmas (a quiet brown with a subtle self-stripe),[18] and seated myself at the dressing table to begin the rituals of cold cream, quite as if there were not an absurdly tall and silently perturbed man practically at my elbow.[19]

Halfway through divesting myself of greasepaint,[20] I allowed my eyes to drift in his direction and acknowledged him with a nod.

“Ah,” said I, “Hopeley. There you are, old chap. I see you have been dining with the ambassador of Faysmond—that is, when you have not been taking a lengthy stroll through the countryside near Fifield or acquiring the hobby of brass-rubbing. Between your days at the Coregean Library researching for that case with the bishop’s nephew’s dog, of course.”[21]

A proud beam brightened Hopeley’s thin face. “My dear Wystan,” said he, “you have at least learned to apply my methods. Do tell me, my boy, how you have deduced these things.”

“The answer is simplicity itself,” I remarked. “I read the newspapers.”[22]

[1] Because he has better things to do!

[2] I can’t blame Hopeley. That was the most tiresome part of that book.

[3] Based on his remarks in “The Adventure of the Baboon’s Umbrella,” I theorize that Hopeley’s mother is dead and has been dead for a long time. And if he had a sister, he would have mentioned her by now. I cannot imagine his growing up alongside anyone except Seoras. They wouldn’t hate each other so much otherwise.

[4] He—has—better—things—to—do! This isn’t a mystery.

[5] Oh, your friend has unfortunate defects, Wystan? Need I remind you of what you did when Hopeley needed you most in “The Secret of the Cursed Candlestick”?

[6] I want to read this conversation very very very very very badly. How soon can you write it, Mr. Melbray?

[7] This one too! And he’s wrong. Hopeley isn’t afraid of ladies. He isn’t afraid of anything.

[8] I rather like Miss Arkwright too. She isn’t soppy like Maira.

[9] He does not recall correctly, because in The Batsford Murders, he married Maira in December 1898, and he’s obviously already married to her in this story, which cannot take place any earlier than spring 1899. Perhaps Wystan should try keeping a diary so that he could remember dates correctly once in a while.

[10] So much for “I shall never tread the boards again. I vow it to you, Maira, my own!”

[11] I approve. That is the most amusing play I have ever seen.

[12] Why didn’t you tell us whom he played? Was it Alcidon? It has to have been Alcidon. He’s the funniest character in the whole play, and it would be a shame to waste Wystan on anyone else.

[13] No surprise, for Hopeley wouldn’t bother to disguise himself to go and see Wystan, because he knows that Wystan knows all the costuming tricks and would see straight through him.

[14] As he did in “The Mystery of the Fish-Fry Brotherhood.”

[15] I would have startled him first, but Wystan isn’t quick enough for that.

[16] For shame, Wystan, he has a perfectly good reason! He always does. Nobody cares about your first nights when there’s a case to be solved.

[17] More than creditable. I wish Wystan wouldn’t talk about himself like that; he’s brilliant. Remember “The Businessman and His Cat,” when he convinced everyone that he was the Prime Minister’s secretary?

[18] How could she have given it to him for Christmas if this took place in autumn? This is further evidence that the dating is incorrect. Also, she has hideous taste in dressing gowns.

[19] This is one of my favorite scenes. I laugh so hard that it nearly sends me into coughing fits whenever I reread it.

[20] It is even funnier when you realize that Wystan goes through this whole conversation with his face covered in cold cream.

[21] FOUR cases that you haven’t given to us! I am dying of suspense! Write more! Write faster! I can give you ideas if you want.

[22] But we all know that he could have deduced these things if he wanted to. He just wanted to annoy Hopeley.

#the chesterton challenge #The Blackberry Bushes #The Blackberry Bushes short stories #my writing #Levico Melbray #Elystan Liddick

[maleficentmrsofallevil]

ADHSquirrel project time

In true disorganized jumping-bean-brain fashion, I've got multiple projects going at once. I prefer this, actually - I like to cycle through things when brain screams "No more focus on this!"

