#cross donati

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Thank you so much @inthedayswhenlandswerefew for always being willing to take time out of your day and allow me the chance to fangirl over another brilliantly written story. I don't think I can even properly express how grateful I am to relive this literary trauma you have blessed our eyeballs with. Just... thank you. 🦀

This is the 20th installment of Interview With a Writer! You are welcome to read over the other talented souls on Tumblr and ao3 who shared their brilliant writing! 🧡

Dividers are by @saradika-graphics 🧡

Name: inthedayswhenlandswerefew

Story: When The World Is Crashing Down

Paring: Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Warnings:  Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), be mindful of chapter warnings!

Where did the idea for When The World Is Crashing Down come from?

For a long time (since last spring, at least), I’ve had kind of a vague inspiration for a story that would take place between Rook’s Rest and the end of the war, essentially chronicling all the destruction that the Greens endure and how Aegon would cope with it. I had a sense that there could be a deeply honorable, romantic story somewhere in the midst of all the large-scale horror.

Then—around the time I was finishing Comet Donati at the end of the summer—one day I had a vivid scene pop into my mind, and true to my usual writing modus operandi, it was at the end of the story: a woman who is just emotionally demolished, crossing a field as sparse snowflakes begin falling to meet her supposed rescuer, Cregan Stark. He thinks it’s this wonderful reunion, while she feels like it’s the end of the world. Once I saw that scene, I knew I’d have to write this series immediately. It just possessed me!

For the first month I was working on WTWICD, I listened almost exclusively to Fall Out Boy’s second album, From Under The Cork Tree. The songs are absolutely riddled with anxiety, self-loathing, violence, desolation, pride, lust, and defiance in the face of defeat. That album helped shape the general tone of the series and, of course, gave it its title as well.

You have notoriously stated before that the vivid scene for inspires an entire story. What are your next steps? What were the pivotal moments that had to happen in WTWICD?

So once that first scene occurs to me, I know I have a week or two of really powerful momentum in terms of figuring out the major arc of the story, so I take advantage of that and get right to work making a chapter list and brief character notes. I knew that the series was a bit like a circle in that it would start the same way it ended: ashes would be falling instead of snow, Aemond would be taking her captive instead of Cregan, and Angel would be mistaken for a Green instead of being wrongly assumed to be a Black. I also knew that I wanted WTWICD to (generally) follow the same canon events as Fire & Blood, so I matched each chapter to the actual events from the war, and then had another bullet point beneath with a description of what would be happening with Angel, Aegon, and the other characters that are the heart of this story.

In those first few weeks, I’ll hear a lot of random snippets of dialogue that I swiftly jot down in my Word Doc under the heading of whichever chapter I feel it will likely end up in. One of the very first quotes for this series was Aegon’s greeting to Angel in Chapter 1: “Hello angel, welcome to the end of the world.” These quotes help flesh out the story and transform requisite general events, like Angel meeting Aegon when he is near death after Rook’s Rest, into specific scenes. And then for any necessary detail that I don’t have an instinctive answer for, I start researching.

For example, here’s how I determined that Angel was a Celtigar. I did some Fire & Blood research to see which Westerosi families were allied with the Blacks vs. the Greens. I knew I needed a family that started out on the Blacks’ side and stayed there, and also wasn’t already decimated by the time Rook’s Rest happened, so that narrowed it down somewhat. I had felt that the vibes of the fic were oceanic, yet bleak—grey mist, rocky cliffs, rough waves—so I was leaning towards Angel being from the Crownlands. I stumbled upon the Celtigar family (having never heard of them before to my recollection) and was so excited! Firstly, I loved that Angel would be Valyrian, though not in an obvious way; the Celtigars, after being shunned by the Targaryens and Velaryons, intermarried with non-Valyrian houses until their features weren’t so distinct. Secondly, the crab metaphor was perfect. I had already known that the theme of perpetual resurrection—rebirth/reinvention that is repeated, though not necessarily leaving the person better off—would be present in this story, and crabs molting was symbolic of that. (Also, I’m from Maryland originally, so I appreciate crabs more than your average person, haha.)

Then for Angel’s faux family (Thorne), I knew I needed a Crownlands house that was loyal to the Greens throughout the war, which narrowed the options down considerably. I wanted a Crownlands house because I thought Angel, as a very academically smart person, would be savvy enough to know that another Crownlands family would share her accent/appearance/general knowledge more than someone from the Reach or the Riverlands, thus making her lies less likely to be detected. I also loved that Thorne (as in rose thorns) could be a subtle nod to a previous series of mine that was a Wars of the Roses AU: Now I’m Covered In You.

Tell me about your Aegon interpretation. Why is he the way he is in When The World Is Crashing Down?

Aegon is someone who has already gone through a number of transformations before Angel ever meets him. He is an innocent child, an unloved and mistreated adolescent, a man who succumbs to his worst vices, and then an aspiring hero who is trying his absolute hardest to live up to being king after his coronation. When he is wounded so horrible and painfully at Rook's Rest, Aegon is at the point where he's just ready for his suffering to be over. He got a brief taste of greatness and then was knocked back down to being useless and in agony all over again; he's accepted that his story is over.

Angel saves Aegon’s life literally, but she also gives him an opportunity to be honorable in a way that he hasn’t fully been able to before. She never knew him before his maiming, so she has no memories of his drunkenness, whoring, or any other sins. She is kind and gentle, and she sees Aegon as someone desirable and brave, particularly when she gives him (unintentionally) the opportunity to be her rescuer: from the brothel, from Cregan Stark, and from the world itself. Once they’ve met, Aegon is motivated by Angel—and the future they hope to have together—to be the greatest version of himself yet: someone who can both give and accept love in its purest form.

It is Aegon's love for Angel that compels him to fight to stay alive even under the most dire circumstances and when hope seems irrational. He's not doing it for himself; he's doing it for her.

What about Aemond? How is his relationship with Aegon?

Oh Aemond. The duality of man. Throughout this series, we see evidence that Aemond has all sorts of negative feelings towards Aegon. He feels that Aegon is physically weak, intellectually unimpressive, morally corrupted, and just generally unworthy of being king. However, at the same time, Aemond loves Aegon and is entirely loyal to him. Aemond borrows the crown when Aegon is unable to rule, but he never tries to take it. Aemond will flirt with and proposition Angel, but he never tries to get her to actually leave Aegon. And each time Aegon is wounded, we see that Aemond not only cares for him physically, but tries to uplift his spirits and carry out his wishes. We see Aemond hunting for a healer and then helping to clean Aegon’s wounds at Rook’s Rest. We also see him comforting Angel and stopping her from treating Aegon’s bleeding, shattered legs on Dragonstone (which is what Aegon begs for him to do in High Valyrian). Finally, we see Aemond’s repeated denial that Aegon might not survive the war. Daeron, Larys, and Autumn are all pragmatic enough to discuss it, but Aemond isn’t. His love for Aegon is too great.

Aemond’s interest in Angel is 50% ego-driven. He knows that she prefers Aegon to him, but if he can win her affection, he scores a figurative victory over his elder brother and gets to feel worthy/superior. This impulse (which isn’t necessarily something Aemond is consciously aware of) only intensifies once he learns that Angel is a Celtigar and therefore of Valyrian ancestry. But that means that his obsession with her is also 50% inspired by her intellect, skill, courage, and dedication to Aegon, all things that Aemond highly values. Angel never has any romantic feelings for Aemond, although he does increasingly become a source of strength, guidance, and comfort for her as Aegon’s health deteriorates. But he is definitely a little in love with her, even if that emotion is in large part merely a manifestation of his own inferiority complex.

What characters in your story that you enjoy writing?

Aemond “There are other Targaryens” Targaryen was definitely my favorite character to write in this series. He is a menace!! But a menace who is also loyal, clever, vulnerable, capable, flawed, and—it must be said—very, very nice to look at.

I really enjoyed writing Daeron too, who I envision as similar to who Aegon would have grown up to be had he not been beaten down by so much emotional and physical trauma. Daeron’s a ray of sunshine who is also an unrepentant war criminal, energetic and arrogant and a diehard warrior for his family. He jokes around with Aegon, but strategizes (or at least attempts to) with Aemond, recognizing the role that each brother plays in the family.

Finally, I loved Autumn! She was essential to Angel’s survival—street smart instead of book smart, experienced instead of sheltered and naïve—and while Autumn’s arc is tragic in some ways, she gets one of the happiest endings in the series.

Was Angel ever relieved of her guilt of what she did for Aegon?

Oh no, Angel felt horribly guilty for betraying Aegon, and I don't think she gets over that in her lifetime.

Aegon is definitely aware of Aemond’s interest in Angel, but isn’t especially concerned about it. He’s used to Aemond coveting the things he’s been given and feels that the Aemond-Angel dynamic is just the latest iteration of that lifelong pattern. Aegon relies upon Aemond both emotionally and physically—all the Greens do, as he and Vhagar are the muscle behind their war effort—and ultimately trusts him to do the right thing. Aegon doesn’t suspect that Angel would ever consent to being more than tentative allies with Aemond; it’s not even on his radar.

She acted impulsively in a moment of great emotional turmoil and misdirected desperation to help the Greens win the war and, in my mind, Aemond bears the responsibility of manipulating her into making that decision. (Even ghost Aemond alludes to regretting how he handled that situation in Chapter 12!) But Angel personally feels that she was disloyal to the love of her life, and wasted time that she should rightfully have spent with Aegon doing something that would have hurt him instead.

And she never gets to confess to Aegon, so she never gets the absolution of his forgiveness (which he undoubtedly would have given, under the circumstances).

What inspired Angel?

I love writing “readers” from all sorts of backgrounds and perspectives; we’re all unique people, and “readers” should be too!

Angel is the archetypal poor little rich girl. She has material comforts, but is ultimately ill-suited and dissatisfied with life as a noblewoman. She floats around aimlessly with nothing to look forward to (except her eventual marriage to a stranger, of course) until her brother Everett is nearly killed in a fire when she’s fifteen years old. Healing gives Angel a hobby, a purpose, and a sense of agency (indeed, the power to save or end lives) in a world where she has vanishingly little control over her own fate.

At the beginning of the series, Angel has a profound fear of sexual intimacy. I think this is something that would have been very real to women in a situation like hers, but isn’t often spoken or written about. She doesn’t have much knowledge of how sex works, and what she does know is pretty discouraging: women who are resigned, at best, or tortured at worst, with blood stains on sheets, death or disfigurement in childbirth, and being physically completely at the mercy of an older, larger man who you didn’t choose for yourself. It’s the stuff of nightmares! I once stumbled upon a Reddit threat of people sharing stories of their 90-year-old grandmas not knowing what an orgasm is, and it just completely broke my heart. I wanted to give voice to all the girls and women throughout history who have been robbed of agency over their own bodies and pleasure in sex.

Angel’s journey is a circle: she begins fearful, then becomes intrigued as her feelings for Aegon grow and she realizes she trusts him. (I think it’s significant that the two men Angel loves most, Aegon and Everett, are both disabled and therefore physically not as threatening to her.) She gets to experience informed, enthusiastic consent and pleasure, and then that joy is slowly taken from her as Aegon grows weaker.

And at the end of the story, Angel is back to where she started: forced to give herself to a man she didn’t choose—and he can have her whenever, however, and wherever he wants her—and without expectations of pleasure, only pain and resignation.

Do you feel Angel and Aegon complement one another?

Angel compliments Aegon because she is both clever and resilient enough to heal his body, but also provides him with opportunities to be a hero and prove his worth, not to her but to himself. She needs him to save her from danger, she looks to him for reassurance when she is fearful, and she relies upon him to be king when the war is over and therefore ensure their happy future together. She is, to Aegon, the perfect balance of strength and weakness.

What Angel gains from the relationship is someone who she actually admires and desires, but also someone who values her for who she really is. Aegon likes Angel regardless of who her family is and what her political affiliations might once have been; he does not care about heirs, bloodlines, prestige, obedience, or power. With Aegon, Angel knows that her own desires and feelings will always be first and foremost. That’s a rare thing to find in a Westerosi marriage.

Was there any contentment with her marriage to Cregan Stark?

I don’t feel that Angel ever found anything like happiness in the North. Several readers commented that they believed she was only existing with Cregan for the rest of her earthly days, not truly living, and I think that’s accurate. Cregan Stark never questions the narrative that he saved her from the immoral, violent, rapist Usurper, and in Winterfell Angel would have had to hear—from servants, from guards, from her husband, from her children once they were old enough to know the story—comments about how horrible Aegon was an how honorable Cregan was for ensuring his defeat and “rescuing” Angel. So her loss (and the fact that it’s this indescribably heavy secret she has to carry around with her) is a wound that is ripped open again and again and again. She can never develop a sense of fondness for Cregan, because she can never forget his hatred for and his role in killing the man she loved. She can never truly get joy from her children because they are just like Cregan: large, loud, rugged, dark-haired wolf pups who repeat the fictions they’ve always been told were truths. It’s a very hollow, soulless existence for Angel.

But of course the bright side is that because she remains alive and has some influence over Cregan’s political decisions: Angel is able to protect Jaehaera, Autumn, and other Greens after their faction’s defeat. She is also able to share the true legacy of the Greens with Jaehaera once Aegon’s daughter is older. Jaehaera otherwise wouldn’t really understand their true motivations, personalities, or gifts, nor the love they shared for each other; she was a child when most of the Greens died, and Autumn would not have felt comfortable sharing what little she knew at risk of endangering her ability to stay at court with Jaehaera. We can assume that Angel was eventually reunited with Aegon (and her other lost loved ones) in the afterlife, and so there is some happiness in the long run.

Angel definitely showed some magic in her Valyrian blood: we saw her dreams with Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, but when Aegon told her, “If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know," was this what you were referring to at the end with, "…dreams that you never want to wake up from."

