#'i was brought up to respect life and that's impossible with all this killing'!!!!!!!!!!!

[babyangelsky]

BL Challenge 2k24 ✨Day 7✨

Hello and welcome to @negrowhat's 15 Day BL Challenge! Full challenge can be found here.

Favorite Villain: Korn Theerapanyakul

It isn't often that we get an actual villain in a BL. We have plenty of love rivals but those are rarely ever villains in the true sense of the word. We also have a large, unfortunate array of shitty parents and parental figures, some of which absolutely do fall into the villain category, but they don't deserve my effort or your attention.

But then we have Korn.

Korn is a villain. Make absolutely no mistake about that. This man has dedicated his life to playing 4D chess with everyone around him, including and especially his sons, and he's brilliant at it. There is never a moment where he isn't in control, there is never a moment where he hasn't thought at least five steps ahead, and he has very few blind spots.

What gets me—and what makes him that much more insidious in my opinion—is how he presents himself to the world.

♡ gif by @guzhufuren from this set

"This man, a villain? Never! He's just a nice, soft-spoken dad in a sweater vest! Sure he's a bit intimidating but he's in the mafia, it's to be expected. And just look at how accepting he is of his gay sons! He's looking at a photo of his son and his son-in-law and smiling, isn't that lovely?"

False!

Korn's image is perfectly curated and if you only look on the surface, from the outside that's exactly what he is: a nice dad and a respectable businessman. He's rational, calm, and level-head, especially when you compare him to Gun—which you can't not do. It's impossible to have a conversation about Korn without talking about Gun, who is absolutely just as bad and who I easily could've chosen.

The difference is that Gun's evil is overt and in a way, it's more...honest because of it. He's not out here pretending to be a good person or trying to be anything other than exactly what he is. What you see is what you get. However, I chose Korn precisely because of that insidiousness, because his evil appears so much more subtle but only when it remains in the shadows.

♡ gif by @kinnbig from this set

Because when everything gets brought to light? Hoooooo BOY.

This man kept his foster sister in isolation under lock and key for years after he killed her husband and took her away from her two little boys. Then he left those little boys in the care of a degenerate gambler and watched them sink further and further into debt. And that's only the thin end of the wedge! If we got into all the ways he fucked up his OWN boys, we'd be here all damn day.

Kidnapping on perhaps more than one occasion, a hit squad, Kim's entire personality, Kinn's emotional range, need I go on?

But getting back to Porsche and Chay, Korn could've helped them at literally any point but he didn't lift a finger until they grew up and became useful to him. He could've cleared their debts, paid for Chay's education, provided for them, kept them from getting remotely close to a situation were men were beating them and trashing their home. But he did exactly none of that because whatever sense of obligation Korn might have felt toward them absolutely pales in comparison to his need for control.

♡ gif by @kinnbig from this set

That's what this all comes down to: control. The world is a chessboard and everyone in Korn's orbit is a piece on it. He proposed an outcome for himself and he got it.

He made sure Kinn was cemented as head of the main family and found a way to cement Porsche as head of the minor family. He got rid of Gun and the threat he presented and succeeded in burying the truth of what happened to Porsche's parents with him, because the truth that Korn gave simply is not the whole truth. It never will be because divulging the truth means giving up control, and that is something he will never do.

I could literally talk for hours about Korn. He's a fascinating character. He's got so many layers. Bottom line?

Este señor es el mismísimo diablo. This man is the living breathing devil.

[vechter]

👀 please elaborate on ur Cass and Damian thoughts, I’m also always thinking about what their dynamic could’ve been

omg i have so many!!!

okay, so initially, in batgirl 2009 #5 (iffy about character portrayals in this comic but that's a whole other thing), we see damian kind of anticipatory and even excited to meet cass:

it's super interesting to me because at that point, damian is still grappling with being a product of the league, still very much figuring out his role in this group of people his father chose.

and cass is one of them. cass, who's respected and considered formidable even by the loa. cass, who has also killed! i think in damian's eyes, they've had similar upbringings and he probably expects a certain degree of kinship with her.

because yes, dick, steph and alfred are coming to accept him, have purposely and actively showed that they care for him but they don't understand him! they don't know what growing up in that kind of isolation, with that demand for perfection is like.

damian's primary arc being dick's robin is about acceptance, from others but also, from himself! some heartbreaking panels below from red robin 2009 #14:

for damian, who is still actively fighting against his own instincts, who wasn't someone his father- a near mythical figure- chose, cass is someone who can, maybe, not only understand him but is also incontrovertible proof that people can change, that their childhoods don't define them. so, he already has somewhat high expectations for when they eventually meet, as we see in their first real interaction in gates of gotham 2011 #2:

gates of gotham is actually a great comic but unfortunately cannot consider the editorial nuance of cass being pushed aside by dc and removed from gotham entirely. but if you consider the implications, tim and steph definitely talk about her- probably dick and alfred, too. at this point, all of them respect and consider cass one of their own- she's accepted, she's even loved.

and that's probably something that damian is plagued and intrigued by. here's this girl who was brought up by someone the bats deem morally bankrupt, who changed her life around and went from being a would-be assassin to a hero (just like him!). she meets even his father's impossible standards, who has assigned her a whole city with batman inc. he lashes out at her when he thinks she hasn't accepted him (at this point, cass hasn't even done anything except come back to gotham lol so you can see how much damian struggles with acceptance, especially from someone he considers his peer!):

it's a deeply skewed view bc we know how much cass struggles with her own redemption but damian is still just a kid, lacking the emotional maturity to fully understand her.

i won't go into all the events of gates of gotham because it starts off with friction between them and they eventually end up working as a team and everything's sort of hunky-dory. but i think if flashpoint hadn't happened and we had actually gotten a deeply exploratory continuation of the nuances of the complicated bat-dynamics after bruce's return- we would definitely see more friction between cass and damian.

for cass, who sees everything- damian would be painful to witness. her own fears, her own guilt staring back at her. and i absolutely adore cass but she isn't going to be capable of tact or the kind of support that damian is passively seeking from everyone, but especially from her! cass is incredibly compassionate but her world-view is also so deeply jaded by her feelings about the life she took.

damian's initial robin tenure would be about developing his own moral code + coming to grips with what kind culpability he has in his own childhood- and cass would probably not see that bone-crippling regret and remorse and guilt she has, or even the one she often sees in bruce, and it would not sit right with her! sure, damian is a kid but she was a kid, too. and she can never get over what she did so for her to see damian coming to terms with his childhood would be like looking at a distorted reflection. i think it's also possible there would be something like- i don't want to say jealousy- but a complicated kind of resentment, not just from cass's end but also from damian's.

(also, a begrudging sort of respect from damian for cass's abilities expressed in somewhat snide comments)

this is not to say that they couldn't or wouldn't have a good dynamic! i think if they continued to spend time together, they would eventually come to an understanding (just like gates of gotham lol except a much more nuanced and complicated route to getting there) and while it would not be the kind of understanding either of them were expecting- it would be good! and there would be a very strong foundation of kindness in it.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

05| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: As you settle back into the Quarter, you juggle your personal and new professional life—but with the Mikaelsons, it was almost as if there was no difference between the two. Warnings: none Words: 5.6K

Masterlist | Part 6

a/n: i see this series getting long, guys; just letting you know. btw, i'm pretty much unoccupied, so u can expect new posts for this series and possibly other imagines like every 2-3 days. and tysm for all the support! anyway, i'll let you get to reading now.

I walked into the Abattoir with a façade of confidence. I was now completely sober, facing the repercussions of my drunken actions. It'd been about a week since my agreement with Elijah and he'd only just called me in to speak with him yesterday.

I was currently cursing my drunk self, but at least Marcel was now allowed back into the Quarter without any fuss. Of course, he wasn't allowed back into the slaughterhouse, but he did compel himself a nice little townhouse a few minutes of human-walking away from my place.