In no apparent order:

Dollhouse nostalgia: this is a cheap, bad kit from the 90s alternately known as the Greenleaf Allison or the Whitney Cambridge dollhouse. It's made of balsa wood, and the wood warps if you look at it sideways.

I put one together when I was (much, much) younger, and then we threw it away when it started to fall apart. Now I want it back - but this time, I want to put it together so it's a lot more stable.

Plans: reinforce exterior load-bearing walls by creating faux clapboard siding and quoins (the corner pieces) like this:

I found craft wood sheets that are 1/8-inch (3 mm) thick, and I'll be cutting them in 1/2 to 1-inch strips and gluing them to the exterior walls. Then paint and seal. I also like the raised decorations on the window sills and shutters. Hopefully, I have enough craft sheets to do that, too. I got the kind of sheets that are thin enough to cut with a craft knife, and I've got rulers for days. Dreading the sanding, though. So much sanding. Also, I've been researching putting together dollhouses, and I learned that it's better to dry fit the whole thing, secure in place with masking tape, and then glue stuff together. This is - very smart.

Sewing: continues apace. Pattern pieces are cut out for this Requiem Art Design Renaissance gown.

I'll be doing the long, fitted sleeves. The pattern is made for knit fabric, but I'm using a woven fabric (silk dupioni I've been told, but I am not entirely certain what that is), so I incorporated the seam/hem allowances into the edges. I'm not linking to this pattern again, because it has... issues. Let's call them issues. (I'll be sending a write-up of my feedback to the designer once I've finished.)

I've cut out the pattern pieces. Now I'm tracing them onto cereal box cardboard to make pattern "blocks" - then I'll trace them onto yet more paper after I add 1/4-inch seam/hem allowances. I'm also planning to use washable markers to trace the actual patterns onto the fabric. I want to see if the marker actually washes out.

Next up: cutting cheap fabric for a toile/muslin, aka a practice run. Sewing machine has been cleaned and is in good operating condition.

Dress fabric:

I'm using the one on the right for the dress, and the one in the middle (a gorgeous copper in person) for the arm bands and sleeve linings. It's going to be for my Feeple60 girls.

Poor Ria.

Face-ups/blushing: every time I'm in the mood to go downstairs and work on face-ups and blushing, my ankle decides to be a little diva and inform me that under no circumstances will I be able to take the stairs today. This is exceptionally frustrating, but such are the joys of aging, I suppose.

Craftorama room: even more stuff has been cleared out of the master bedroom in preparation for upcoming staycation, when we'll move into the MBR and create Craftorama room. My office has been totally taken over by dolls, and I love it. I walk into the office to work, and all my lovely girls are here to keep me company. Cleaning books off bookshelves and filling a box to donate to the local library/thrift store, so I'll have shelf space for my dolls. Cuz priorities.

I am so excited for Craftorama room; I will not shut up about it. No more ankle-diva-no-stairs. I can close the door and work - no worries about cats trying to play with (and possibly get injured by) sewing notions. And I can finally, FINALLY, restring in peace.

#project journals #doll blather

[wesavegotham]

I don't feel like going through my blog to search for the post, but called it:

And then they didn't even show Bruce or Dick's reaction to Damian getting kidnapped, only Barbara's pretty generic one.

Can someone tell DC's writers that it's kind of hard to care when not even the characters in the story have emotional reactions to what is happening? If you have someone's child getting kidnapped shouldn't we see the parent's reaction first?

Also the only "joke" the writer seems capable of making with Damian is that he's constantly getting told that he's a bad child/person, which is something I'm pretty tired of general but in this storyline it's especially annoying because so far Damian has contributed absolutely zero to the plot except for needing to be rescued by other people.

#Btw Superman is possessed by...something #Because we didn't already have enough of those this year #Yeah I'm not a fan of this book #I've seen others call it funny or charming but so far I think it's pretty lame #This and the other christmas stories with Damian all read like the writer read Damian's wiki page or only one of his early stories #And then called it a day with their research #Like Damian has lived with the batfamily for over fours years at this point #He knows who santa is #And he has met batmite before #So why did the writers act as if he's still ten and fresh out of the league #Even though he's drawn with his current costume