Yes! That is exactly what I was referencing, and I was thrilled that so many readers picked up on it. 🥰 It’s the closest we get to a “happily ever after” in this fic.

Celtigars are the black sheep of the Westerosi Valyrians. They’re glorified pirates as opposed to royalty or well-regarded merchants, and they aren’t nearly as magical at Targaryens or Velaryons. In the ASOIAF canon, there are no references to a Celtigar ever riding a dragon or joining the Targaryen bloodline. Angel was never going to be a dragonrider (she hates them!). But Angel does have some very subtle magical abilities that show up occasionally, and the dreams are one of them. After the events of WTWICD, for the rest of Angel’s life she is really only a shell of herself (not me making crab puns!), but dreams of Aegon give her comfort and remind her of the promise that she will see the people she loves again one day.

In Angel’s dreams, the ghosts appear in settings that they were attached to in life. Helaena was in the gardens with her insects, Aemond was in the rookery hard at work writing his letters, and Daeron (the closest thing this family has to a sunshine personality) was on a warm summer beach with Tessarion, exactly like he was the first day he ever met Angel. I feel that when Aegon appeared to Angel in her dreams, he was probably on Dragonstone, invoking memories of those idyllic first few months they got to spend alone together before Aemond started showing up (uninvited) and the battle with Baela and Moondancer.

In addition to the dreams, I think that Angel has some very slight clairvoyance. Even in the early chapters—and even as his burns are healing—she was always filled with this heavy dread regarding Aegon’s long-term health, and the threat of organ failure after repeated trauma is something that crosses her mind over and over again. She even mentions it to her brother Everett in Chapter 6. Part of her, I believe, always knew on some level that he wasn’t going to live to see a peaceful world.

Out of all your "Readers" so far, which one do you feel you relate to the most?

Out of all my readers, I think I personally relate the most to Appletini from North to the Future.

Our situations are different in a lot of ways (sadly, scruffy Juneau fisherman/rockstar Aegon is not real nor in love with me), but I think we share a) an innate fixation on responsibility and aversion to risk, and b) a sense that there is something more out there that we are always wrestling with. Do we take the leap, or do we stay where we are? Are we worthy of more? Are we doomed to relive the curses of prior generations? That sounds a little dark, probably, but I don’t mean for it to. Appletini gets a happy ending, after all!

Do you wish to share any possible new story that might be coming up?

At this point I have no comment whatsoever and nothing to announce. But I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas! 🎅🎄🎁😏

#iwaw #interview with a writer #bts #of their brilliant stories #writing community #writers of tumblr #when the world is crashing down

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Stisaac

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Donovan Donati (mentioned)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, rough sex, claiming bites, cnc (Stiles saying anything but the safe word will not stop Isaac. No means nothing), feral behavior, possessive behavior, light degradation (use of slut)

Words: 2913

Kinktober: CNC

Ao3 link Masterlist

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It’s not that weird of a request. He’s not really worried about Isaac judging him either despite the wolf’s face. It doesn’t really help that he kind of spewed the words from his mouth because Stiles was worried about losing his nerve. He should probably slow down, make sure the question is comprehensible and then wait for his boyfriend’s reaction. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Because there’s no way the wolf didn’t hear him. So it’s not like Stiles can just run away and pretend he never said anything to begin with. 

Stiles takes a deep breath, hoping to quell his raging heart, “I asked if you would chase me through the woods and fuck me when you catch me.” 

Isaac opens his mouth like he has a response, only to audibly click it closed. The wolf just stares at him for a moment, only making the anxiety about the whole situation rise higher and higher. Maybe he should’ve ran when he had the chance. Quit while he’s not even close to being ahead. They’ve been together for six months and Stiles just sprung the question on him. 

He’s holding onto the hope that because the request holds a great purpose to him that Isaac will understand. Stiles just has to get the damn words out first. Because if he doesn’t, he’s just going to clam up about it. Already is in fact. “You know what, just forget I said anything,” the human attempts, turning out of their living room to hide in the bedroom.  

“Is this some sort of werewolf kink you’re only just telling me about?” Isaac asks, stopping him in his tracks. “You hate going in the woods. Vehemently against it, actually,” the wolf leans forward on his elbows. “Now you want me to chase you and fuck you in the woods. You don’t even like running. I don’t get it, baby.”

Stiles’ shoulders slump and he sighs, crossing the room to take the empty seat on the couch beside his boyfriend. Guess it really is time to spill the beans. “You remember when you found me a year ago at the store?” 

It was a shitty day all around. Not the first time it had happened, Stiles’ predicament, not a chance meeting with the wolf. He was all kinds of sore, bruised, and bloody in several places. Stiles was getting medical supplies to tend to his wounds, wondering if it was bad enough this time that he should actually go to the hospital. Isaac happened to be at the store and found him with a rainbow of bruises, dirt under his nails, and adorning the sharp scent of copper. 

“Yeah…” the wolf trails off. 

“You helped me realize that Donovan raped me,” Stiles says and his boyfriend snarls at the name. “I just never told you how.” Isaac had to help him realize that fact because Donovan twisted his brain so badly. Convinced him that your own boyfriend couldn’t rape you. That Stiles came, so he obviously wanted it and was just playing hard to get. 

“I didn’t know I needed specifics,” Isaac scratches his jaw. But he must see something in the human’s face that makes him willing to listen. Or ready to. “I’ll bite,” Isaac sighs heavily, “how did he do it?” 

“He was a big fan of the whole predator prey thing,” Stiles rubs his hands together. “We were together, so you’d think he wouldn’ have to force himself on me like that, but he got off on it. I would wake up at night in the middle of the preserve and he would force me to run. Just so that he could chase me.” Stiles scoffs, “unlike most predators, no matter how far I’d make it, he never seemed to get tired. It didn’t make things easier on me at all. I was the one too tired. Too tired to fight back,” his voice betrays him with a crack, tears burning his eyes. 

“Stiles-”

“He would force himself on me,” the human cuts him off. “Didn’t care if I was telling him no or if something hurt.” Stiles gains his strength, coming up on the year anniversary of the last time this happened, he wants control. “Donovan liked to make it hurt. He could form teeth on any part of his body. He’d bite me everywhere. From the palm of his hand was his favorite so that way where he held me, he ensured I was bitten to stay in place. He’d use his real fangs to hold me down by my neck.” 

“And you want me to do that to you so you regain control of the memories,” Isaac surmises. 

The human looks at him shocked, but nods, “yeah. Supposedly it’s therapeutic to do it with someone you trust in a controlled environment where you know you’re actually safe.” 

“I know,” the wolf says, “Chris did the same for me while we were in France. He got me some much needed therapy over my father. They suggested a hands-on approach. Trapped in a freezer for six hours while a hunter yelled at me was fucking intense, but he kept reminding me that I always had an out. I was in control. That I simply had to open the door. I haven’t had a nightmare since.” Blue eyes flicker over his face, “when did you want to do it? You said you would wake up in the preserve, does that mean you want it to be a surprise?” 

Stiles shakes his head, “no. Um, today is the one year mark,” he reminds the wolf. “I-I want to go out there of my own volition and then I want you to do what he did. Don’t hold back on me either, I need to really feel it, Is. Be demeaning and degrading. Use your werewolf strength.” 

“Okay, but if I bite you too hard with my fangs, I’ll end up mating with you,” his boyfriend says, expression painfully hard to read. 

The human can only smile, “Donovan manipulated me so badly in the beginning. Made me think you wanted nothing to do with me. Refused to let me so much as talk to you much less be friends. Isaac,” Stiles turns to face the wolf, “I’ve loved you since we were ten. I can’t think of anything better than being mated with you. It’ll just add to the experience, give it an even happier connotation on top of helping me. Celebrating not only my full freedom from him, but celebrating how I feel about you.” 

Isaac grins, reaching over to tangle their fingers together. “Okay, Pretty Boy,” the wolf says, lifting Stiles’ hand to kiss his knuckles. “Let’s get some food in you first and then we’ll go.” 

“You get a ten minute head start,” Isaac tells him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” The wolf’s blue eyes are cloudy, as much as he’s checking in, Stiles can see his wolf chomping at the bit for the opportunity to chase. It’s an invitation to them after all and instinct is one hell of a motivator. 

“I’m sure,” the human curls his arms around his boyfriend. “Thank you for doing this,” Stiles says, despite being filled with nervous energy. 

“Remember your safeword?” The wolf taps his nose. 

“Badge,” Stiles tells him with confidence. It seemed like the best choice since he’s always felt safe with his father. A beacon of protection. Isaac smiles softly, bending down to place a tender kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you in ten minutes,” he whispers, bolting away from the wolf. He does plan to take it a little slow at first, but the more distance he has in the beginning, the better. 

Isaac snarls violently at him running away. Stiles appreciates the patience and control his boyfriend has to not immediately chase after him. It’s no doubt taking exceptional work on Isaac’s part. His heart is pounding in his chest with every bound of his feet. Every bush he dashes around, it beats harder. Every fallen log he jumps over makes his lungs burn in effort to keep enough oxygen flowing. Isaac was right in saying that he hates running. Stiles really does. 

But he’d do anything if it meant erasing the remnants of Donovan from his life. The wendigo is so far behind bars he’ll never see the light of day again. But Stiles needs him out of his brain too. Not once in their relationship has Isaac given himself over to his wolf. While a partially scary thought, Stiles knows with certainty that his wolf doesn’t want to harm him either. That some part of him will hear his safeword and stop if need be. 

It’s why he trusts Isaac implicitly for this. 

Stiles has no idea how long he’s been running for or in which direction. He’s turned himself around too many times and is pretty much lost. The sun is nearly set too, so he can’t really see for shit either. Anxiety prickles the back of his neck. The sinking feeling that this is what it was like with Donovan setting into his bones. Disoriented and terrified, unsure what to do next. Or what’s going to happen.

A deep, vicious roar echoes through the trees, nearly impossible to tell which way it’s come from. Stiles’ legs begin to shake as he pushes himself harder. He can’t see a fucking thing. All wildlife has ceased their nightly noises and the only thing he can hear is his own feet thumping into the earth. Isaac can’t be far off now, especially if he’s tapping into his wolf like requested. But Stiles can’t fucking hear him. 

He’s half tempted to stop for a minute to try and figure out where his boyfriend is. But that doesn’t seem like the best idea. There’s no way Stiles will be able to see him until he’s far too close. While Isaac could probably see him already.

Not that it matters. Stiles takes two more steps only to be tackled to the ground by a harsh, snarled impact. The human struggles, wriggling and thrashing his arms to try and get free. Causing them to tumble around, Isaac growling at his defiance. 

“Get off,” Stiles grunts, kneeing his boyfriend in the side and scrambling away. There’s more fear coursing through him than he thought there’d be. A voice in the back of his head, his own no doubt, continues to remind him that he trusts Isaac. He doesn’t get very far before claws pinch into his ankle and he’s yanked back towards the wolf. His shirt riding up and twigs biting into his stomach as he goes. “Stop,” the human croaks, pain flaring on his abdomen, watching golden eyes rake across his frame like a man starved. 

More like a wolf starved. 

Isaac, more animal than human with his huffed breaths, shreds his pants, tossing the tatters well out of view and reach. Mid-motion, Stiles’ nails rake the dirt and he tries to scramble away, only to have his boyfriend's claws dig into the meat of his calf. Not very deep, but enough that Stiles feels it. He cries out, falling pliant to the wolf crawling on top of him, rumbling in his chest as he goes. Isaac flips him and settles on top of him, fangs grazing his erratic pulse. The human’s hyperventilating, trying to keep himself under control. Secured in the knowledge that he can stop this at any given time. 

Teeth pinch his neck, Stiles squirming under the wolf's weight. His heart slams against his rib cage painfully. Donovan flashes behind his pinched lids, causing blood to whoosh in Stiles’ ears. Isaac grinds against him, pulling him back to the present and the human moans for the first time tonight. 

"Go ahead, Pretty Boy, moan as loud as you want," Isaac chuckles darkly, "no one can hear you out here." 

Stiles never told him the things Donovan said. While this may be moaning, the wendigo loved to hear him scream. And reminded him constantly that no one would hear him should the screams turn to cries for help. Stuck in his thoughts, Stiles hadn't realized the wolf moved off of him, yanking his boxers away with a flourish. Suddenly he's flipped onto his knees, the skin being stabbed with twigs. His palms are getting no better treatment, the sting makes Stiles wince out a whine. 

"Isaac, p-please," Stiles gasps, letting out another moan and the wet tongue swirling around the tight ring of muscle. "Fuck-" the human groans, body bending down against his own volition. "Shit, wait, claws, Is. Wait-" he stammers, feeling a finger prod along with his tongue, genuine fear creeping up the back of his neck. 

Thankfully when Isaac shoves two, not one, inside they're free of sharp nails. At least the wolf had enough sense to put them away. Donovan never cared, thought the blood was attractive. The sign of caught prey. Made him more prideful. The burn of two fingers thrusting into Stiles slowly gives way to pleasure, warming his insides beautifully. Though out of control, he's so here for it. 

His body relaxes, allowing the intrusion and the stretch of his growling boyfriend's fingers. "Look at you," Isaac coos, nipping at his ass hard enough that Stiles shrieks. Surely leaving a bruise behind. One the wolf spanks before spitting on his hole, effortlessly adding a third finger. "See how easily you opened up for me, sweet thing," the wolf snarls with glee, "always knew you were a slut." 

He can't help the moan if he tried. Words that once made him recoil now sound perfectly sinful and delicious on the wolf's tongue. Stiles almost forgot he's supposed to be pretending to be against this when his boyfriend's skilled fingers ram right into his prostate. Stars spark in his vision, the dark woods becoming even less clear. The human half hears Isaac's pants unzip and the rustling of them being pulled down. So he struggles, halfheartedly attempting to get away from the wolf one last time. 