In New Orleans, it was always better to live in the Quarter than anywhere else. This was the heart of the city's supernatural happenings. You were both safest here and also at most danger. But I guess, if you had enemies, you wanted to be in the Quarter because, if you had a crew to roll with, then nobody would really try you.

That's how it used to be at one point in time, and that's what the factions were trying to achieve now.

I was immediately greeted after making it past the gates. "Y/N," Elijah said, walking towards me, hands held out. He wrapped an arm around me, walking me to the couches in the middle of the courtyard. I tried not to show any discomfort at the physical touch. "It's lovely to see you."

I chuckled a little. "Feeling's mutual," I replied, causing the nobleman to let out a little laugh himself. I sat down on one of the couches while he sat on the other. "So, what have we got today?"

He sighed, "The withes are unhappy because of- all due respect, Marcellus' actions."

Right. Marcel forbade anyone to do magic. While I understand his reasoning, trying to protect a little witch by the name of Davina Claire, it was cruel. To ask a witch to go without magic was like asking a human not to breathe; it was damn near impossible.

Even though I get what he was trying to do, I still didn't agree with it—but that didn't mean that I agreed with what the New Orleans witches were doing either.

"So I've heard. But I'm sure you're aware of why he did what he did." He was; otherwise, I wouldn't have brought it up. I wouldn't do anything to endanger Davina; she'd become like a family to me. I knew that the Mikaelsons knew all about Davina, the harvest, and whatnot.

"Yes, of course. To protect Davina, I understand. She is special, without a doubt." Elijah's voice with filled with nothing other than conviction; I'd expect nothing less when people were speaking about Davina.

I smiled thinking about her. "Yes, she is."

"However, it still hasn't done us any favours on a community-wide scale." Elijah ran a hand through his hair. "The witches' spokesperson, Genevieve, is just about furious with the treatment they've received." A look suddenly appeared on his face. "And considering the... interactions my family has had with her, I wouldn't want to anger her further, especially since Hayley is with child."

This was the first time my heart didn't stop at the mention of Klaus' unborn baby. Instead, I was too focused on the witch Elijah named: Genevieve. Now, this was a name Marcel had somehow neglected to inform me about, but I was well aware of who she was.

From my understanding, Rebekah Mikaelson killed her the same year the Mikaelsons fled New Orleans, sometime in the early 1900s. Marcel spilled the whole story to me one night when he was drunk.

Genevieve died. Yet, according to Elijah (and I know this is not a coincidence) she's alive leading the NOLA coven.

Great.

I responded after a beat, bringing my hands together. "Okayyy, so what are we doing?"

"Making the witches happy, love."

Now my heart stopped.

I turned my head to see Klaus just finishing walking down the stairs. "Elijah tells me you're our new... fixer." He shrugged, making his way to the minibar. "So fix it."

"Niklaus."

"Get a grip, Elijah. I don't think I'm offending the young woman," he said before turning to face me. "Am I offending you, love?"

I skipped the whole processing bit of this situation and dived straight into my persona. "Not at all."

Klaus made a gesture to me with his hand, turning back to his brother. "See, Elijah. Marcel's right hand has tough skin." Elijah responded with a much more exhausted sigh than before, rubbing his hand on his face. Klaus ignored this, turning back to me with a bottle of bourbon in his hand. "Want me to pour you a glass, Y/N?"

"It is ten o'clock in the morning, Niklaus."

"All the more reason," he quipped back. "Y/N?"

I tried to loosen up, but my smile probably came out a little more tense than I originally intended. "I'm good; thank you."

Klaus looked at me for a few seconds before shrugging and pouring his own glass. Elijah took this opportunity to continue, but not before letting out another sigh. "As I was saying before my brother so tersely interrupted us, Genevieve has agreed to meet with us after I told her that you—Marcel's right hand, as Niklaus put it—were going to be representing us."

I tried to focus all my attention on the task at hand instead of my absent father who kept looking over at me periodically. I remembered what this was like when I did it for Cellie; I just had to get back in the game. "So, if you are looking to make an agreement of some sort, what are you willing to negotiate—give up, even?"

Just as Elijah was about to answer, Klaus briskly cut him off. "Oh, that's all on you, love." I narrowed my eyes slightly and he elaborated. "You decide then and there what you think is fair." He shrugged again, and although he looked carefree, he also had a smug look on his face that I doubt he was even trying to hide. "Ball's in your court." This was a test.

I didn't ponder on that for too long, nodding to him. "I can do that."

Klaus nodded back. He looked like he wanted to say something, but a quick look from Elijah seemed to make him want to hold his tongue. Thank God.

While I seemed like I was coming a long way, just the mere idea of holding a conversation with this man was terrifying. There were so many things I was holding my tongue about. It was just lucky that I so happened to be 500 years old. A few, quick conversations with my dad who had no idea I was his illegitimate child would not break me. Maybe it fucked with my head, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

I'm here after all, aren't I?

Elijah cleared his throat. "Well, it seems to me that we've discussed everything we needed to discuss for today." He stood up and I followed suit. "Again, it was lovely seeing you, Y/N."

"Likewise." I shook the hand he held out, once again ignoring the weird original rush I felt. "I'll see myself out." Couldn't get out faster.

I walked toward the exit before Elijah could say something gentlemanly about escorting me out and before Klaus could say something that'd boggle my mind even further. I assumed he'd text me the details about the meeting later.

I took a deep breath immediately once I was far enough from the compound that I was sure they wouldn't hear me. I had no idea how I was going to get used to any of this, but it was too late to go back now.

In the meantime, I decided to take my mind off the Mikaelsons for a bit by visiting someone who I've yet to see.

I walked into the old church with caution. It wasn't like I had a problem with Kieran; I just felt awkward whenever I talked to him, so I'd rather avoid him. I've had enough awkward situations in these past few weeks to last me a lifetime.

To my luck, he was absent and so I just walked straight upstairs, dodging cobwebs as I went until I made it to the attic's ajar door. A girl sat on a stool in front of an easel, painting a landscape. She was so focused she didn't even notice me push the door the rest of the way open.

I smiled, leaning on the door as I looked around the room that'd changed since I last saw it, now more decorated and screaming it'd been touched by a teenage girl. "So Marcel's still got you holed up in here, huh?"

She instantly spun around with her jaw dropped. "Y/N?!" She ran toward me, engulfing me in a tight hug that I'm sure would've broken some bones if I was human.

I chuckled, "Hi, Davina. I've missed you, too."

She pulled back, looking over me with disbelief visible on her face. "Oh, my God- when did you get back?"

"A little while ago. I'm sorry I couldn't come see you sooner, but I've been absolutely swamped. I promise, though—going into the future, I'll make time to see you." Davina smiled, pulling me back in for another hug. Her happiness spread to me and I started smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. I think this might be the first time I've been this happy since I got back to New Orleans.

Davina was an amazing kid. I was supposed to meet up with Marcel the night of the harvest when he saved her, and so I ended up meeting her a few months before I left. She just so happened to be one of the few people who know my secret. She was incredibly gifted and reminded me so much of my younger self. I felt like I owed it to her, to myself, to be there for her. In the short time I've known her, she's become something like a little sister to me, if not a daughter.

When we broke from the hug, we both ended up sitting on the bed. I let her catch me up on what's been happening, even though I already more or less knew it from Marcel's summaries. "Okay, so if the witches aren't trying to hunt you down anymore, why are you still hiding away in this attic?"

"Well, I'm not hiding away anymore," she replied. "Marcel just figured it'd be safer for me to stay here instead of with them. He still doesn't trust them and, honestly, neither do I. They've been acting kind of weird since the witches were resurrected, but I just deal with it and go there everyday to practice."