Not that it does him any good. The free hand holding his hip trails up to the back of his neck, shoving his cheek into the dirt. "Stay. Still," Isaac snarls in his ear. Stiles doesn't dare move. Listening to his boyfriend spit into his palm. The squelch of him lubing his cock up kills the human, anticipation rising despite himself. There's no warning or even a comment, as soon as Isaac's fingers leave him, the wolf thrusts himself inside. Slamming their thighs together with force that makes Stiles scream. 

He threatens to white out. Blessed out of his mind at the rough treatment from a caring hand. Stiles breathes deeply, filling his lungs only to have it all rush out when Isaac pulls out and slams back in, not waiting for him to adjust. His boyfriend keeps the punishing rhythm. Just snapping his hips forward in full movements. Leaving Stiles completely empty before stuffing him full. It's dizzying. It hurts. It feels fucking great. And Stiles is a moaning mess, ready to fall apart as the wolf changes his angle, hitting the bundle of nerves inside of him until tears prick his eyes it feels that good. 

"Still with me?" Isaac asks, thumb brushing the back of his neck lightly. 

"Yeah," the human croaks, just taking what the wolf offers. Safeword tucked in the back of his mind, but not thinking he'll need it. The burn in pretty much gone and the pain in his knees and hands are blocked out by the way Isaac is fucking him. 

"Good," his boyfriend grunts, spreading his ass cheeks before blanketing him with his body. Isaac is fucking deep and Stiles can't help the clench. The wolf snarls again, "you're mine," yanking the collar of his shirt and sinking his fangs in at the crook. 

Stiles screams, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the orgasm he didn't even know was forming, hits a head. He cums hard, spilling himself over the forest floor beneath him. His knees threaten to buckle, but Isaac removes his fangs, wrapping a hand around his throat and pulls Stiles up to his chest. His gasps for air turn to soft whines, the wolf licking the wound clean as he pounds harder. Chasing his own release inside the human. Stiles can't think, he can't fucking breathe. But good god can he feel. 

His boyfriend's bite nestled the very distinct feeling of Isaac inside his chest. Tethering them together in bliss and so much emotion, Stiles doesn't know what to do with himself. So he says the first words that come to mind, "Thank you, Is." 

"Fucking-" Isaac fucks into him harder, stilling his hips balls deep. "Thank you," he moans, nuzzling the mark while filling Stiles full of his cum. They catch their breath, holding onto one another until Isaac’s soft growls cease. Carefully, he pulls out, earning him a groan. "You okay, Pretty Boy? Your knees all right?" 

"Very," Stiles hums with a dopey grin on his face, putting his full weight on the wolf. Sighing to himself as he feels his boyfriend's cum start to leak out of him. “They sting, but I’m okay.”

"Let's get you home, yeah?" Isaac whispers, peppering kisses along his neck and shoulder. 

Stiles nods and lets the wolf curl him to his chest to pick him up and carry him back to the car.

#stisaac #stiles stilinki #isaac lahey #isaac x stiles #stiles x isaac #teen wolf #kinktober vol. 2 #Match Writes

[msmischief101]

♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Lori Rohr, Donovan Donati ♜Tags/Warnings: attempted rape, violence, drug use, blood, mentions of self-harm, canon compliant up until 3b, canon divergence, Stiles goes to Devenford, ♜Words: 7037 ♜Bad Things Happen Bingo - Attempted Rape ♜Ao3

-----

broken innocence

Stiles has concluded that he does not like his worlds to mingle. But Beacon Hills is a small town. Keeping everything separated is like trying to keep your toys to yourself in kindergarten. Things become even more complicated when lacrosse is involved. Suddenly, even Beacon County looks like becomes a rural village where everyone knows everyone. He has absolutely no desire to be here tonight, watching his new school wipe the floor with his old one. He doesn’t have any interest in running into his old pack either. 

But Brett wanted him to come to tonight’s scrimmage, and Stiles learned rather quickly that it’s all but impossible to say no to Brett Talbot; for a variety of reasons, Stiles doesn’t want to dissect any time soon. 

Stiles twists the Twizzlers between his fingers, scanning the bleachers for Lori. Since most of his friends are on the field tonight, and he does not want to join the girlfriend league, his only options are sitting with Lori or sitting alone. He enjoys Lori’s company, so the other option has never really been one. 

“Stilinski.” Donovan cuts into his path, easily snatching the Twizzlers out of his grasp, and grins in a way that sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. “Just the man I was looking for.” Raising his brows, and clearly trying to bait a reaction, he opens the treat and bites onto it.

Well, there goes his dinner. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, straightening his spine and shoulders almost instinctively. Donovan Donati is not supposed to be a part of his everyday life. Stiles made just enough room for his presence that didn’t interfere with anything or anyone else. That’s how his second shot at a normal life is supposed to work. It needs three pieces; the past he avoids, the present he tries to enjoy, and Donovan for when the darkness makes him feel too much or nothing at all.

Donovan’s grin is uncomfortably sharp. Then again, everything about him is, almost like he designed himself to hurt whoever comes too close. It’s enviable and pathetic. “You wanna come to a party later tonight?” It seems like all those unanswered text messages aren’t doing it for him any longer. 

Stiles didn’t expect him to care. “I hate parties.” Because joining Donovan and his gang has never been about socializing. It’s always been about feeling better. He couldn’t care less about it being Donovan. If he had a better option, he’d go for that. 

“Do it for me?” 

Stiles scoffs. “I hate you too.” But Stiles doesn’t need to like someone to spend time with them — as long as they prove to be useful. 

Donovan’s lips twist. 

“Hey.” Brett appears at Stiles’ side, one hand protectively curled around his shoulder. “What’s up?” Brett is polite. Brett is also the only person Donovan won’t cross. They are polar opposites, yet not impossibly different. Brett simply knows better than to go down the wrong path, probably because he has people who care about him. Donovan is surrounded by his little puppets.

Stiles shakes his head. 

Donovan sneers. “See you at school.” Without regarding Brett, he turns away, pointing the Twizzlers at Stiles like he would a loaded gun. Not even the most feral werewolf manages to make every single gesture look like a threat. Staying away should be easier, but Stiles keeps crawling back in desperate need to feel something — even if it hurts.  

Brett doesn’t look satisfied with the end of the conversation. “What did he want?” 

“Nothing.” Stiles shrugs his hand off, knowing full well he’s being a dick. “His usual bullshit.” 

“What’s his usual bullshit?” 

“Fuck, Talbot.” Stiles pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Talking shit. Acting tough. The fuck do I know.” His connection to Donovan is not supposed to leave the shadows. They don’t have this type of relationship. Nobody hangs out with their dealer. 

Brett does not look like he believes him, but he drops the topic. “The girls are—“

“I’m sitting with Lori.” The girls are nice enough, but Stiles doesn’t have the energy for them. He also feels a little weird about joining them. He’s not part of the girlfriend group, and he doesn’t want people to dwell on his and Brett’s relationship too much. It’s enough that Stiles overanalyses absolutely everything. 

Brett smiles, features getting unbearably soft. “I’m glad you came,” he says, and for a moment, he looks almost sheepish. “It means a lot.” 

Stiles smiles, hating the way his heart grows three sizes. This is not going to end well.  Not at all. 

— — — 

“You look like you haven’t slept a second,” Brett comments, sitting down opposite him. His backpack hits the ground like a ton of bricks. “Nightmares again?” 

If by nightmares he meant the questionable decision to join Donovan’s even more questionable party, then yes. Stiles should’ve known better, really, but it is what it is — and his bruised ribs are going to heal eventually. Stiles simply did not expect Donovan’s fucking minion to hit that hard. Sighing, he pokes his milkshake cup with his middle finger and shrugs. “It’s easier to tell you when I don’t have nightmares.” 

Brett sighs, crossing his arms on the table. “Stiles.” His name sounds as if Brett wanted to say something entirely different, only to lose his courage before opening his mouth. It’s an odd sensation. Brett Talbot doesn’t usually lose his courage. He shifts in his chair, long legs bumping into Stiles’. A warm breeze rushes down the street, rustling the menu and Brett’s hair. He fixes it, frowning at himself in the reflection of the ice cream parlor’s large windows.

Two girls sitting inside watch him transfixed — Stiles stops himself from doing the same. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he taps the menu. “I heard the banana split is great here.” 

Tugging on a strand one last time, Brett turns to look at him. “I don’t like whipped cream.” 

“Tell them you don’t want it.” 

Their legs are still pressed together.

Brett raises his brows. “Tell them…” he trails off, lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Such an easy solution.” His gaze darts over Stiles’ face while the wind is messing with his hair again. He’s not talking about the whipped cream any longer. Maybe he never has. Sometimes, he is as hard to read as Parrish. On other days, it’s easy to see more on his face than there really is. 

Usually, Stiles doesn’t have issues reading people, yet Brett still feels elusive. He’s never been able to look at Brett and feel like he knows him — unlike Brett is doing right now. And that’s the scary part. Although Stiles is not afraid of being known, he fears someone knowing him and leaving anyway. It’s not unreasonable. It happened before. It might just happen again. Perhaps that’s why being with Brett makes him anxious despite being unable to stay away. Losing Brett would break him all over again. 

Stiles licks his lips. “I died tonight,” he says then, knowing Brett would not drop the topic, “strangely enough, it helps feeling more alive in the morning.” It’s as close to the truth as he can get without telling Brett he spent the night at one of Donovan’s underground parties. It’s not the type of party someone like Brett Talbot would attend. It’s the type of party Jordan Parrish would shut down if he knew it happened right under his nose. It’s filled with drugs, with teenagers doing everything they aren’t allowed to, with people betting on others fighting in a cage, and with Donovan being the king of it all.

“How often does that happen?” 

“I think it’s easier to tell you how often I get a normal amount of sleep.” 

Brett shakes his head with a humorless chuckle. “I get it.” He stands up, now fixing his hair again. “You don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Stiles hums in agreement and sips on his milkshake, watching the other boy out of the corner of his eyes. He’d rather be open about everything he does. It would probably help to talk to someone about it — someone who isn’t Donovan, who deals in violence, or his therapist, who deals in prescription drugs. Neither is particularly interested in talking to him, much less listening. Maybe Brett would if he gave him the chance, or Stiles might ruin a perfectly good thing. 

“Banana split?” 

“Banana split.” 

Brett nods, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans. “You want something else?” 

“I’m good,” Stiles says around his straw and watches as Brett walks into the ice cream parlor. There are six people in front of him, all of them wanting to enjoy the last days of summer. He scrunches up his face when the cold shake touches his teeth and bites down on the straw for good measure before leaning back in his chair with a grunt. A dull ache echoes in his ribs. Touching the sore spot carefully, he shifts in his chair. As much as he loves this place, they need to upgrade their furniture. If it weren’t so crammed inside, Stiles would’ve chosen the more comfortable benches. 

Stiles closes his eyes, trying to enjoy the warm rays of sunshine. He’s not felt at ease like this ever since he learned about the scrimmage. Stiles was aware that he would have to confront his old friends eventually. It still messed him up. Seeing them. Watching how their world simply kept turning without him being there. They looked like he never belonged anyway, as if his absence doesn’t leave the same hole Stiles is so desperately trying to fill right now. It’s pathetic, really. If they can move on as if it’s nothing, Stiles should be able to do the same. 

Yet he finds himself at Donovan’s fucking parties more often than he can count. 

The chair next to him scrapes over the asphalt. 

“That was quick.” Stiles blinks his eyes open, but it’s not Brett who settled into the chair. It’s Donovan. His blood runs cold. This happens entirely too often for his liking. “What are you doing here?” 

Donovan tosses a small bag at him. “You won a bunch of money last night.” His leg shifts, pressing against Stiles’. 

“Why the fuck,” Stiles snaps, snatching the money from the table, “are you giving this to me here?” It’s not like the next party will be months away. Donovan never makes it longer than a few days, and even if Stiles didn’t appear, there could have been a more subtle way. But it seems like Donovan is done with being subtle. He wants something else. Something Stiles won’t be able to give him. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” He pulls his leg away, hating the sensation of their bodies touching more than Donovan being here. There is something poisonous about the other boy, and Stiles doesn’t want to get it all over him. 

The response doesn’t seem to bother Donovan. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t want your boyfriend to know about us.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Because that’s the important part about everything Donovan said. But at least it’s the truth. Brett isn’t his boyfriend, and he most likely won’t be — not as long as Stiles doesn’t bother to get any better, and especially not as long as Stiles keeps a company like Donovan Donati. “And there is no us.” 

Donovan grins. It’s cold and calculating, and in a strange way, comforting. Because that is the Donovan Stiles is familiar with. “If it wasn’t totally unethical, I’d blackmail you with this.” That’s rich coming from the guy who makes sure to include a fight club in every single one of his parties.  

Stiles grinds his teeth before he forces himself to relax. “Because you’re a shining beacon of ethics, right?” Everything was fine for four months. Why does Donovan have to go out of his way to fucking ruin everything? “Just go away.” 

“Aw, Stilinski, you’re hurting my feelings.” 

“Good.” 

Something dark flicks over Donovan’s expression. His lips pull away from his teeth, and he leans closer. “I know what you want,” he says in a low voice. “Talbot can’t give it to you. Not the way I can.” His fingers creep towards Stiles’ hand and before he can pull it away, Donovan grabs it tight, squeezing it until his bones hurt. 

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide, heart hammering against his ribs, but he doesn’t struggle. It would only cause a scene. Donovan might be violent, however, he’s not stupid enough to pull a stunt on a crowded street. 