I hummed. I understood Marcel's reasoning; keeping Davina at the church was actually pretty smart. I wouldn't trust her with a bunch of vengeful witches, either, especially after they tried to kill her once. But this attic was far too small for a little girl to spend her days in.

I looked around the cluttered room, thinking before I said screw it and decided to propose my idea to Davina. "What if you didn't have to stay here?" I asked, looking back at her.

She furrowed her brows. "What do you mean? It's not like there's anywhere else I could go, besides with the witches."

"Not necessarily true." I sat up straighter. "I mean, my townhouse has three rooms, and only one of those rooms isn't empty." I shrugged, gesturing around the room. "It's bigger than this place, so all your stuff would fit."

She sat up too. "Wait, are you being serious?"

"Hell yeah, I am. And the protections on my place are a lot better than this church's, trust me."

"You want me to move in with you?"

"Yeah, Davina, that's what I've been sayi-" I was cut off when she threw her arms around me in the tightest hug she'd given me since I entered the attic, and that was saying something.

"Oh, my gosh! Yes, of course!" 

I giggled at her enthusiasm, hugging her back before pulling away to pull my phone out of my back pocket. "Okay, I'll drop you off at the apartment now and I'll text some people to come pick up your stuff and bring it to you." I glanced back up at her for confirmation, looking back at my phone when she giddily nodded. "You can just make yourself at home and get settled in. I'll be home a bit later; I just have a business meeting first."

"Yeah, sure." Davina then stood up, looking around and clapping her hands. "I'll start packing!"

I laughed for what felt like the umpteenth time since I've seen her, standing up too. "Alright, D. I'll see you later," I said, but she was already far too engrossed in packing her things, giving me a distracted goodbye. I shook my head, the corners of my lips going up even higher as I left the room.

Thank God I wouldn't have to come back to this creepy ass church anymore. I really hadn't even thought of asking Davina move in with me; it was such a spur of the moment kind of thing, but I had no doubts then and no doubts now. She'd be safer with me than here, with the witches, or even Marcel.

At the though of my friend, I went to text him about this new development, coming across a message from Elijah along the way.

Elijah M. We'll be meeting the witches at 7:00 PM at the compound.

You OK, I'll be there.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket after responding to Elijah and texting Marcel about Davina. Seven was two hours away, so I had time to go home and freshen up before the meeting.

I wasn't nervous; I'd already been here before, already done it all, but I did feel a weird pressure to do this well. Something in me said Klaus was counting on me to fail, so it was my job to prove him wrong.

I walked right into the compound later without standing out front for ten minutes like I did this morning. I was gonna have to get used to this all eventually and I'd prefer that'd happen sooner rather than later. 

I was apparently earlier than everyone else because there wasn't a Mikaelson or red-haired witch in sight. I checked my watch: 6:30, it read. Earlier than I expected, but that was fine with me. I wiped the imaginary dust off my outfit: slacks and a tight white dress shirt that I'd unbuttoned just enough to not look like a female Elijah. Resemblance to the Mikaelsons was not what I needed right now.

I was just about to pull out my phone to keep myself busy when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, my eyes meeting the mother of Klaus' kid. "Oh, hi," she greeted, a surprised look on her face. "What are you- oh, right, Elijah told me you guys were meeting with the witches tonight."

"Yeah- it, uh, appears that I'm a bit early." I chuckled, making small talk even though I really didn't want to have any unnecessary conversations with anyone that lived in this building.

"No, it's a good quality. Elijah's like that," she told me. I nodded, ignoring my thoughts which were questioning her relationship with Elijah. Something told me it was a lot more complicated than it seemed. "I wanted to thank you, by the way."

My brows furrowed. "Hm? For what?"

"For covering me that day with Elijah- and for saving me from that vampire that day, too," she expressed with an almost bashful look on her face. "I realize I was pretty rude to you, but I was really just having a bad day, and-"

"And I'm a vampire, so you were just being careful." She let a small, embarrassed smile form on her lips which I reciprocated. "It's fine, I get it. I'd do the same if I were in your shoes."

"Thank you for understanding; I really appreciate it." I told her it was no problem, resisting the urge to be nosy and ask why she didn't wanna tell Elijah what happened; I didn't want to risk her growing suspicious of me.

Before Hayley and I could fall into an uncomfortable silence, Klaus and Elijah strolled in through the gates into the courtyard. Klaus' eyes narrowed between me and Hayley, probably in a protective manner, while Elijah greeted me. 

"Y/N, sorry to have kept you waiting-"

"Oh, no, it was no biggie." I gestured to Hayley. "I had good company, anyways." Hayley smiled, excusing herself after wishing us luck with the witches, but I doubted I'd need it.

I was good and I knew it. Half a millennium alone in the world taught you how to negotiate, how to get your way when you had no one else on your side. Really, I was less worried about the witches and more worried about being in Klaus' presence.

Speak of the devil.

"The witches should arrive soon," Klaus announced, glancing down at his watch then up at me, a smirk arising on his face. "And then you'll be able to play your hand."

I stopped myself from narrowing my eyes or doing anything that showed I felt the shade he was so obviously throwing my way. Clearly, without even having really spoken to me, dear old dad has decided he doesn't like me, much less trust me. I don't know why that hurt because I don't even want to be talking to him period. I guess there's just a part of me that disagrees with that.

Like this morning, Klaus didn't waste a second before walking over to the bar. "Can I interest you in a drink whilst we wait, love?" He poured himself a glass. "Some... liquid courage, if you will."

He's being a jackass on purpose.

I declined, "No thanks." I shook my head. "I don't need it." And I also don't need to be under the influence around the Originals.

Klaus chuckled in an almost sardonic manner. Like the night I met him, he had a dark air around him that he barely cared to conceal. Klaus wanted people to notice that about him; he wanted people to be scared. And I was, but for entirely different reasons.

However, I'd sooner die before letting him know that. If he wanted to play hard ball, then I'd be the best damn batter he's ever seen.

Klaus turned around, tipping his glass to me. "You're quite confident."

"Well, I can back it up," I quipped back. In response, he sarcastically smiled, taking a sip of the brown liquid in his hand. From the corner of my eye, I saw Elijah glancing in between us watchfully.

"So I've heard- and you know, it got me thinking, what exactly is it about you that makes you so special?" This-

I was given time to pause by Elijah's interjection. "Niklaus."

He held his hands out in the air. "What, Elijah? I'm just curious," he reasoned.

I cut Elijah off before he could say something more in order to respond. "No, it's alright, Elijah; I understand the skepticism." I looked back to Klaus whose eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. "The reason why people are more inclined to listen to me is because I don't operate with a desire to instill fear in others, just respect." I maintained eye contact with Klaus, hoping he was picking up what I was putting down. I knew he got the message when I saw his jaw clench.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, the gates to the compound opened. All three of us looked toward the entrance to see Genevieve and two other witches walking beside her, like a little entourage.

Elijah seemed to let out a sigh of relief at the intrusion. "Genevieve," he greeted, walking toward them. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Please, take a seat. Can we interest you in any beverages?"

While Elijah was clearly doing his best to mediate, Klaus didn't say a word, only burning a hole into the side of Genevieve's head with a hard glare while he drank his scotch.

The three of them sat down on one couch as Elijah and I sat on the one parallel to it. "No, that'll be alright," she said, crossing her legs. "I know you appreciate verity, Elijah, so I'm gonna be honest: I wouldn't have agreed to this meeting if it weren't for the woman sitting next to you."

Elijah nodded. "Yes, I'm completely aware. Y/N is here to make sure that we both get what we want and to ensure that the future of the Quarter, and everyone in it, is prosperous."

I smiled, holding my hand out. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you. I've heard many good things about you." That was a lie.

Shaking my hand, she responded, "Likewise. The elders of the coven are practically smitten with you. I've never seen witches so eager to deal with a vampire."

"Well, I hope that, after our discussion, you will also be more eager to work with the Mikaelsons."

Genevieve almost scoffed at what I said. In my peripheral, I saw Klaus roll his eyes—at me or her, I'm unsure. "Please, Y/N—I'm sure you're aware of who exactly these people are and what they've done. Even though you're a vampire, you have to admit it's outrageous." Her voice was incredulous.

I really don't understand what she was making a big fuss about. From the way the story was told, Genevieve used to have a huge crush on Klaus back in the day—ew—but I wasn't gonna actually use that against her. I didn't want her to resent me; I actually needed her to like me for this to work.

"I understand where you're coming from," I told her, managing to muster up a sympathetic expression. "But we all want the same thing: peace. That is the final destination; there are so many stops along the way to get there, so if peace is where we truly want to be, then we need to be willing to put aside our differences."

The redhead sighed. "I hear what you're saying, but how can we expect peace while working with these people? How do you expect us to trust them?" Now, Klaus scoffed, causing both Genevieve and Elijah to look over at him, Elijah with a more stern look in his eyes. I, on the other hand, ignored him altogether, focusing completely on the witch in front of me.

I said her name to get her attention back onto me, thus causing Elijah to look away from his brother, too. "I am, in no way, asking you to trust blindly. We're willing to negotiate; just state your terms." I knew this was dangerous, giving her the opportunity to ask for whatever she wanted, but the witches had been recently oppressed; giving them the chance to ask for what they wanted was like an apology of sorts, one that I felt they'd appreciate.

Genevieve looked hesitant, glancing at both of her associates, to Elijah, Klaus, and then back to me. Even without looking at him, I could feel Klaus staring at me, probably questionably. None of them were expecting that move. 

See, because I was representing the Mikaelsons, Genevieve expected me to state their terms first then negotiate since they were more powerful. So, of course she was surprised.

After a beat of silence, she finally spoke up. "We want to practice freely."

"Done."

"And we want to celebrate our festivals without a hassle."

"Of course."

"And we want to reclaim witch territory for ourselves and ourselves alone, like the Lafayette cemetery." 

"Reasonable," I noted, waiting for her to say something else. When she didn't, I asked, "Is there anything else we can give you? You don't have to answer right now; we'll take some time then I'll get a contract drafted-"

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire." At her interjection, the room went silent. I didn't even wanna know what Klaus looked like right now, but Genevieve sure as hell seemed to have regained her confidence. "We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire." That was one ballsy request.

"Are you out of your mind?" For the first time since the witches walked into the compound, Klaus spoke. I looked over at him to see a look of shock adorning his face as if the redhead just tried to kill him—and, I mean, was he that far off?

You don't ask for the Original Witch's spell book without wanting to kill or at least having the ability to kill if you so need it.

Elijah seemed to recover from a shock of his own, trying to calm his brother down. "Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire." Klaus had set his drink down, walking toward where we were all sitting. Smoke might as well have been coming out of his ears. I knew that, if I were one of the three witches sitting across from me, I'd be shitting myself. "After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Elijah cut him off, but more firmly and this time Klaus actually listened, turning to look over at Elijah with hard eyes. His eyes flickered to me for a split second before looking back at Genevieve—or glaring, rather.

While Genevieve looked slightly startled, I saw the dead-set expression on her face. It'd be hard to try and convince her that Esther's grimoire wasn't what the witches wanted, but it was possible.

Gears turned in my head as I thought it over until a quick idea popped into my head. At that moment, I began, "I'm sorry, Genevieve. We can do everything else you mentioned, put it in writing, but Esther Mikaelson's grimoire is a no-go." I saw her shaking her head before I even finished.

"Then no deal-"

Elijah cut in, "Genevieve, please-"

"I can give you the next best thing." I caught Genevieve's attention easily, along with everyone else's in the room. In seconds, I had come up with a quick fix; it was a gamble, but if you aren't willing to go big, then go the fuck home. "I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." I paused, gauging her reaction. Clearly, this night was full of surprises. 

I suppressed the urge to glance over at my relatives; I had a feeling that I already knew what their faces looked like.

Genevieve struggled to compose herself, so I continued, "It's yours, so long as you accept." I understood what was happening here: the witches or the spirits or whatever were already decided, and they wanted the Mikaelson grimoire, but how could they be upset with what I was offering? A Bennett spell book was a damn good replacement if I ever saw one, and if anyone knew that, it was Esther's children themselves.

I knew the history—I've spent my life learning it. Ayana taught Esther everything she knew; the Bennett bloodline was one of the strongest, maybe even stronger than the Mikaelsons. And although I doubt Genevieve knew the lengthy Bennett history, she quickly got her bearings and responded, "I- we accept-"

I cut her off, smiling, "Great. Now our turn." I clasped my hands together. "You guys can keep your sanctuaries, the cemetery and whatnot, but in shared areas like the rest of the Quarter, we ask that you remain peaceful and avoid altercations with other factions. We're asking the same of the other factions, as well. Similarly, the Mikaelsons don't want conflicts, so we'd also like to avoid altercations in that area." 

It seemed pretty simple because it was. It was like what Elijah said to me that night in Rousseau's: everybody wants power, and the witches were no different. They didn't agree to this meeting for peace; they agreed because they wanted power, and the Mikaelsons struck this deal for the same exact reason, even if that's not how the nobleman would've phrased it.

While I didn't provide the witches with the same prepared list of terms, what I was asking for would have the same effect. The Originals were already on top, so what more did they really need to ask for?

Genevieve, once again, looked over at the two girls sitting next to her who both nodded at the silent question she was asking. When she turned back to me, the smallest of smiles was on her lips. "You have yourself a deal."

I reciprocated her expression as we both stood up. I shook her hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll work on getting that contract drafted in more detail, so please, come to us with any other requests you may have."

Genevieve nodded, letting go of my hand, and Elijah took the pleasantries from there, walking them out of the compound. This left Klaus and I alone momentarily.

I looked over at him to see that he was already staring at me. I felt a chill go down my spine from how intently he was looking at me, my mini adrenaline rush dying down. It looked almost like he was picking me apart with his gaze.

I didn't want him to think I had something to hide, so I held his stare. We were both silent until Elijah walked back. This time, he didn't seem to sense the tension in the room—that, or he just chose to ignore it. 

"Thank you, Y/N," he said. I looked away from Klaus to smile in response, but the second I did, he broke his vow of silence.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" Klaus' voice was cold and accusatory, just as his eyes were. Elijah just might have frozen had he not been a thousand-years-old; hell, I probably would have, too, but I'd already been crafting an explanation as soon as the idea popped into my head.

Not the real explanation, but one that made more sense.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

Klaus didn't look sold. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?"

"Well, to be fair, she wasn't in touch with her family at that time," I retorted. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

Klaus didn't reply to me, instead choosing to continue staring me down. However, his glare was now lessened, so I knew he sort of believed me, even though he had doubts.

In the time that Klaus wasn't saying anything, Elijah cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. When I looked over, he smiled and tried to further de-escalate the situation. "Thank you, again, Y/N."

That was my cue to leave. "No problem. Are you okay with meeting up tomorrow to discuss the contract?"

He nodded. "Of course. Lunch?"

"Sounds great," I said, grabbing my bag that I'd left on the armchair next to me. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Elijah bid me farewell while Klaus remained mute, but I still felt him staring at me, even as I was walking out; only when I'd walked two minutes away from the compound did I finally let go of that feeling

I didn't speed all the way home this time like I had been doing recently after exiting the Abattoir. Instead, I decided to take this time to think since I really haven't gotten a moment alone all day.

The excuse I gave Klaus wasn't too far from the truth—I only warped it slightly. I didn't know who he knew or how well he knew my mother before he slept with her, but I knew that if I gave him the real story, there was a possibility that he'd find out who I was.