“I’ve let this slide for long enough,” he says through his teeth. His eyes narrow as he spits out his next words, “there is only with or against me. Make a fucking decision.” Without warning, Donovan lets go of his hand and gets to his feet. The chair clatters to the ground. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t put it back up again and isn’t particularly bothered by the surrounding people staring at him. Some are shaking their heads, others look like they want to make sure Donovan doesn’t spot them. It’s how you can tell who knows him and who has never heard his name. 

Stiles wishes he could disappear. His chest tightens. He should stop. He should fucking stop. There are other ways to get through this. Maybe he should find a new therapist, or maybe he should toss his principles in the bin and take the shit he prescribes him. But Stiles doesn’t want to take drugs. He doesn’t want to drink. Donovan isn’t that kind of dealer for him. Stiles goes to Donovan to get rid of his rage. He goes to Donovan so his body hurts whenever he moves, to make sure he knows his body belongs to him. 

To feel something. To claim this body as his own.

Winning money is just the cherry on top. 

Stiles ducks his head and bends down to pick up the chair, but somebody else is faster than him. 

“Talbot,” Donovan sings entirely too happy, “fancy meeting you here.” 

Brett sets the chair down with more force than necessary. “Donati.” His wallet hits the table. There’s no banana split in his hand. “I suppose you’re leaving.” 

“Don’t know, man. A milkshake does sound good, doesn’t it?” 

Brett does not reciprocate the grin that’s plastered on Donovan’s lips. Usually, he is too calm to look dangerous, but right now, Brett looks every bit like the predator he is. “Then I suggest you get something to go.”

Despite himself, Stiles reaches for Brett. His fingers find his wrist, pulse hammering under his skin, and curls his hand around his arm. The touch is soft. Brett barely would have to move a muscle to break free, but he relaxes instead, turning to look at him. Not everyone knows Donovan, but people know Beacon Hills’ rising lacrosse star. The last thing Stiles wants is for Brett to get a dent in his reputation because of someone like Donovan. He’s not worth it. Neither is Stiles. 

“Fuck, Talbot.” Donovan’s dark eyes are locked onto the spot where Stiles touches Brett. It takes a long moment for him to look up again. When he does, his almost feral smile does not reach his eyes. Maybe Donovan knows because he flicks his sunglasses down. “You gotta lean to share your toys.” 

Brett’s muscles go taut under his hand, and Stiles squeezes his arm in warning. “Ignore him,” he says under his breath, staring at his milkshake. He can’t bring himself to look up, not while everyone is still looking at them. 

“Leave.” Brett pulls his arm free and crosses them in front of his chest instead. “Or I’m going to share something with you, you won’t enjoy.”

Donovan barks out a laugh, sudden and cold, like nails on a chalkboard. “Damn, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit.” Or maybe he simply didn’t look close enough. Then again, why should Donovan pay someone like Brett any attention? He doesn’t need popularity because he already has a crowd following him around like lost puppies. After all, Donovan can provide them with whatever they want. 

Even Stiles fell for it. 

“Is there something you want?” Brett inquires icily. 

Donovan tilts his head just enough to give the impression that he’s looking at Stiles. It’s not a great feeling. “There’s always something I want.” 

“Then get it somewhere else.” Brett sits down, turning his back partially towards Donovan. The conversation is over. So when he grabs Stiles’ milkshake and takes a sip, it’s more than obvious that he is very much trying to prove a point. It’s kind of sexy. 

If Donovan is in any way bothered by it, he certainly knows how to hide it. Which is unusual. He’s not exactly known to mask his emotions very well. Without another word, he pulls his phone out and turns away, blending into the crowd without much of a problem. 

A few seconds later, Stiles’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores the itch to grab it. He doesn’t need to read it to know Donovan repeated his threat. There’s only with or against me. The decision should be easy. “You gonna finish that?” Turns out it’s a lot harder than he could have ever expected. 

“You gonna keep hanging out with him?”

Stiles lets out a breath. “I’m not—“

“It’s never,” Brett interrupts him, putting the milkshake down to grab Stiles’ hand instead, “a good idea to hang out with Donovan.” That’s not exactly a big secret. The guy comes with his very own warning brighter than any neon sign Las Vegas has to offer. It’s just that warning signs aren’t for everyone; some are blind to them, and others love to ignore them. Stiles belongs to the second category. “Donovan is… he is the opposite of friendly. As in, he is unfriendly. As in, don’t be friends with him!” 

Stiles blinks. “I’m rubbing off on you.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Brett huffs out a breath, sounding not unlike a laugh. His thumb brushes over the back of Stiles’ hand, causing a rush of goosebumps up and down his body. 

Stiles shouldn’t crave his touch so much. It shouldn’t make him feel like he’s wrapped up in a cloud of cotton candy. There is absolutely no reason for Brett to grab his hand either. There is even less reason for Stiles not to pull it away. “Donovan isn’t all that scary,” he says softly, trying his best not to intertwine their fingers when Brett starts playing with them absentmindedly. “I’ve seen worse.” 

Brett nods. “I know.” 

“I promise I’ll be careful.” It’s an admission. Stiles is aware of that, and so is Brett judging by the grimace on his features. “But, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be the first person I’ll call if I ever need help.” He’d probably be the only person he’d call for help. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Jordan, but having a werewolf on speed dial is still the safest bet. Besides, Stiles knows Brett would drop everything to come and help him. 

Humming in what can only be agreement, Brett slides his fingers in-between Stiles’. He looks up and smiles. “Cocky bastard.”

— — — 

Stiles watches Donovan argue with two of his friends about what food to get, lips pressed into a thin line. He shouldn’t be here. The second he saw that tonight’s location was a hotel instead of an empty warehouse, Stiles should have turned around and left. Donovan’s parties don’t happen inside expensive hotel suites. This feels more intimate. It feels like he shouldn’t be here. But he can’t be home alone either. Meeting everyone again fucked with his head much more than it should have. 

He eyes the cocaine residue on the glass table. His phone screen flashes, catching his attention. Stiles snatches his phone as Donovan moves next to him, almost as if to grab his phone as well. Pulling a leg onto the couch, he unlocks his phone. To his surprise, it’s a message from Brett. 

> Want me to pick you up tomorrow? 

Stiles’ heart does a very complicated thing, and he has to take a very deep breath before replying. 

I’d like that <

> How about we grab some breakfast before school too?

Why does this sound so much more like a date than meeting up at the ice cream parlor does? Stiles bites his bottom lip.

Surprise me. <

> Believe me. I will. 

> Sleep well

Stiles twists his lips into a pitiful grin. Yeah, sleeping probably isn’t going to happen. Not that he’d get a second of sleep by staying home. The darkness is a lot darker than since the scrimmage against his old school. As much as he hates being around Donovan, it helps. He swipes his thumb to stop the screen from going dark. Sleep well. His chest grows warm. 

He’s so fucked. 

You too <

Stiles bites his cheek, thumb hovering over his keyboard. Just yesterday, Brett held his hand, played with his fingers, and protected him from Donovan. Maybe, just maybe, Stiles should take the leap and stop seeing Donovan. 

Can’t wait to see you again <

The message is being read almost immediately. Stiles’ throat closes up. Part of him wants to throw his phone to the other side of the hotel room, but his grip around it tightens instead. He doesn’t have the money to replace it anyway. 

Brett sends him a heart. 

He sends him a fucking heart. 

Stiles grins, pressing his phone to his chest. Maybe he isn’t quite as fucked as he thought he might be. Maybe this is his cue to finally stop destroying himself. Not for Brett but because of this. This feeling. This giddy stupid sensation wraps around him like a safety blanket. The nogitsune didn’t win. It didn’t break him. Not entirely. He isn’t too broken to be liked — maybe even loved. 

His dad would be proud of him. 

All he has to do is end this. For good. And that’s why he came in the first place, right? Stiles isn’t entirely stupid. He noticed the changes. He noticed Donovan changing his approach. Stiles would have put his foot down if he were a better person. Still, part of him needs this outlet. If he really wants to change this — if he wants to change himself — tonight will be the last night. 

Donovan isn’t going to like that. 

But Stiles doesn’t care. He’s going break this fucking habits once and for all. He is going to quit tonight. If he’s got a chance with Brett, he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“Stilinski,” Donovan drawls, his pupils are blown as wide as he’s high, “you shitting me?”

Stiles glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. The guy really had the fucking nerve to lean close enough to read his messages. “Privacy, fuckface.” He elbows Donovan away, who bares his teeth in a terrible copy of a grin. Sometimes he wonders if Donovan is ever sober and if he’s being perfectly honest. Seeing that he had to repeat his senior year twice because his attendance was abysmal, Stiles very much doubts that. He’s probably failing the year again — not that Donovan is actively trying to change that. But why would he? If he can rent a suite like this— 

The door clicks shut.

Stiles whips his head around. 

The suite is empty. Donovan’s friends left the room without saying anything. Unless maybe they’re grabbing food and drinks? Maybe they said something, and Stiles simply didn’t catch it. That’s entirely possible… right? “So,” Stiles says, trying to stifle the panic swelling in his chest, “where’s the rest?” 

Donovan lets out a huff. “What rest?” 

Licking his dry lips, Stiles turns around. Something about the way Donovan leans towards him makes him feel highly uneasy. He should have never come here, and he shouldn’t have acted like Brett’s worry was exaggerated. It wasn’t. Stiles knows something is wrong with Donovan. That’s why he attends his parties. Still, a person who gets drugs as easily as Donovan and offers people a violent outlet is dangerous. Or maybe, just maybe, Donovan simply likes to watch other people ruining themselves. That still makes him dangerous, just not actively so. 

He’s being stupid. 

How the fuck could he risk ending up alone with Donovan Donati?

“Well,” Stiles says, tightening the grip on his phone — Brett is just a message away. One single message. “The rest of the party.” His eyes dart around the room. He can’t help it. Keeping track of ways of escape is a necessity when running with wolves and other creatures of the night. It’s probably smart to treat Donovan similarly. 

Donovan merely scoffs and crosses the room, leaving the entrance unguarded. That’s good. That’s good. “You think I’d pay that much money for the room to be trashed?” He grabs a bottle of water, tossing it at him without warning. 

Stiles catches it awkwardly. “So… what’s this then?” He gestures a little, still not entirely sure what to make of this situation. He doesn’t get it. Who rents a huge ass suite to pre-party with their friends? It doesn’t make any sense. 

“To chill,” Donovan says and reaches for his glass of whiskey. “To have fun.” Despite everything Stiles knows about him, he manages to look like a sleazy politician who only cares about his pleasure. 

Stiles twists his lips. What does that make him? 

“Nobody needs to rent something like this for fun.” He makes air quotes with one hand before opening the bottle. It’s almost entirely silent. This bottle has been opened before. It has been tampered with, his paranoid mind suggests. Stiles twists the cap back and forth. Donovan’s eyes are on him. He can feel his gaze like a spider crawling up his spine. This is wrong. Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. 

Donovan sets his glass down. His posture is relaxed, yet there is something off about him. “Not thirsty?” 

“Not really, no.” Stiles shakes his head and clears his throat, trying to figure out what to say without giving Donovan a reason to fly off the handle. “I should… I think I should probably… go.” Stiles puts the bottle down, ignoring the rise of Donovan’s brow. Every second he stays here is a second too long. Why has he come here? Why didn’t he just ignore Donovan like he usually does? He could have called Brett. 

Fucking dammit. He’s so fucking stupid. 

“No?” Donovan turns on the couch, now fully facing him. There’s no humor left in his tone. “You go on a date with Talbot, and suddenly — poof — your innocence is restored?” 

Stiles glances in the direction of the door. If his gut feeling is right about Donovan, he won’t make it to the door. “I never said I’m innocent.” But that seems to have been the wrong thing to say… which he probably should have expected. 

And yet— 

Donovan’s grin remains a grimace, but he reaches his hand and places it on Stiles’ thigh. His touch is strangely soft, his thumb dragging a small circle over the inside of his jeans. “I can give you everything you want. I can give you everything Brett Talbot can’t.”

But that’s not the point. The point isn’t about getting what he wants. Not all the time, at least. Stiles isn’t fucking stupid. Sometimes, he’s gotta keep in mind what he needs. And Brett? Brett is capable to give him both. Brett is who he wants, but Stiles is aware that he’s not the person to let him get away with his bullshit. That’s not who Brett Talbot is, and that’s what Stiles loves about him. 

Loves. 

Shaking his head, Stiles pushes his hand off. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” 

But Donovan merely reaches for him again, moving closer in the process. His hand returns to his thigh — and this time, it’s a lot closer to his crotch. 

Stiles shoves it away again. “Stop.” 

“I think you owe it to me.” 

When Donovan reaches out this time, Stiles slaps his hand away. “I said stop.” He pushes his phone into the pocket of his jacket and gets to his feet. “I’m leaving.” Nothing in their relationship ever indicated that Donovan is interested in fucking him, and Stiles surely never gave him any reason to believe otherwise. 

“No.” Donovan jolts to his feet. “You’re not fucking leaving.” 

“Oh, but I am.” Stiles takes a step back, mindful of the table and the couch. If he stumbles, he’s— he doesn’t want to think about it. The last thing he wants is to get into a position of weakness in front of a pissed-off Donovan. “I don’t want y— this.” 

Without any warning, Donovan lurches forward. His grip is tight and painful, and so is Stiles’ back connecting with the wall. “I don’t care.” Sneering, Donovan forces a leg between his thighs, “it’s time to pay up.” 

Panic explodes in his chest when Donovan leans closer. He’s trying to kiss him. He’s trying to kiss him. 

No. 

No. 

It’s so much worse. 

“Stop.” His voice isn’t half as assertive as he wants it to be. It cracks as he turns his head away, merely avoiding Donovan’s lips on his. “Please, stop.” As if begging is going to lead to the desired result if struggling doesn’t do anything. As if Donovan fucking cares because he doesn’t. It’s like he doesn’t even notice Stiles trying to push him off. Maybe that’s why Donovan didn’t bother to grab his hands. He knew he was stronger. He knew he could easily overpower him. 

Fuck. 

Stiles wants to scream, but he can’t. It’s like the sound catches in the back of his throat, refusing to come out. He should have listened to Brett, but no. No. Stiles thought he knew better, and now this is what he gets; Donovan’s mouth on his neck. It’s a touch that makes Stiles’ stomach heave. “I said stop.” There. That came out a bit more assertive. 

But Donovan doesn’t back off. He doesn’t even flinch. He does, however, adjust his grip and places his hand at Stiles’ hip instead of his upper arm. 

And that gives Stiles enough room for a punch. 

So he does just that. 

The second his fist connects with Donovan’s cheek, a sharp pain jolts from his knuckles up to his shoulder. It feels like he’s punched a brick wall with full force. It’s a way too familiar feeling, and the shock freezes him for a moment. There is blood on his knuckles and blood on Donovan’s face. Stiles is pretty sure both belong to him. But that means… 

Donovan whips his head around, baring unnatural sharp teeth. Those aren’t what pushes Stiles to sprint to the bathroom. It’s Donovan’s silver eyes. 

Stiles rushes through the open door, almost sliding on the expensive tiles. His heart slams against his chest, panic making it hard to breathe. There’s no way out of this bathroom, but there is time to be found here. Stiles slams the door shut and locks the door. Nothing else but a small cabinet could offer any additional safety. It might only give him seconds, but maybe that’s everything he needs. 

With trembling fingers, Stiles pulls his phone out of his jacket. He doesn’t even think about calling the police or Jordan. He calls Brett. 

The doorknob rattles. 

“Hey, Stiles!” Lori answers in a singsong. There is soft music in the background and something that could be the soft rumble of an engine. 

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. “Is Brett there?” 

“Yes, sorry, I’m driving.” 

There’s a thump on the door, and Stiles covers his mouth to stop the panicked sound. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. He swallows, lowers his hand, and scratches his neck. “I fucked up,” he whispers, voice cracking all over again. There’s no way Lori and Brett haven’t heard that. “I need your help.” 

“Where are you?”

“The hotel downtown.” Stiles licks his lips, watching the doorknob wriggle again. “Brett, I’m sorry, I—“

“Stiles!” By the sound of it, Donovan slams his hand against the door multiple times, every punch feels angrier than the one before. “Open the fucking door.” 

“Is that Donovan?” Brett asks over the sound of his engine howling as he seemingly puts off changing gears in favor of gaining speed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers again, backing away until he bumps against the sink. “I thought—“ 

“Stiles, don’t apologize.” The engine quiets. Besides the music, Stiles can hear Lori talking to someone. Her voice is muffled enough that he cannot make out what she says, but she sounds hectic. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” Although Brett can’t see it, Stiles nods. Brett breathes in and out audibly. “Listen to me. I need you to find a weapon. Whatever you can get your hands on, you hear me?” 

Again, Stiles nods, frantically looking around the bathroom, while Donovan is trying his best to get through the door. But there is nothing in this bathroom. What did he expect? This is a hotel. There are no personal items. There is nothing he could use — and it’s not like it matters. Donovan isn’t human. “I can’t—“ Stiles cuts off, feeling his throat close up. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. “I can’t find anything. There’s nothing here.” 

“Where are you right now?” Brett’s voice sounds unbelievably soft given the current circumstances. 

Stiles can’t tell if this is relaxing or stressing him more. All he knows is that there is nothing in this room that is going to help him against whatever Donovan is — or what he’s got planned. There is only Brett, but Brett is not here. Not yet anyway. “The bathroom.” Stiles swallows, grabbing the sink to stay upright even though every part of his body wants to drop to the floor and hide in the corner. “Please, Brett…” he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking him to do. He’s on the phone with him. He’s on his way here. What more does he want? To get out of here. Stiles digs his blunt nails into the skin of his neck. To get out of here with his bodily autonomy still mostly untouched. 

He’s worked for months to remember that his body belonged to him. Every day, Stiles is still struggling with it. That’s why he goes to those parties. Because the bruises and the pain are his choices. They are a reminder that this is his body, and he can do with it whatever the fuck he wants. He can destroy himself. He can rebuild himself. 

The door shudders. 

“Stiles?” Brett calling his name drags him out of his head. “Talk to me, Gorgeous. What’s happening?”

His voice drops to a whisper. “He’s about to get in. Brett, please.” 

“I’m almost there. Just a little longer. I need to you—“

The door finally gives way to Donovan’s violence, and the small cabinet does nothing to protect Stiles any longer. 

“Please, come quick,” is the last thing Stiles allows himself to say before he drops two phones. If he wants to have at least a fleeting chance to fight, he will need both hands. “Donovan, I— let’s talk about this.” ‘Let’s talk about this’? Stiles wants to bang his head against the wall. He can’t believe that’s the first and only thing he came up with.  

Donovan rolls his shoulders. There’s still blood on his cheek. “You should know how this goes, Stilinski,” he says in a low voice, advancing on him slowly — like he has all the time in the world. Perhaps he didn’t hear his conversation with Brett. Maybe, just maybe, Donovan does not have super-hearing. “The more you struggle, the more it’s gonna hurt.”

The bathroom is in no way big enough to rush past him, Stiles well and truly cornered himself coming here, but he’s trying anyway. That way, he at least goes down fighting. 

Donovan doesn’t even have to put any effort into catching him. He simply grabs him around the waist. For a brief second, he lifts him off his feet like Stiles is nothing more to him than a little unruly child that needs to be put into a timeout. “We could have had fun, you know?” Donovan snaps, clearly nearing the end of his patience as he curls his free hand into Stiles’ hair. “But you had to make it difficult.” 

And just like that, Donovan smashes Stiles’ head against the sink. 

The pain doesn’t come immediately. For a little while, there is nothing. That’s what it feels like at least. There is no light. There is no pain. There isn’t even any sound. All of that only returns when he opens his eyes. 

Stiles groans, pressing his eyes shut again. Light explodes behind his lids. The pain makes him sick. There are hands on his body, cold and rough, dragging him over hard tiles. He should open his eyes. He has to open his eyes. But he can’t. His lids feel too heavy. His whole body feels so fucking heavy. But someone moves it. Someone moves him. His elbow connects with the hard ground. The pain shooting up his arm startles his brain into action again. 

He’s inside the bathroom. 

Those hands touching him belong to Donovan. 

He’s not wearing any pants. 

“No,” Stiles mumbles, trying to move as a cold finger hooks into his boxer briefs. “Stop. Please. Stop.” He twists his hips, but Donovan’s grip is vice-like. There’s no getting away. There’s nothing he can do. Stiles forces his eyes open. The lashes of his left eye stick to his skin. There’s blood on the floor. Blood on his skin. Blood on the rug in front of the bathtub. What happens here tonight will leave a stain. Eventually, the hotel will throw it out. Because it doesn’t matter. They might never know what happened here. If they do, they’ll hide it. Nobody wants to rent a room where somebody was raped. 

He sobs.

His stomach heaves violently when Donovan raises his hips off the floor. There’s a tug on his boxer briefs. 

Then his body collapses onto the floor. 

Something crashes behind him. 

“Stiles!” Feet appear in his vision. The tip of white sneakers dips into his blood. “Stiles. It’s me. It’s Lori.” She crouches down next to him, offering him a hand. His blood drenches her jeans. She doesn’t seem bothered. 

Stiles takes her hand. 

“Careful,” she whispers. Her touch is gentle as she helps him sit up. “Careful, your head.” She places a hand on his cheek, tipping his head just enough to study the damage better. “You should get that checked out.”

Nodding turns out to be a terrible idea. He closes his eyes, collapsing against the girl next to him. Another sob claws its way out his throat. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Lori curls her arms around him, pulling him as close as their awkward position allows. “It’s going to be okay.” 

It’s easy to say, and right now, it’s almost easier to believe. Stiles opens his eyes. His pants are lying in a heap next to the cabinet. His shoes have been tossed in the direction of the hallway. One has tumbled through the door. It’s now sitting next to Donovan and Brett’s legs. 

Donovan doesn’t move, pinned underneath Brett, who can’t seem to stop moving. He brings his bloody fists down and down again. There are no other sounds than Donovan’s near maniacal laughter and a fist connecting with somebody’s face. Over and over and over again. It’s a sound Stiles is more than familiar with. He’s caused it more nights than he cares to count. 

And it was all for nothing. All those fights didn’t mean shit in the end. All those nights he spent running with wolves, and he still couldn’t fight off a single supernatural creature. 

Stiles closes his eyes. 

“Hey, hey.” Lori jostles him. “Stay with us.” 

Slowly, Stiles blinks his eyes open again. His view is obstructed by a pair of legs. There is more blood on clothes, but this time, it doesn’t belong to him.

Donovan isn’t laughing any longer. 

“You gotta stay awake, Gorgeous.” Brett crouches down, smiling a little. If not for his busted knuckles and Donovan’s blood sticking to his skin, it would be easy to believe nothing at all happened.  “Can you stand?” He holds out both hands.

Stiles doubts he’ll be able to get to his feet without help, but he wants to get out of here. He needs to get away from Donovan. Swallowing dryly, he grabs Brett’s hands. They feel so different from Donovan’s. They’re so much safer, so much softer. His eyes burn at the thought of it. His throat closes up again, making it almost impossible to breathe. But he pushes through it and nods very carefully when he realizes Brett waits for his sign. 

Getting his feet under him is a slow process. Frustrating almost. His legs don’t feel like his own. The pressure in his head is sheer agony. When he stands, the world tips and turns. Stiles is pretty sure any movement might cause him to throw up. Concussion, the rational part of his brain suggests. 

“Look at that,” Brett says, the smile audible in his voice, “steady as a newborn fawn.” 

Despite himself, Stiles laughs. “Fuck you.” But the short feeling of happiness doesn’t last long. The second he takes a step forward, is the moment his legs give way, is the moment he starts sobbing again. “I’m sorry.” Stiles lets go of Brett’s hands and wraps his arms around the wolf instead, hiding his face. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve listened. I should have—“

“Hey, hey. Don’t.” Brett hugs him to his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders, and kisses the top of his head once. “There is nothing you have to apologize for. This isn’t your fault.”   

Stiles curls his fingers into Brett’s shirt, holding onto the other boy for dear life. 

“It’s okay,” Brett whispers. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

---

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #teen wolf #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:briles #*w:bthb

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Okay okay okay, I've got so much to say and I wanted to send it direct-to-you because writers don't get enough love on here and I will be the change I wanna see 😭😭😭

I just binged all of Comet Donati (so far) and want to say out the gate: not only do you have a fantastic grip on characterization, but on wordplay as well. The way you write manages to sound so casual and yet so clever at the same time, twists of words that had me going "oh!" Because how did I never think to word things like that??? It makes me feel dumb but in a really good, excited way (looking at u: describing the Missouri river as a snake with scales of silver moonlight 😭👀)

The flashbacks are so well done, cut into pieces in a way that feels dreamy and so intriguing, and I love the way it slowly builds more and more in relation to what's happening in the current day of the fic.

Which brings me back to characterisation, starting w Aegon: You have hands down one of the best interpretations of him I've ever seen??? He's so fucking vulnerable, so sweet, so charming, so kind, and yet at the same time you get the sense he's keeping everything at arms length. He's playful and loud and it prevents anyone from taking that vulnerability he has and doing something with it. He'll cross the entire city to pick a fistfight with his brother for you, and then disappear in a snap of fingers the moment it seems like a line might be crossed. That's him, that's the boy that stole my heart officer.

Baela and Rhaena ACTUALLY having personalities and agency in a fic??? Say it ain't fucking so 😭😭😭 I love them so much, and the key pieces of personality and Really interesting character design choices (the quote from Rhaenys on Baela, for example) and the fact that her conflict w Jace doesn't feel hammy or gimmicky? Using beautiful Aeg again- people have a tendency to turn their chosen character into a cardboard villain for the sake of pushing the story forward, and while he's clearly an asshole it doesn't feel like the shit that's done to Aegon where he's literally nothing else 😭😭😭

And of course, beautiful, troublesome Aemond. This living tragedy, I adore him even when I want to slap the sense into him. He's exactly like the Aemond we'd all expect, but you've managed to adapt him to a modern setting so so well, that he's the one that kept Luke along and that he fought so hard for him. I just love the humanity he has in this without losing the fact he's a pretentious bitch 😭😭😭

All in all thank you I love this fic, and I had a really surreal moment reading "Aemond x reader, Aegon x reader" and going "oooh, the Fic For Me" and then reading

KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI???