The real story was that my mother was best friends with a Bennett. Almost like history repeating itself if you thought about it; Amelia Bennett was to my family what Ayana was to the Mikaelsons. She was both a mentor to my mother and me.

In reality, we were a lot closer than I made it sound. She was a lot closer to my mother than she was with the rest of her family. We were in Salem; the witch trials were just beginning, so any witch in the area was either preparing to leave or to die. She was anticipating the latter, so before she died, she made sure to leave the assets she had to my mother. 

The other Bennetts didn't dispute this, fleeing west. The rest of the story, I try not to think about. I needed to be strong, for Davina, for Marcel, for Amelia, for my mother, and for myself; otherwise, everything I've sacrificed would've been for nothing.

With that thought, I had a new resolution.

This, what I was doing here in New Orleans, could not fail. I have not lived the life I've lived just to fail. So from this moment forward, I decided to be better, to be stronger. No more quivering at the mention of my father or his baby, no more getting shaken up by conversations with the Mikaelsons.

Walking toward my apartment, I made myself a promise.

This city will not break me, no matter what.

[justatalkingface]

New leaks are out

Izuku loses One for All. The one thing he wanted in life was to be a hero, and we all know Horikoshi wouldn’t let him be one without a Quirk. He got One for All for a year and change and then it just gets taken away from him.

It’s so mean-spirited

*siiiiigh*

This shit. This shit is why I'm reluctant to catch up.

Worst thing is, this has been broadcasted as coming for awhile, because that MHA movie? Hero Rising, or whatever, the one where Izuku hands over OFA? If you believe (random shit I found on the internet) (which... admittedly, seems sus, I'm not sure of the validity) that was apparenlty supposed to be the original ending.

(Never mind that Bakugou only came into prominence after MHA got rolling, so unless he was forking it over to... I don't know, Shigaraki, or Uraraka, or Shoto (... my god, imagine the look on Endeavor's face if his anti-All Might child gained All Might's power and became his defacto heir, that'd be amazing) or something, that's already a different ending than the 'original' ending.)

That said, that rumor seems pretty damn validated now, doesn't it? I really don't get why Hori seems to hate his own character so damn much, because the first couple of chapters he seemed to like him well enough; the narrative respected him, he made sense, there was a steady build up of confidence and ability... and then he just... lost all interest, and just seemed to include him more and more grudgingly every time he showed up.

Considering how often the main character had to show up, it really feels like Hori built quite a grudge over the years. And between how damn hard Izuku has been side lined in every possible way, and how much Bakugou is being thrown into the spotlight, this really isn't surprising, all things considered.

A good deal of manga like to end with 'main character is brought down to normal', and honestly I've never liked it; I can only think of one where it was really done well, where I liked the ending (the main character never wanted it in the first place, he always wanted to be normal), and even in setting it only works because shonen manga in general love the 'secret world hidden from the rest of society' bit, so they can 'retire' gracefully to being a normal person without any issues (beyond probable PTSD), but in MHA they can't even do that, because there isn't a hidden world; Izuku is world famous, and without powers I'd honestly expect some random psycho to revenge kill him to get some fame, like that Ending guy.

(...I hate that that doesn't seem impossible still?)

Moreover, big part of that kind of build up is that the character has grown up, and doesn't need the super powers any more, to save the world from the world ending threat, to live the chunnibyo dream of being special instead of being part of society, but being a hero is a job, a career he can do for most of his life and make money in. The super police are still needed, because as far as I can tell, the overarching problems haven't been resolved at all. Just like how Naruto ended up, status quo is god, and the normal that was once terrible and to be fought against is good and just.

And, of course, he's just going to be happy about it, too, I know he is. That's how this kind of thing goes. He's going to be happy about losing everything he's always wanted, even though his friends (which he only got from being heroes) are still going to be heroes, even though Bakugou is almost certainly going to be number one at this point (speaking of which; whatever happened to the 'this is how I became the greatest hero' bit? Let me guess, he'll be referred to that somewhere, and that'll be it.)

He's going to be happy and content with what he was allowed to have (and even though he'll never be able to truly realize it, it is allowed, it's that Hori will allow him this much), and will never dream of wanting anything more. Just like an abused spouse in a truly fucked up marriage that has accepted that this is the 'best' they're going to ever get.

[notroosterbradshaw]

slow dancing in a burning room - six

word count: 5.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, language, angst.

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

a/n: well, they're broken. it's unceremonious and it's real and they're hurting so deeply, coping in ways only they know... the wrong way. You're here to meet Bad Choice Bradley, I presume? I hope you enjoy it. thanks to those who read, reblogged and commented on previous chapters. you’re doing god’s work. I truly appreciate all the effort you make to show your support and if you like it… please comment and reblog it! x

five.two

“Rooster,” Annie smiled before him, Ava strapped to her chest in her baby carrier sleeping peacefully.

Bradley felt his poor, old heart sink because he’d done so well to now avoiding you and your family since everything blew the fuck up in your relationship. It was a small town and the more you tried to avoid someone, the more likely they were to cross your path. “Ann,” he gave a slight smile. “How you doin'?”

“Morning coffee brings me back to life after a rough night,” she reported. “Not on base today? Look at the beard,” you said, fondly as he realised Annie didn't have a clue. 

“No,” he bit back the sour taste in his mouth. Obviously you’d not told your family about his pending trial… and in a way, he guessed he was thankful. It probably brought a certain amount of embarrassment to you, if he thought about it truthfully, given Viper and the respect he still commanded at work and from the locals. You didn’t need his bullshit on your shoulders. "Few more weeks to myself. Just finished my run,” he said even though it appeared the most obvious thing in the world. Shorts, runners, Navy tank glued to him, sweating from top to toe from morning humidity.

He just wanted to get his coffee and head home to shower. He should have just forgone the fucking caffeine. He had a perfectly good coffee machine at home for Christ’s sake. He cursed the fact you introduced him to this coffee shop and he knew, eventually he’d see you here, but he’d been so smart. He knew your work schedule and now, he was always the first in line when he knew your first classes for the day were clocking over. He was no dummy - sure, he had his moments when his head was stuck up his ass, but caffeine was his drug of choice and after you’d secretly revealed to him the best in the town and he was addicted.  “Lucky. You just missed her…” Annie told him softly, nodding off in the direction towards work... his villa was in the opposite direction and taunting him and his poor choices.

He hummed, unreadable. “Did I?”  He was pleased with the relief that washed over him. It was such a non-committal response and he knew he owed Annie so much better. Annie wasn't the cause of his recurring cycle of problems. But shit, he was so good at making his problems... everyone’s.

“Loves her morning coffee,” Annie waved her reusable cup towards him, and gee, it was so awkward. Rooster nodded, pleased that he wasn’t the only uncomfortable one in this conversation. Even Annie, usually outgoing, funny Annie, seemed completely out of character with her current word vomit.

And though he was desperate to, he would not ask after you because he knew there was no way you could feel as awful as he did but he forced it out anyway. “How is she, Annie?” he tried to hide the sadness in his voice, but it was impossible. He was so desperate to catch even the slightest whisper about you - whether it was Annie, Phoenix or any other mutual acquaintances. The radio silence was quietly killing him.

After a beat, Annie replied warily, “A wreck. Not that she’d ever let us know. We’re not seeing hell a lot of her so that kind of speaks for itself, I guess. Or it's exactly what she wants, I don't know," she rambled because Bradley could see Annie didn't know what to do to help you, and that hurt him more. The frustration in the air was paramount. The people you were once closest to now the one furthest at arm's length and he knew that was because of him.

“Right,” he replied, forcing a lack of interest in his voice. He didn’t want to sound emotional that you were upset, but he certainly didn’t want to feel sad for you for the decision that you made. Bradley needed you to know that you were feeling the way you were feeling for what you decided to drag you both through. He wanted to work things out, he didn't want either of you to be hurting like this - “Sorry to hear that.” He shrugged, knowing how cold it sounded and the surprise on Annie's face telling the story. What the fuck else was he supposed to say?

All the texts he'd sent bounced, and he knew you'd blocked him - what was the use of calling? He considered sending flowers, champagne, fucking skywrite if it got your attention, but all his desperate ways for your attention would fall on deaf ears. And as desperate as he was to go to you, knock on your door and hold you until reason came back into that smart brain of yours, he knew for now, you simply needed your time. He just hoped it wasn't forever.

“So... how are you?” Annie asked, welcomingly changing the subject.

He shrugged, sipping his coffee. He didn't feel like admitting he was about to head home, shower and see his JAG. It just didn't feel like it could roll off his tongue properly without the rest of his life crashing around him. He’d been so good to protect his façade and damn, he lied so easily. It was his most hated personality trait and he wished he could stop it, but sometimes it was just easier. “PT,” he lied, but he knew fully well Annie didn’t care for his physical recovery - she had good intentions but he knew she wanted to pry into his convoluted, messed up brain, see if he was as tragically missing her sister, if he was as tormented as you were. 

Dissect and get into the deepest, darkest crevices. 

But Bradley would never tell. There were enough people trying to get in there as it was. And right now he wasn’t going to give anyone the benefit of that bullshit. That hurt stayed with him, no matter the cost. It motivated him, got him through the day to be better, stronger, harder and he wasn't letting his guard down for anyone, not Annie, not Phoenix, not Mav.

Not you. No one.

“That’s fantastic,” she said as Ava wriggled against her, waking. “I’m glad for you, Rooster,” Annie bobbed to settle the little one, whining and probably ready for her morning feed. "You need your head in the clouds."

If that ever happened again.

“She got big,” Rooster said, keenly changing the subject and turning his attention to Ava. He reached for her her little hand and Ava wrapped her chubby little palm against his pointer. Bradley knew even if kids weren't in his future, the future he had quietly hoped to share with you, this was a cute kid and it only reminded him of you when you were playing World’s Greatest Aunty and putting the idea in his head that maybe… yeah, he could get the family he always wanted with you. It was going to take more to desensitise himself, he realised. 

“They do that,” Annie said, with a gentle smile. “Way too quickly. I feel like she's minutes away from rolling, crawling, and then up and walking out to college."

And Rooster laughed, because there was Annie, the Annie he grew up with. They both needed that little break in the terse. "I hope not that fast," he gently pressed a kiss on Ava's knuckles and loosened his finger, free again.

"Well, I’d better get her home for some food and start our day. Good to see you, Rooster,” she gave him a small smile. “If you need anything, call me, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”

Bradley did the cordial thing and nodded. “Will do. See ya around, Annie," he said, not waiting for a dragged out goodbye and heading in the other direction. He had a house to start bringing back to life even if he had fallen apart in every other way.

It had been about month since you and Bradley… yeah. Since then. Things had been fairly busy for you, you’d stayed to yourself, regardless of nagging from your family, some other friends who wanted to claim your time now you were single again and, of course, Natasha. She was shipping out in a few days and wanted to have a drink but the last place you’d be caught dead at was The fucking Hard Deck. Reassuring everyone you were good, or okay, was next to useless. No one believed you anyway.  

You'd kept yourself busy. The apartment needed to be unpacked again, with no time like the present, a perfect time to purge and it felt so much better in your small part of the world that you’d rid yourself of those little things you simply didn’t need anymore. Clothes, kitchenwares, changed up the orientation of the bedroom, indulging and confusing yourself with feng shui and vastu shastra on household karma/good vibes among other things. 

But you really did feel lighter. You built a cute study nook for your business stuff. You and Bradley had planned to use one of the rooms in the Bradshaw place, giving you more time to work from home, instead of staying later after classes to do your never-ending small business accounting.

But that wasn’t the case now and you had all the time in the world.

“Fuck, Nat. Stop,” you muttered to yourself, scarfing down some leftovers for dinner. It was late and frankly, you had little to no interest in heading out, even if it was to a venue of your choice. You had to give Natasha credit: she was trying so hard to release you from your self-imposed imprisonment. You know what you were up for - 20 questions about how you were coping. You'd be lying to say you weren't worried about his impending trial and were curious to reach out. But it probably would just distract him and he didn’t need that. You were sure it was this week or next. 

Maybe you would get Grandpa to contact Bradley? 

But as far as you were concerned, Bradley seemed to be doing just fine. Like you’d agreed, you didn’t need each other anyway. Besides, he hadn't contacted you - and you hadn't let him after yep, taking the high road and blocking him. Maybe he needed this more than you did, you tried to reason with yourself. A guy like him didn't deserve to be tied down with someone who had the baggage you did. He deserved better. 

You tossed your fork on the plate, suddenly not hungry for the stir fry you were desperate for only minutes earlier although the need to get tiddly didn't sound terrible at all.

Enjoying his quiet drink, Rooster knew his time was running out as Phoenix sidled her way to him, a fair smile on her face. Unreadable, and God, he hated that. “Didn’t know you were coming out tonight,” she commented, as she put two beers on Payback’s tab, placing one before Bradley. 

She followed his gaze to the pretty woman across the bar, making pathetic doe eyes and suggestive overtones with her beer bottle and tongue. Natasha would never get used to it. And sadly, Rooster seemed pretty into it, for what she could gather. “Know her?” Phoenix asked as Rooster’s lip quirked and he stumbled to find an undefined answer.

Truth be told, yeah. Rooster did know her. Not super well, but well enough to remember how into him she seemed as she led him back to her place last week, the first person he’d fucked since… and, he supposed, it was fine. It was good, she was eager to please and she had zeroed in on him the minute he walked in last week and again tonight. Rooster didn’t generally put his boots under the same bed twice, but he lately wasn’t feeling particularly fussy. He did ask himself if there was a supposed grieving period for how long he should probably wait before getting into the game again but his brain (and Hangman) told him what he needed to hear.

Fuck her. 

“Oh, Rooster, no. You slept with her?” Natasha asked, the disappointment dripped from her voice and Bradley felt about three feet tall.

“Oh, fuck this,” he bemoaned. “She broke up with me, I have to be celibate too?” he asked. It seemed so rehearsed and he didn't lie but he knew the shit he was going to cop for spending time with any woman that wasn’t you. 

Natasha sighed. “No, I guess not.” 

“Believe it or not, I can fuck who and when I want, Phoenix,” he gruffly reminded her. "You don't get to dictate."

“No, you’re right,” she agreed. Who was she to argue? She was desperate for her friends to get over this little ‘blip’, but seeing you separately and the hurt you’d both caused each other, she began to wonder if this blip as she'd hopefully referred to is as was really the end of what could have been the best thing that happened to both of you. 

You were no longer a couple. Rooster had moved into his parents' old place alone and seemed to be enjoying taking to it with a sledgehammer. You were doing your usual MO when things went sour – you didn’t answer calls, and rarely responded to texts before anyway. You were working and looking at growing the business, so it was the best excuse in the books not to come to the bar, a surefire way of making sure she didn’t pump into Bradley.

“I can’t see him, Nat. He was the love of my life. And not being able to touch him, kiss him, laugh with him? It would just kill me,” you had told her sadly, week’s earlier when Natasha came over unannounced and sporting Thai food and rosé. 