My ass cheeks gripped my chair istg, eyes rolled out, the sweat formed, actually literally the first time anyone has ever written a story here that I've seen

OK ily bye—🏃💨

BESTIE!!!!!!!!!! 😍😍 This was such an amazing surprise and it made me so wildly happy!! For the first 5ish chapters of a fic, it's always difficult for me to tell if it's really working and hitting the tone that I intended, so to see this just gives me so much reassurance that I'm doing an okay job with Comet. I love these characters and they certainly all feel real to me...but I think it's clear that I am at heart an Aegon girlie and I've never written a HOTD fic that didn't make people unwillingly fall at least a little bit in love with him. 😂 He's such a mess, but an unsuspectingly gentle and insightful one...? That's really all thanks to TGC, his vision for Aegon is the characterization I have always connected with. I cannot wait to show you what's in store for this deranged little boy band...so many things... 👀

I am thrilled that you enjoy the setting being (sort of, a little bit) Kansas City...I don't think I'm capable of writing an AU fic without having it anchored in a specific setting with ~vibez~ ...and also I've never been to Missouri before, but I've spent a LOT of time on Google Earth doing my research, so hopefully I've done it justice so far. 😁 I have a feeling...a spidey sense...that we might end up spending some significant time in Kansas City towards the end of the series...but first...many other far-flung destinations await... 👀

[brimfire-and-hellstone]

Old Name: Perrine

Other Aliases: Queen of the North Sea (royal title), Islay Lister ( 1600s-1680), Enid (1691-1755), Ersilia Donati (1756-1810), Meryem Taskiran (1830-1930), Irene Géroux (1960-present)

Fandom: n/a

FC: Anna Shaffer

Age: 623 (physically early 30s)

D.O.B: 09 August, 1400

P.O.B: the North Sea

Current Location: Grimsby, England

Nationality: English

Languages spoken: French, English, Scots Gaelic, Welsh, Italian, Turkish, Greek, Arabic (Tunisian & Darija)

Relatives:

Mahault (mother +), Randel of Bristol (father +)

Romantic/Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Significant other(s): Uilleam Lister (husband +)

Marital Status: Single

Affiliation: Her kingdom (formerly)

Alignment: Neutral Evil/True Neutral

Identity: Public

Species: Mermaid

Abilities: shape-shifting (into mermaid form, includes: a purple tail, claws, gills along the side of the torso, sharpened teeth, fins on the form side of the fore arm), sharpened eyesight & sense of smell, increased reaction time

Skills: maintains various handwriting styles, knowledge of geography & oceanography

Occupation: Writer (former), photographer (former), wedding planner, writing editor

Religion: Polytheistic

Gender: Female

Pronoun(s): She/Her

Height: 5'8.75", 174.73cm

Eyes: dark brown/ dark blue with large irises ( in mermaid form)

Hair: black

Notable physical trait(s): long flat marks on the sides of her torso (her gills when she isn't transformed), misshapen scars from hooks and spears on her left hip, back, & right leg; long, round nails

Phobia(s): n/a

Mental Disease(s): Anxiety

Physical Disease(s): n/a

How/When was this diagnosed? Perrine is a denier and also fights to deal with her anxiety by herself

One positive trait: eloquent

One negative trait: critical

Hobbies: journaling, attending art classes (sculpting & drawing), tutoring primary & secondary school students in reading & writing

Miscellaneous: 

Perrine used to own 5 cats

Her favorite flowers are the Honeysuckle, the Hellebore, & the Bluebell

She wrote nine books within the years of 1790 and 1920; Perrine keeps them with her and has never thought to publish them or even ask anyone to read any of her books

Compared to her friends and many of the other mermaids in the kingdom, Perrine was an only child

During the period when she was known simply as Enid, Perrine rarely ever spoke to anyone besides the people she worked for

History: One of the worst terrors sailors encountered in the North Sea, nobody ever knew, nor cared to ask, why the merciless, calculating Queen of the North Sea terrorized the humans so much; no one ever lived long enough to ask, if the thought ever crossed their mind. However, the reason turned out to be simple: the loss of her outspoken mother, Mahault, who granted the humans the benefit of the doubt when it came to being capable of kindness and generosity-as Perette herself was born as a result of a human who loved Mahault so dearly, he left his family and built himself a home by the water. The fear of mermaids, ungodly as they were according to the humans-especially the royal family-drove a mob to hunt down Randel and use him as bait to capture Mahault.

Perette begged the Queen and King of the mermaids, her mother having served as the former's lady-in-waiting until she made her decision to leave. When even they wanted nothing more to do with the humans and claimed they didn't want to lose any of their citizens to save Mahault, the distraught Perette took matters into her own hands. Centuries passed, and the once awe-inspiring kingdom of the mermaids in the North Sea became littered with human bones; trophies, Perette claimed they were, as well as reminders that the humans were never to be trusted.

However, the vengeful mermaid's domain did not last long, as the humans had the ability to adapt with their tools and their reckless, selfish ambition. Slowly but surely, the mermaids' beautiful home started to die off, then they themselves followed suit. Billions became thousands, Perette was one of the hundreds spared, and even she finally gave in and sought out the land as her people did, despite that it meant having to look at the humans everywhere she went. While her new home was different, her habits from her time as a queen would never cease.

#muse

[lamilanomagazine]

Calcio, Serie A: i risultati della ventiduesima giornata

Calcio, Serie A: i risultati della ventiduesima giornata. Milan-Torino 1-0: a San Siro il Milan di Pioli interrompe il periodo negativo e torna alla vittoria contro il Torino di Juric. A regalare i 3 punti ai rossoneri è il gol di Giroud che al sessantaduesimo batte Milinkovic-Savic con un colpo di testa fantastico sul cross di Theo Hernandez dalla sinistra. Empoli-Spezia 2-2: al Castellani finisce in parità tra la squadra di Zanetti e quella allenata da Gotti. Lo Spezia va in vantaggio al venticinquesimo con il rigore trasformato da Verde e al trentunesimo raddoppia con ancora il numero 10 spezino che piazza un mancino all’incrocio dei pali sul pasticcio della retroguardia di casa. L’Empoli accorcia le distanze al settantunesimo con Cambiaghi che viene servito da Caputo e fulmina Dragowski con il sinistro. I ragazzi di Paolo Zanetti agguantano il pareggio in extremis, al novantaquattresimo, con Vignato che al termine di un’azione tambureggiante si coordina e batte Dragowski con un gran tiro di collo destro. Lecce-Roma 1-1: al Via del Mare finisce in parità con una rete a testa tra la squadra di Baroni e quella di Mourinho. I padroni di casa aprono la partita con l’autorete di Ibanez che devia in porta il colpo di testa di Baschirotto sul corner battuto da Strefezza. La Roma pareggia i conti al diciassettesimo con Dybala che trasforma un calcio di rigore spiazzando Falcone. Lazio-Atalanta 0-2: allo Stadio Olimpico la Lazio di Sarri cade contro un’ottima Atalanta guidata da Gasperini. I bergamaschi trovano il gol al ventitreesimo con Zappacosta che dalla sinistra si trova il pallone in area e scaglia un pregevole destro a giro all’incrocio dei pali sul quale Provedel non può nulla. La Dea trova il raddoppio al sessantacinquesimo con Hojlund che insacca da due passi sul cross rasoterra di Lookman dalla sinistra. Udinese-Sassuolo 2-2: al Mapei Stadium va in scena un bel pareggio ricco di gol tra l’Udinese di Sottil e il Sassuolo di Dionisi. I friulani sbloccano la partita dopo ben 22 secondi con Udogie che si libera sull’out di sinistra, riceve palla da Bijol e con una finta orienta il tiro di destro verso la porta di Consigli con il pallone che finisce in buca d’angolo. Al sesto minuto pareggiano i neroverdi con Henrique che apre il piattone destro trovando una deviazione che mette fuori causa Silvestri sul suggerimento di Lurentié. Al ventottesimo l’Udinese torna in vantaggio con Bijol che in spaccata beffa consigli sulla punizione battuta da Samardzic. Il Sassuolo pareggia i conti al quarantasettesimo del primo tempo con l’autorete di Perez che devia in porta di petto il cross insidioso di Bajrami dalla destra. Bologna-Monza 0-1: al Dall’Ara la formazione brianzola allenata da Palladino si impone di misura sul Bologna di Thiago Motta. A segnare il gol decisivo è Donati che al venticinquesimo riceve un pallone lavorato bene da Petagna e sotto porta infila Skorupski. Juventus-Fiorentina 1-0: all’Allianz Stadium la Juventus di Allegri batte tra le polemiche la Fiorentina di Italiano. A regalare i 3 punti ai bianconeri è Rabiot che al trentaquattresimo batte Terracciano con un’incornata vincente dopo essersi inserito splendidamente sul cross morbido dalla destra di Di Maria. Napoli-Cremonese 3-0: al Maradona il Napoli di Spalletti vince ancora, stavolta contro la Cremonese allenata da Ballardini. Gli azzurri aprono le marcature al ventiduesimo con Kvaratskhelia che raccoglie un tentativo di allontanamento da parte di Sernicola, lo punta, rientra sul destro e incrocia la conclusione battendo Carnesecchi. Al sessantacinquesimo arriva il raddoppio con Osimhen che spinge in porta il pallone sulla torre di Kim dopo il corner battuto da Zielinski. Il Napoli cala il tris al settantanovesimo con Elmas che riceve palla in verticale da Di Lorenzo, la fa scorrere sul destro e incrocia la conclusione beffando ancora una volta Carnesecchi. Napoli a +15 sull’Inter. Hellas Verona-Salernitana 1-0: al Bentegodi il Verona di Zaffaroni vince di misura contro la Salernitana di Nicola. A segnare il gol decisivo è Ngonge che al trentunesimo, sul cross dalla sinistra di Lazovic, arriva in velocità al centro e calcia di prima intenzione infilando Sepe. Sampdoria-Inter 0-0: a Marassi regna il pareggio a reti bianche tra la squadra di casa allenata da Stankovic e l’Inter di Inzaghi. L’Inter costruisce di più rispetto alla Sampdoria, ma non concretizza. I blucerchiati difendono in maniera ordinata senza correre particolari pericoli.... #notizie #news #breakingnews #cronaca #politica #eventi #sport #moda Read the full article

[maddiesflame]

Cross + Catherine headers

like/reblog if saved © maddiesflame

#headers #cross + catherine #cross donati #catherine marcello #crosscatherine #bethany-kris #header #book headers #always #revere #unruly #cross + catherine headers #cross + catherine series #book header #bethany kris #bethany-kris headers #cross donati headers #catherine marcello headers #crosscatherine headers #header books #header book #headers books #headers book #books headers #books header #book quote headers #romance books #cross & catherine #bethany kris headers

[bookishwum]

“I don’t sugarcoat shit, Catherine.” 

“You could try for me, Cross.” 

“Especially not for you.” 

It wouldn’t do her any good. 

It didn’t benefit anyone to lie their way through life.

— Always, Bethany-Kris

#cross donati #crosscatherine #catherine marcello #always #bethany kris #mafia romance #quotes #books

[i-dont-read]

my July 2020 book ratings

# of books read: 13

Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) by Bethany-Kris ★★★☆☆

Guzzi Duet by Bethany-Kris

Unraveled (#1) ★★★★☆

Entangled (#2) ★★★★☆

DeLuca Duet by Bethany-Kris

Waste of Worth (#1) ★★★★☆

Worth of Waste (#2) ★★★☆☆

Inflict by Bethany-Kris ★★★★☆

Always (Cross + Catherine #1) by Bethany-Kris ★★★☆☆

Dirty Pool by Bethany-Kris ★★★★☆

Effortless by Bethany-Kris ★★★☆☆

The Guzzi Legacy series by Bethany-Kris

Corrado (#1) ★★★★☆

Alessio (#2) ★★★★☆

Nightfall (Devil’s Night #4) by Penelope Douglas ★★★★☆

The Rivals by Vi Keeland ★★★☆☆

#reading #books #book ratings #book recommendations #book recs #donati bloodlines #thin lives #guzzi duet #deluca duet #waste of worth #worth of waste #cross + catherine #dirty pool #guzzi legacy #bethany-kris #nightfall #devil's night #penelope douglas #vi keeland

[jacnaylor]

“I am not white.” “To me you are,” he said. The world blurred, the red-gold of Liam’s hair and the bright metal of the traps hung on the wall colliding in a rusty rainbow. Hannah pressed her hands to her eyes to stop it, to take away the look on his face. He thought he had paid her a compliment. I am the daughter of Sings-from-Books of the Kahnyen’kehàka people, she thought to say. I am the granddaughter of Falling-Day, great-granddaughter of Made-of-Bones, great-great-granddaughter of Hawk-Woman, who killed an O’seronni chief with her own hands and fed his heart to her sons. These names ran like a river through her veins, but they meant nothing to Liam. They were not the names of white women.

Sara Donati, Dawn on a distant shore

#hannah's character is just so wonderful and interesting #sara donati #dawn on a distant shore #into the wilderness #hannah bonner #quotes #this series is basically a cross between outlander and last of the mohicans #the outlander characters are briefly mentioned bc the authors are friends

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Stisaac

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Donovan Donati, Peter Hale, Deucalion

Warnings: explicit sexual content, butt plug, blow jobs, rough sex, threat of orgasm denial, bondage, public sex (sex club), Dom/sub, A/B/O, praise, biting, spanking,

Words: 2821

Kinktober: Dom/sub

Ao3 link Masterlist

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Standing beside his mate, Stiles mindlessly toys with the collar around his neck. The werefox purring softly at the feeling of the deep red leather rubbing against his skin. The name Lahey burned into the side of the leather. The gold tag between his fingers is engraved with a snarling, red-eyed wolf. They’re waiting to be let inside Moonlight, the city’s sex club. It’s their way of showing off being not only newly mated, but just how obedient Stiles is for his mate. 

Every couple is allowed a few moments in a soundproofed room to ensure the little or sub is actually ready to do this before being fully let in. And the bouncer just moved the velvet rope to allow the pair into said room. Once inside, Isaac sits down on the plush, black leather armchair and Stiles waits by the door for instructions. 

“Come here,” the wolf speaks softly, but firmly. “I want to talk to you about something before we go inside,” Isaac pats his knee. 

Stiles smiles at not having to kneel on the floor beside him as the room isn’t very big and there’s only one chair. Walking to his mate, the fox sits across his lap, crossing his legs and wrapping an arm around Isaac’s shoulders. The tight, thin black tee he’s wearing pulls above his hips and the wolf is quick to find the skin with his thumb, rubbing softly. 

“I know you like being a brat at home to get a rise out of me,” the Alpha starts, blue eyes staring at him. “But if you do it here, it won’t be a funishment, understand? I’ll paddle you in there while you wear a cock ring and I won’t take it off until tomorrow. Night,” Isaac threatens.