“What is so fucking funny is that I keep hearing how badly she is doing, yet no one gives a flying fuck that maybe, just maybe, I’m going through it too," Bradley muttered, Natasha surprise crossing her face as he continued, "Nat, we were moving in together. But it’s over now,” he poured what was left of his beer down his throat, knowing that coming out tonight was not his wisest idea. Bad Choice Bradley was bubbling in his bloodstream and frankly, he didn't mind if he escaped. He was so sick of doing everything by the rules, but where had that gotten him? Absolutely no-fucking-where. Jobless and Loveless. “And for the record?” he hissed purposefully to Natasha. “I was in that fuckin’ relationship too. I didn't call time.” 

“Okay, okay,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re wholeheartedly allowed to feel that way. We just don’t see you… as down about it,” she used her words carefully.

“It was weeks ago,” he sniped.

“It wasn’t that long - ”

“Jesus, Phoenix. She was the fucking love of my life,” he hissed. "I wanted to work this out. She blocked my number, she wants nothing to do with me."

Natasha held her palm towards his chest but didn’t dare touch him, she could feel the heat, the anger reverberating off him. “Okay, I agree. I’m sorry, I know you’re hurting, buddy. And I’ve let you down.”

He frowned and paused. “What are you talking about?” 

“This isn’t just the breakup, Rooster,” Natasha said, adjusting her posture to stand with him and continuing before she could let up. “Everything has been a bit of a shitstorm. Your past is always following you around, you were part of a suicide mission that almost got you killed and now you’re waiting for trial and I should have been doing more to make sure you were okay with that."

And for the moment, Bradley was silenced and frown in reply.

"Are you still seeing the shrink?”

He huffed out a breath, replacing his beer eagerly with the one Natasha had slid towards him. He didn’t need this holier-than-thou bullshit where Natasha got to try and save him to be really honest. He just gazed back at her, now unreadable. 

“Isn’t it mandatory?” she pressed lightly. “You should really be talking to someone – ”

“I’m still going, I’m hating it. If I don’t get clearance from the shrink, I never get in my jet again regardless of how the trial plays itself out. Satisfied?” he rolled his eyes. “See ya later, Phoenix,” he said, leaving his her side and heading over to his new friend, who greeted him with a tender kiss on the side of his mouth, and while he wasn’t repulsed, you used to do that to him, and he didn’t like it half as much as he used to.

“Didn’t think you were going to come over and say hi, Rooster.”

“I’m here with friends,” he admitted, whom he’s just ditched to come over here and line up an easy lay for the night. 

“You wanna dance?”

He nodded, a small grin gracing his features that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Yeah, lemme hit the bathroom first really quick, okay?” 

“Sure,” she smiled as he grasped her forearm, gave the easy smoulder and disappeared. And she, with the name he couldn’t recall (but really wanted to), devotedly followed moments later. Messy, unplanned bar head wasn’t on his bingo card for the night, but he’d surely take it. He tried to be surprised when she cornered him into the stall and undid the few top buttons on her shirt, her breasts brushing against his chest as she groped his half-hard cock and played with the zip on his jeans before letting her soft, warm palm slide beneath his boxer briefs. His breathing immediately shallow because her hand was better than his hand and she sank to her knees and licked her lips, she didn't give an ounce of hesitation to take him deep.

He guessed he never really had to work hard to get what he wanted. 

And he couldn’t hate himself more for it, because he compared everything to you. The way your big, beautiful eyes would peer up at him, begging for reassurance you were pleasing him, giving everything he deserved and more, your delicate strands he’d mess his long fingers into… it wasn’t the same but he came deep in the back of her throat that she swallowed and tidied up devoutly and he kind of wanted to be sick. But as she did that thing with her tongue, he wanted to cum so badly, as she gripped his thighs to keep her balance, he regarded her, knowing this wasn’t a woman he could fall in love with. He would only ever love one woman and right now, she wanted nothing to do with him. 

He shook the notion from his head, concentrating on how silky her tongue caressed the head of his cock and remembered this didn’t happen all the time and to enjoy it as he thrust into her face, closing his eyes and imagining you again, getting him over the line as he knotted his fingers in her hair and fucked her face. Seeing you and those pretty sounds you’d make gagging on his cock, deep as you possibly could and what you couldn’t, pumping in your delicate palms. 

He grunted as he came in wild spurts down her throat until he was spent and watched as she tidied him up, sweetly placing his softening dick back in his boxers and pulling his jeans back into place, sweetly caressing his throbbing groin. 

With a quiet laugh, he helped her to her feet, cupping her chin a little rough. "You didn't need to do that, you know?"

"No," she agreed. "But you tasted so good time, I couldn't wait for more."

Bradley blushed, mostly ashamed. He certainly had nothing to be proud about. “I’ll be right out…” he said to her and she nodded and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick was improper, her hair was well and truly a mess. Just how he liked it… if it was you. And he knew she would run out to tell her friends exactly what had happened, darting out alone.

Rooster looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection and rubbed his tired face. “Who the fuck are you, Bradshaw?” he accused himself. He took a deep breath, ran his hands under the cool water, washed his palms then splashed some water on his flushed face. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself before inhaling sharply and straightening up. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” Natasha muttered to herself as Bob caught wind of her strife and looked up from his peanuts, concerned for his friend. "Fuckkk."

“What’s up, partner?” he asked, perplexed. She lifted her phone and the text you’d just sent. “Oh,” Bob said, adjusting his glasses, a trait he did constantly as he grew nervous. “That is… that is not good.” 

“No…” Natasha agreed, casting her gaze to find Rooster, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” 

Rooster had spotted his new friend with her group and gave a slight nudge towards the exit when she caught his eye. Excitedly, she gave a wink back as her friends gave her teasing words of encouragement but Rooster didn’t care. He just needed to get out of there. 

The bar was stifling and he didn’t feel like Phoenix’s third degree on his life choices anymore. He wasn’t a dickhead – he was well aware he was making poor decisions. Bad Choice Bradley. But this wasn’t his first one lately, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last.

Darting through the throng of officers and civilians, he made a beeline for the door, thrusting it open, and he’d be lying to say in his frustration, there was some heat and malice behind it.

“Jesus, goddammit,” the voice hissed on the other side, the heavy door hitting a patron on the other side trying to enter. Rooster tried to catch them, almost knocking them to the ground in the process and he couldn't believe his dumb luck that it was you who were on the other side as he tried to phantom his escape. You skipped backwards quickly as Rooster yanked the door back, trying to stop its force. His face paled when he realised just who it was he’d almost knocked off their feet.

He whispered your name, and you’d swear you had seen a ghost. “Shit, I’m so fuckin' sorry," he said, the recognition all over his face as he took you in, scared and studying you.

"Shit," you muttered. Bradley could hear the pain in your voice, whether it was through injury or just disgruntled, he couldn't be sure. “Hey,” you said nervously. This was not how you wanted to see him for the first time since you’d broken up. 

“I was just leaving,” he explained, reminding you the door had walloped you in the elbow and you rubbed it in recollection, a gentle thrum from its impact. He looked back over his shoulder. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said again. He so badly wanted to reach out and kiss your injury better. The injury he caused, and he loathed himself for it. “How bad I get you?” he asked softly, taking a step closer. 

Before he got closer, you closed in on yourself and covered the sting in your elbow with a step or two. “It’s fine, Brad – Rooster. It’s no worries,” you reassured him, flippantly. Your body language told him everything he needed to know. He was flatlining. 

He nodded slowly, saddened at how you recoiled from him. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

“Okay. Sorry, huh?” 

“It’s fine really,” you said as a pretty young thing wandered out. She joined Bradley on his hip and you didn’t miss how her hand curved into his elbow and how his face changed, the guilt masking his handsome features. She looked back at you both expectedly. 

“Ready to go, Rooster?” she asked as he paused, gauging your response. He knew his timing was about as bad as it could be. 

And yep, it looked exactly as it looked. 