The fox whimpers, shoulders curling inward at the very thought. Not only being denied an orgasm for over twenty four hours, but for upsetting his mate. That’s the last thing he wants. 

“It’s okay, Pretty Boy,” Isaac tsks, curling his index finger to gently bring the fox’s gaze back to him. “I love when you’re bratty. It’s fun for the both of us,” he smiles before his tone grows serious. “But if they think I can’t keep you in line, they’ll challenge my claim on you. They will try to take you from me.”

Werefoxes are incredibly rare creatures. An Omega fox might not produce another fox, but any offspring is guaranteed to be supernatural. Add that into the submissive nature of an Omega and any Alpha would consider themselves lucky to be mated to him. Stiles isn’t even a little surprised that someone might try to take him for any reason they seem fit. Like Isaac not being fit to be his Alpha. 

“I-I don’t want that,” Stiles’ eyes grow wide, panic rising in his chest. Not only would the other Alphas try to steal him, they’d try to kill Isaac in their attempts too. The fox considers himself very lucky with his mate. Actually having been friends and knowing one another before the mating. Not being arranged by their parents. Their bond is true. He won’t risk losing that for anything in the world. 

Isaac is just as much his as he’s the wolf’s. 

“I know,” the Alpha slides his hand to Stiles’ jaw, stroking his cheek and pulling him closer. “So be my good boy, yeah?” 

“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles says, exposing his throat to the wolf. 

“Ready?”

The fox allows himself a moment to curl his fingers into his mate’s hair a little longer. To take a deep breath and expunge any residual anxiety about tonight here and now. Stiles trusts Isaac with his life and will do everything in his power to ensure the feeling is mutual. Opening his amber eyes, the Omega finds the wolf smiling fondly at him. 

“I’m ready,” Stiles states, getting off of the Alpha’s lap and kneeling on the floor beside him. Thinking that he’s meant to crawl behind him as he’s seen others do for their Alphas. 

But Isaac holds out his hand, “I won’t make you crawl the whole way, Pretty Boy. We’re here to celebrate, remember?” The Alpha smiles, helping the fox to his feet. Extending his arm, allowing Stiles to wrap his own around it, “just stay close to me, we’ll be home soon. Let’s have some fun first.” The wolf winks at him and opens the door to the club, dark party music flooding the small space they’re in. 

Stiles keeps his eyes down, following Isaac as he guides them through the place. The fox picks up every sound and scent instantly. Flushing his cheeks and sending warmth down his spine. Sex. It’s all sex. Moans and cries of ecstasy, deep voices of praise, feminine words of degradation much to their pet’s enjoyment. So much arousal that Stiles feels drunk off of it, his nose tucks into Isaac’s upper arm. At least he doesn’t have to go to the main stage. That might be more anxiety than he could handle. 

Tonight, he and his mate will be on one of the side stages. Stage is kind of an over exaggeration. It’s a corner of the club with a massive, plush couch on a floor a step higher than the rest. Unlike the other portions of the club, there’s no curtain to be pulled if they want their privacy. Stiles will be on display for anyone who chooses to walk by. Or sit and admire in one of the several chairs surrounding their area. In fact, there’s already a few people sitting waiting for them to arrive. 

Stiles recognizes their scents from the meetings he’d been put through before Isaac made it vocal that he wanted to be the fox’s mate. Deucalion, newly seeing demon wolf, has killed his last three mates during the claiming because they didn’t submit ‘properly’. Donovan, wendigo, a cruel boy Stiles went to school with, notorious for his speciesist nature. And Peter. Outcasted Hale pack Alpha. Relinquished his pack rights to his nephew for killing his niece in a fit of rage for her position. Three of the worst people the fox could have watching him right now. 

The Omega’s fingers dig into his mate’s arm.  

Isaac stops at the edge of their seats, inclining his head towards the fox, “wait for me here,” he instructs. All softness gone from the wolf, fully sheathed in his role now. Or at least, it appears that way for the other Alphas. For Stiles, when he kneels on the ground, palms flat against his thighs, Isaac tenderly pats his head, placing a soft kiss in his hair, “that’s my Pretty Boy.” 

The praise goes to his heart just as much as it does other areas of the fox’s body. A blush burns Stiles’ cheeks as he keeps his gaze trained on the floor. Isaac’s feet leave his field of vision and it takes only a moment for the fox’s nerves to come back. Realistically, his mate is all of three feet away from him making sure everything he’d asked for is here. It’s the fact that he can feel the other Alphas staring at him. Their eyes burning holes in the sides of his body. 

A chair to his left creaks and Stiles freezes. 

“Tell me something, Stilinski,” Donovan’s voice crones beside him, “what are you doing with Lahey? If you were that pressed for a mate, you know you could’ve asked me in school. I’d gladly have taken care of you. Still would,” the last words come out gravelly. Like it’s meant to be an enticing offer. 

All it does is make bile rise in his throat. But Stiles won’t give in. The fox is smarter than that. He doesn’t even look at Donovan, much less acknowledge that he was spoken to. Because it wasn’t Isaac who spoke to him. Stiles knows the rules. The Omega’s eyes remain locked on the hardwood floor, trying to let the thumping music drown out the wendigo. 

“Come on,” he pushes further and Deucalion laughs. Stiles knows it’s meant to get a rise out of him. To prove that Isaac is incapable of keeping his sub in line. But the threat of losing his Alpha is too great, Stiles simply won’t entertain it. “You can talk to me, sweet thing.” 

The use of that name almost makes Stiles snap. 

But Isaac is quicker, “you’re here to watch, Donati.” His mate spits the name like an insult. “Speak to him again and I’ll throw you out of here myself.” The wolf’s words are snarled and the fox can hear Donovan’s mouth click closed. “Stiles, come.” 

Isaac said he didn’t have to crawl the whole time. He’d allowed him to walk into the club, meaning he can’t now. Time to show these Alphas that Stiles knows exactly how to listen and exactly how to be good. That if anyone is going to have ‘control’ over him, it’s Isaac. Never them. Never anyone else. Leaning forward on his hands and knees, the fox crawls up the singular step to reach his mate. Resting back on his knees once he reaches the couch, Stiles awaits further instruction. 

His Alpha sits on the couch, “up here,” he states. In the fox’s motions to get on the couch, he sees purple dyed rope resting in Isaac’s hands along with a gag. His punishment should Stiles not cooperate. Placing the items beside him, the wolf works on unbuttoning Stiles’ shirt, making a show of sliding the fabric off his arms. Donovan whistles, but the fox’s eyes are on the colored rope. “Lie back,” Isaac tells him, slowly tugging his slacks off. Leaving the fox in nothing but his boxers and his collar. “Hands.”

Stiles sits back up, crossing his legs before presenting his hands to his Alpha. Isaac wraps an intricate design around his wrists, blue eyes flicking up to his face when he tugs. The fox nods, silently telling his mate they’re good but not so tight that they hurt. He’ll be able to tug on them if need be with minimal pinching from the rope. Without speaking, the wolf guides him down onto all fours, securing the other end of the rope to a clasp at the bottom of the couch. The angle forces Stiles into a presenting pose and the Alphas sitting near them rumble with delight. The only one the fox cares about is the pleased one coming from his mate. 

Staying in the Omega’s line of sight, Isaac takes his jacket off and unbuttons the sleeves of his dress shirt as well as three buttons down on the front. Exposing his chest for the fox’s eyes to flicker at. Stiles really appreciates the Alpha always staying where he can see him for the time being. Keeping him grounded with Isaac rather than thinking about where they are. 

Though it only lasts for a moment, Stiles is grateful. His mate steps in front of him, unzipping his pants and pulling them down to his ankles. "Open wide, Pretty Boy," the wolf instructs, taking his cock out of his briefs and pointing it towards his mouth. "All the way in or you don't get to cum tonight, understand?" 

"Yes, Alpha," the fox says, opening his mouth and flattening his tongue. Precum smears on his taste buds, making the Omega groan with glee. Relaxing his throat and taking steady breaths, Stiles eagerly takes the intrusion of his mate's cock. He moans as his mate sets a rough pace, slamming into his throat hard enough to make him gag. 

But Stiles knows better, he won't let the wolf out of his mouth. Even if he needs a moment to catch his breath, the fox bobs his head in smaller motions until he can take Isaac's entire length again. Fingers fist his hair, pushing his head down until Stiles' nose presses against his mate's tuft of hair. Drool dribbles out of the corners of his mouth, tears pricking his eyes at the short jabs to the back of his throat. 

"Good boy," Isaac praises, suddenly removing his cock with a hiss of breath. Leaving the fox gasping for air, lips swollen and slick. The wolf kicks his shoes and pants off.

 Isaac walks behind him, the only indication of where he is is the dip in the chaise lounge by his feet. Fingers curl into the waistband of his boxers, just as slowly as his shirt, pulling the fabric down. Helping the fox get them off his feet evokes a tiny whine from his lips. Stiles had nearly forgotten all about the plug nestled in his ass. Isaac knew that Stiles was okay with this, but would want it over as quickly as possible and prepped him before they even left the house. 

"Watching them being stretched open is the best part," Donovan complains under his breath. 

"Oh hush," Peter snaps at the wendigo, "now he can just slide right in without having to wait."

"Exactly," Deucalion adds, "I can't blame Lahey one bit for wanting to get inside him as soon as possible after that." 

Whatever response Donovan had is missed by the fox, Isaac twirling the plug inside him before pulling it out, slick and lube sliding out of his puckering hole. It lands with a soft thud where the wolf tosses it on his pile of clothes. Without warning or hesitation, Isaac thrusts himself fully inside and Stiles throws his head back with a loud moan, jerking the ropes. The fox's eyes roll back, fighting the urge to grind against his mate. Isaac won't appreciate that here and the Omega really doesn't want the gag. 

His limbs tremble with the focus of not moving. Waiting for the wolf to start. Thankfully, by some shred of mercy, Isaac doesn't make the Omega wait forever. Just long enough until Stiles puffs out short, little breaths to keep control of himself. Enough that the Alphas know he's a good sub to Isaac that despite it being clear he wants to move, Stiles doesn’t. That his patience is well suited. His mate languidly pulls back, snapping his hips forward and the fox keens. Palms biting into the rope with how hard Stiles clings to them, loving the harsh thrusts of Isaac ramming into his prostate. 

Isaac's hand slaps his ass, the sting adding to the Omega’s pleasure. "If you cum, you cum untouched, I won’t help you. And if you don't ask for my permission, I will flog you with a rod in your cock to make sure you can't cum again. Am I clear, little one?" 

Stiles whimpers through his moans, shakily responding, "y-yes, Alpha." 

"Good boy," his mate praises with an increase in pace, their thighs slapping against one another roughly. The sinful sound of the lube adding to Stiles' experience, nerve endings pulsing with need. Isaac grips his hips hard enough to bruise, railing into him with abandon. 

His moans are punched out of the fox, his vision swimming with blissful tears. Stiles' insides burn with need, sparks shooting down his spine as his orgasm rises at a snarling rate. Granted, wearing a plug for over and hour and the wolf fucking his throat had the fox teetering on the edge, he just didn't know it. 

The abuse to the bundle of nerves has the Omega seeing stars. "C-cum. Isaac, A-Alpha, please. Can I cum, please? Please," Stiles babbles his begs. Pleading to let go, clenching himself so tightly to prevent it until Isaac tells him it's okay. He might not make it. The fox can feel his mate's knot beginning to swell. Shit, he’s really not going to make it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The Omega mewls, “please.”

With a snarl, Isaac reaches down and slashes through his restraints. Yanking Stiles up to his chest as he fucks him harder. "Cum for me, Pretty Boy," his mate growls, sinking his fangs into the mark he'd left less than a month ago. 

Stiles screams through his moan, shooting his cum on the couch in front of him. He barely gets a moment to catch his breath before Isaac's thrusts get jagged and his knot catches the rim. Throwing his head back, his mate howls out a moan, filling Stiles with his thick, hot cum. Isaac's knot ensures Stiles is full to almost bursting. It's the best feeling and the fox purrs.

Isaac caresses his chest, carefully getting the fox to lay down on their sides. "You did so good, Pretty Boy. I'm proud of you," he says, rumbling in his chest as he nuzzles the healing mark. "You're mine, little one," his mate rubs soft circles along the Omega’s stomach. 

"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles mumbles, tired eyes seeing the other Alphas have left them alone. Satisfied in the fox's temperament and his mate's treatment. Stiles will be a sub to no one else but Isaac. 

They made sure of that.

#stisaac #stiles stilinski #isaac lahey #isaac x stiles #stiles x isaac #teen wolf #kinktober vol. 2 #Match Writes

[daybrights]

Cross & Catherine are still living in my mind rent free months after reading their books.

Mayhaps mafia romances deserve rights and it's all because of them.

#cross x catherine #Donati Bloodlines

[thetudorslovers]

Little is known about Lucrezia Donati,excepting the sweet and sincere affair with Lorenzo de Medici which bought her life in the attention of everyone .

She was the daughter of Manno Donati and Caterina Bardi, a Florentine dame, who belonged to an extinct family tree, being the last descendant. From 1461 she was the mistress of Lorenzo il Magnifico,a platonic love,until Lorenzo later married the Italian noble Clarice Orsini.( It is rumored that in 1486, Lorenzo remembered the poems he had written for her when he was 16 in the poem Corinto.)

Lucrezia is betrothed to textile merchant Niccolò, son of Piero Ardinghelli and Caterina Strozzi, who is cousin to Alessandra Macinghi Strozzi. His family, like the Strozzi, suffered exile in 1430s for beint anti-Cosmoists; Niccolò was resident in Pera (now known as Beyogu), a merchant colony near Istanbul, but the future bridegroom had his sentence revoked since 1446. It is also possible Niccolò married Lucrezia without a dowry. [Thanks vinicitrice.tumblr.com for this piece of this translated information]

In spring 1465, at the marriage of Braccio Martelli and Constanza de’ Pazzi, Lorenzo bestows Lucrezia with a clutch of violets, a symbol used throughout his love poems which his friends have mocked, along with the alleged cuckolded husband.

She was also a charitable and kind person. In 1487 Lucrezia donates a relic of the true Cross (now lost) to the Basilica di Santa Trinita. 

In 1501 Lucrezia dies and is buried in the Ardinghelli Chapel in the Basilica di Santa Trinita, Florence. Her husband died 5 years earlier during his exile.

Source: britannica.com and //www.google.com/amp/s/vinicitrice.tumblr.com/post/109434306860/will-the-real-lucrezia-donati-please-stand-up/amp

#perioddramaedit #history #edit #history edit #lucrezia donati #laura haddock #dvdedit #da vinci's demons #niccolo ardinghelli #mediciedit #i medici #lorenzo il magnifico #graphic #aesthetic #historical #women in history #renaissance italy #women of renaissance #renaissance #16th century #15th century #manno donati #caterina bardi #lorenzo de medici #italiansedit #italian history #lucretia donati #renaissance women

[nightingaletrash]

Thinking some more about Amicia becoming a Blood Trader once she arrives in Seattle...

I’m thinking she runs a restaurant. It functions to serve both mortals and Kindred, a place renowned for classy dining and an intriuging loyalty scheme which can earn a person access to the private lounge. By default, any Kindred has right to claim membership and is permitted access to the lounge, which was declared an Elysium by Prince Cross when he permitted Amicia to open the restaurant, but she maintains the right to revoke access all together if a Kindred violates her house rules. It is her little slice of domain after all.

If the infraction is serious enough, she might even destroy the offending Kindred. In spite of the short time she’s been in Seattle, she’s accrued a lot of influence with Cross and he tends to retroactively call a Blood Hunt on the deceased provided she can prove the offender deserved it. There’s plenty of Kindred in the city who are certain that Amicia just straight up bribes him into it, if not with cash then with blood, but so far she’s stayed in his good graces.

Mortals, meanwhile, have to ‘earn’ their way into the loyalty scheme and the private lounge.

Ghouls are permitted inside on behalf of their Regnants, but if the Ghoul breaks any rules, they will be slain on the spot and the Regnant will have their membership revoked until they make amends.

Blood Dolls ‘owned’ by the Camarilla may be permitted inside, but they have to be vouched for and any rule breaking will result in the Doll’s destruction. Unlike ghouls however, a Kindred will not lose rights to the Elysium unless it’s proven that the rules were broken on said-Kindred’s orders.

Certain mortals who become regular diners may be marked as ‘favourable’ for becoming Blood Dolls by staff members. These cases may then be reviewed by Amicia, and any who are deemed acceptable will eventually be offered membership. The process can be somewhat lengthy, as Amicia prefers to attend to it personally, and ensure that no mistakes are made. While she has next to no regard for the Traditions, she’s not stupid. She has the chance to truly flourish in Seattle, and she’s not throwing that away out of pride, so maintaining the Masquerade is of the utmost importance.

Blood generally comes from the mortal diners, besides the Blood Dolls. Some mortals are duped into unwittingly signing up for a sanguine extraction under the guise of a tour of the kitchen and the in-house ‘winery.’ The experience ends with a mind wipe, implant of false memories, and a complimentary meal to counteract the effects of the blood loss. This makes it easier to secure particular blood types for the city’s Ventrue, and allows for the staff to make a note on any mortals that could make valuable Blood Dolls, or is just a good source of a blood type that’s tricky to get.

Naturally Amicia’s deal with Donati was only applicable when she was Celeste, so the SI remains a problem. A couple of agents have ended up Blood Bound and put to work identifying any potential infiltrators, whether that’s to mislead them or use them as cattle in the ‘winery’ where they’re liable to die. The former is more common than the latter as it draws less attention, but sometimes you get a secret agent that’s super tasty or perfect for some picky Ventrue and you don’t look a gift mortal in the blood mouth.

Family gets a discount, but they still have to pay because she’s not running a damn charity.

#vtm #amicia de lacroix #it's imperative that the place has a french name while also alluding to blood so i'll be thinking on that #what are the odds that millicent ends up working with her? and they paint the restaurant as a 'family run establishment' #millicent: I let her be in charge because people love seeing a pretty young woman succeeding. it's good for business.

[niallloverontheloose]

“Heroic Leadership”

https://princeescaluswords.tumblr.com/post/645459285376139265/what-do-you-think-are-scotts-most-heroic-moments#notes

@princeescaluswords:

This is the one that’s going to get me into trouble. Again, this is a moment where there’s no clear villain to defeat. This is about the lines that Scott and the people who follow him can’t cross.

Scott: Stiles, we can’t kill the people that we are trying to save!

The chimeras are victims of the Doctors, even ones that aren’t nice, like Donovan Donati. They need someone to speak up for them. Scott has to do this. He has to draw a line, even for his best friend. I may hate this scene, and I do, but it’s still an absolute moment of heroic leadership. If you believe is something, in the principle that victims of the powerful must be protected, you can’t give yourself exceptions to make your life easier.

//

I can’t believe that Scott Stans are still trying to sell Scott’s self righteous hypocrisy as “heroic leadership” despite canon contradicting their bs each and every single time…

If Scott McCall is so virtuous and truly believes that victims of the powerful must be protected without exceptions, then WHY Scott made an exception for Deucalion (who killed Boyd and Erica for power), for Theo (who murdered Josh and Tracy for power) just it benefitted him and made his life easier?

The Scott McCall Delusional Squad bunch claim that “Scott has to draw a line” and punish Stiles for daring to neutralize a threat and for defending himself and his father without Scott’s permission, because “these are the lines that Scott and the people who follow him can’t cross”; and yet we saw Scott cross these lines countless times in canon. And Scott ‘My Ends Justify My Means’ McCall NEVER held himself accountable for it.

So much heroic leadership indeed /sarcasm

Also:

“Season 3A: The Overlooked (3x10)

They’re trapped in a hospital between a Darach who might be the only person who can save Cora and the Sheriff. Scott has stopped Derek from attacking Jennifer, stopped Stiles from going off the deep end, and he’s stopped Peter from trying to convince them to torture her, all his mother has been captured and threatened by Deucalion and the Alpha Pack”

@princeescaluswords does really love employing ableist tropes, language and stereotypes to bash Stiles and prop Scott up, doesn’t he? “Going off the deep end” is such a nice way to dehumanize, denigrate, and vilify a canonical neurodivergent hero whose only crime was being a badass and eclipsing Scott’s whiny ass from day one without even trying. Then again: Escalus is the very same piece of trash who claims pointing out that Scott is canonically obsessed with Allison – to the point that Scott’s biggest fear is Allison having sex with his rival (Jackson) and that he abused Isaac just because he interacted with her – is “racist” ……..

#anti scott mccall #anti tyler posey #submission

[40sbarnes]

Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Chapter 10: Home Sweet Home

gosh this chapter was difficult but i hope you enjoy!! i’m considering taking a break this week to catch up with things and to give you the best fic i can, but i’ll let you know before wednesday anyways! thanks for reading <3

pairings: lorenzo x reader (no really!), platonic¿ francesco x reader

tag list; @brynthebulldozer @mythicalamphitrite @nana035 @valravnsraven @hannahhistorian92 (lmk if you want to be added!)

The cool air was seeping into your skin as the minutes ticked by. You felt everything so strongly at once that you almost felt numb. You had thought you were being clever with Lorenzo but perhaps you were being the exact opposite. He probably didn't even care that you'd murdered a man last night. It was probably the norm for him. Maybe he cared that it could be traced back to him, but only that. All this time you'd justified going against the Pazzi's, Francesco, because of how cruel Jacopo was, you almost believed that Lorenzo was the right side. But now you were uncertain there even was such a thing.

You stood watching Lucrezia's door for far too long before you headed home. Sniffling slightly from the rain, you shrugged off Lorenzo's cloak once you were inside, curling up into your own bed. It wasn't of the luxury you'd become accustomed to, but it was without stress and worry and you were more than happy to rest your head in your own home. Although your body had finally stopped moving, your mind was not slowing down any time soon. You were desperately searching for a solution to your list of problems. You kept landing on one option. Leave. If you did it right, you could run, leaving all this behind and starting anew somewhere else. It wasn't ideal, but what else could you do? And would the richest bankers in the country really care enough about little old you to antagonise you further? But could you afford that option, that was the better question.

You pulled yourself out of bed, moving over to the corner of the room to force up one of the floorboards. You retrieved your secret stash of money. It wasn't often you added to it, what with the expenses of staying alive, but it had definitely grown due to recent advancements in your career. Still, it wasn't nearly enough. You pondered just how much cutlery you'd have to borrow from Lorenzo to make your break for it. Too much. On that topic, Lorenzo still owed you for the other night. That was probably your best bet, do a few more odd jobs and save all the coin you can. With Pazzi's and then Lorenzo's subsequent pay it wouldn't take too long. But time was of the essence. You felt like you were arguing with yourself over and over. It was exhausting. A gentle knock on your door put the fight on hold.

You quickly (and silently) hid your gold again before sliding the board back into place. The palm of your hand falls onto the handle of your blade as you near the door. You creaked it open slowly, stopping less than halfway and peering out before going any further.

Lorenzo stood there, the rain flattening his hair against his head. His eyes were focused elsewhere before you answered the door. You instantly open the door fully, and pull him in by the arm, peeking out afterwards to make sure no one saw.

"What do you think you're doing?" You hissed, why was he risking visiting you, after neglecting to talk to you all day. When you turned from closing the door you noticed just how little room you'd left between you when you hurried him in.

"I had to see you," he sighed as if it was a valid excuse. He ran a hand through his hair as if it would do any good.

"Whatever for?" You crossed your arms, having enough of his antics for one day already.

"Don't play coy, y/n, you said yourself we had to talk," he rolled his eyes at your words, although his smile gave away his lack of annoyance.

"I did. Hours ago," you reminded him, clearly still holding onto resentment.

"Why did you leave? Where were you?" He ignored your statement. "I asked you to stay," he sounded wounded, his voice wasn't as solid as it usually seemed, it didn't float throughout the room, it just trickled into your ears and your ears only.

"You're not as important to me as you think you are, Lorenzo," you teased, but almost regretted your words as you watched his features fall.

He quickly composed himself. "We still needed to talk."

"I'm not denying that fact, but I can't just wait around for you all day. Hard to imagine but I do have a life outside of Lorenzo de Medici," you were growing impatient once again.

"I apologise. I truly didn't think I would be longer than a moment with Clarice but..." he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I waited for some time. What happened with Clarice that took so long?" You were not going to admit your stalking to Lorenzo.

"It wasn't really Clarice, she didn't take much time to refuse my proposal a second time," he smirked, his eyes appearing mismatched to his mouth.

"I'm sorry," you reached out, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze before retracting your hand to your side.

"It's fine, really," Lorenzo's eyes focused on his own arm as if watching the ghost of your gesture, "she brought up Lucrezia."

"Oh," you didn't know what else to say.

"And I was reminded that I had plans to meet her last night."

"You didn't?" Finally an ounce of sincerity entered your tone.

Lorenzo looked at you with a smile as his eyebrow quirked in confusion. "I was with you?"

"I guess I thought you'd left sometime after I'd-" he didn't let you finish your thought.

"No, y/n, I wouldn't-" he shook his head, moving on from your unfinished sentences, "honestly I forgot. And Lucrezia Donati is not a woman to forget about. She made that much clear." His eyes glanced to the side as his mind was elsewhere. You didn't bother answering, instead waited for him to continue.

"She wasn't happy. I can't imagine I'll see much more of her. In all honesty it's probably for the best. I don't have time for dalliances such as that right now, not with the vote in two weeks," you stayed silent for a moment as you realised how wrong your assumptions had been.

"I'm sorry to hear," you decided on, not sure how true the statement was.

"Don't be. You take up so much of my time annoying me these days I'll hardly have time to dwell on it." You shared a slight chuckle at his words, but you didn't have a reply.

"Enough about me," he spoke when you failed to, "how are feeling?" His tone softened again, and you knew what he was asking about.

"I'm fine," you nodded, your lips turned upwards, although it could not be described as a smile. Your eyes shone as you held back the tears.

Lorenzo's hand fell onto your elbow, not needing you to speak anything else. "I'm very grateful for you, y/n. I hope you know that." His thumb brushed against the fabric of your dress.

You weren't so grateful for him, usually, but in that moment he was greatly appreciated. You bit your lip, deciding whether or not to let the words passed. "He was like me, Lorenzo, he was just doing a simple job."

"He attempted to murder you, you didn't have much of a say in the matter," he reminded you, his hand moving to brush your hair behind your ear, "besides, he is nothing like you. He never could be. No one could." Your eyes met at his words, your close proximity to one another had suddenly become painfully intimate. You felt vulnerable under his state, you despised it.

You spoke to break the tension. "I regret leaving earlier." You didn't.

"No. I deeply regret leaving you. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm just glad you're well." He almost seemed truthful. "Still, it's probably best you rest up."

You nod in reply, exhaustion had seeped into your heart at this point. His lingering hand pulls away, you almost lean after it, missing the warmth. Almost.

"Can we speak more tomorrow?" Lorenzo questions.

"Of course," you hum. He turns to leave, but you move with him, "Lorenzo?" your fingers close around his wrist to stop him from going any further.

"Yes?"

"Thank you." You throw your arms around his neck, closing the space between you. His arms move around your waist almost immediately, your chin resting on his shoulder as he holds onto you. The embrace lasts a few moments too many, before he leaves you, staring at a door once again. 

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