“Yeah. I’ll be just a minute,” he said, the embarrassment etched all over his skin as he ripped out your heart and toyed with it in his beautiful hands before you. His ears reddened and he licked his lips as she wandered away, calling back over her shoulder when she’d reached his Bronco. Well, she knew his car, maybe this wasn’t as new as it looked. 

Yep, it looked exactly as it looked. 

You’d thank Natasha personally for the warning in a moment - she probably wouldn't like it though. “Friend of yours?” you figured trying to balance your tone. Who were you to get upset at him? To Bradley Bradshaw, you were no one and that was what hurt the most.

“Something like that,” he admitted quietly. 

Maybe you didn’t need that drink Nat promised. You needed Penny to drown you in the top shelf. “Nat’s waiting for me,” you explained to him. “Have a good night, Rooster,” you told him as he reluctantly pulled the door open for you to scurry under his strong, golden arm and get lost in the Friday night throng. He watched after you until he lost you.

Rooster ran his clammy palm over his face, he felt ill as he stepped away from the door. He wanted to be sick, he knew exactly how pathetic he looked. Why the fuck didn’t Natasha tell him you were coming? He would have hauled ass ages ago and without incident. He pulled his phone out and threw a brutal one-liner at her about giving him a head’s up next time and made his way to his car, where his friend/date/hook up/whoever was waiting with a bright grin. 

“Thought you were gonna ditch me,” she laughed lightly, he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. 

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling too well right now, and I have a real early start tomorrow morning. Think we could take a rain check?” he asked, keeping a safe distance from her. She raised an eyebrow.

“You sure? Five minutes ago, you seemed really fucking into that blowjob in the bathroom,” she hissed at hime. And it was fine head, her lipstick was still smudged on his cock, he would always be appreciative of anyone giving him their best. But again, it wasn’t your pretty lips, nose desperately trying to nuzzle the soft hair at his happy trail, staring up at him like he possessed all the stars in the sky. God, he was truly beginning to hate himself and he missed your mouth, however smart it was, wrapped around his cock, giving him an earful... kissing him.

He shook his head dismally. “Look, I can’t do this, okay? M’sorry,” he unlocked the car, hopped into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition, peeling out of the carpark to the allotment of insults and birds being hurled his way. It would be some time before he decided to venture back to The Hard Deck, which was probably best.

And deservingly so, he reminded himself. He'd take a few weeks off from the bar, he’d been through this before. Never go back to the scene of the crime, especially after one-night stands. He knew better, but it all seemed so easy tonight until you were before him and ruined everything. 

He pulled into a car park, the ocean bustling before him and he sat for a moment, his palms latched onto the steering wheel, his knuckles white as the adrenaline of the night coursed through his veins. Taught and teetering, he stared out to the ocean, needing answers to all the questions in his messed up brain.

God, you looked so beautiful. You had done something different to your hair, not a lot, just subtle, but he noticed it, the scent of his favourite perfume, it was so ridiculously expensive but it was the only real fancy thing you afforded yourself even if you used it sparingly, that drifted off you and enveloped him. He remembered it on his pillows, it lasted for the week until the sheets were changed. 

But your eyes… They told the story. Seeing each other was a shock to the system, but you just looked so upset when… fuck, whatever her name was made her presence known. Getting his phone from his pocket, he sighed and found your last texts to each other. 

It was all so sweet. 

You: I love you, big boy. Hurry home to me xxx

Bradley: Love you too. Lemme finish up and I’ll be right there x 

He ignored the subsequent texts he tried to send that all bounced back. Now it all seemed like another world and another time.

“So, yeah, that was fun,” you told Natasha as she gave Penny the signal to keep lining the shots up. 

“You okay, darlin’ heart?” Penny asked sadly. Not that she wanted to pry, but Live had asked her to keep an eye on you if and when she could and she didn’t know if your mother was really wanting to see how brokenhearted you were.

“I’m awful,” you confided, voice strong but powerful because if you didn’t talk about this, you’d sink into another one of those solitary states where you wallowed in the misery of your broken heart, you were going to explode. “I have ruined the best thing that has happened to me then I get to see him take a one-night stand home.”

In no world would Natasha tell you this wasn’t their first hook-up and tossed back one of the lined up shots to avoid putting her foot in her mouth. “He’s slipped back into old habits,” Natasha shuddered as the tequila burned. She wasn’t defending him, but it was what it was as Penny made some polite excuses to continue working. “He a fucking moron, all dudes are the same. Easy pussy, get their dicks wet. They should all be lobotomised," she raised her shot and you, Natasha and Penny whipped the shots back.

But Rooster Bradshaw owed you absolutely nothing. And he proved he knew it too.

“He talked to me like a stranger. He’s never spoken to me like that in thirty years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has he said he’s missed me or anything?” you asked, sadly and as Natasha prepared to answer, you dismally added, “I’ve ruined everything because I was scared about all the wrong things. Nat, I’ve messed this up and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

She nodded but she heard what she heard. “…do you want to fix it?”

“I can’t function without him. I am just bumbling along, missing him while he is recovering alone. He's about to stand trial... he needs support,” and you know fully well that Natasha, Penny, Mav and others had Bradley's back but you also knew there were only a few people he'd truly let help him. “Will you still be here for the trial?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here… I’m a witness. It’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Can you tell me how it goes?”

She nodded. “Of course.” 

“I can’t believe I gave all this up.”

She nodded. “I hate seeing you hurting like this.” Both of you, she wanted to add.

“Does he talk about me?” you asked quietly.

Phoenix sighed, she didn’t want to get into this. Anything he’d ever told her was done so in confidentiality. And while you were her great friend, he was too. Rooster didn't have many confidants. "I - "

“Natasha. Does Bradley want to fix us?” you raised your eyes, and Natasha saw the tears that threatened to spill. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Only hours before he was talking about his latest conquest. She saw that woman follow him into the bathrooms but she had no idea where her friend stood, even if she knew you two were so much better together. She could tell you how angry about it he was. But there was no way that was going to help the situation even if she was desperate to say or do anything that could possibly help.

You shrugged and took another shot. “Whatever, he’s clearly moved on and I will just have to accept that. Another round?" you asked, a casual frown gracing your features and Natasha nodded.

"One more," she loaded the bar up and couldn’t imagine being in her plane tomorrow if this was how the night was going to go. 

masterlist.

Big thanks as always to @gretagerwigsmuse for helping me get this fic over this line x

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[tamelee]

lol if sns was real, which one do u think would get more jealous? Also, do you think Sasuke would blend in well with Naruto's group of friends. I think he would do well with Neji and Lee, but I think Gaara and Shikamaru would be a different story. I headcannon he would probably be jealous of how close Gaara and Naruto are with each and Shikamaru would be the one friend who would hate the relationship because of how affectionate they are with each other (but still be happy for his best bud)

Hi @bratzs12345 ! They are real ergijergkjaek! >< 

'Jealousy' doesn't really seem right for either of them, I don't know. They both know one other well enough to recognize the depth of their relationship and how important they are to one another. And because of that, it's practically impossible to feel genuine jealousy? Not jealousy, for instance, when Sakura told Sasuke she felt that Naruto got in between them, or he prevented her from the happiness she'd think she'd get with Sasuke, lol. 

People call Naruto jealous when he displays 'possessiveness' over Sasuke, but that didn't stem from jealousy; it was protective. The sacrifices they made for each other were for each other. Unlike Hinata, who attempted to sacrifice herself and everyone along with it if she must, simply so Naruto would look at her and she'd have her five minutes of fame. It's the intention behind it that matters. 

Throughout the narrative, Kishimoto consistently demonstrated to us that they are each other's most special person.

Honestly, I don't think jealousy applies, but if it did—perhaps in an alternate universe or something—Naruto would undoubtedly be the loudest about it. Sasuke would glare them to death and get petty about it later: "Oh, I don't know, Naruto. Why don't you just go to [x] and ask? I will take my bath now, thanks." 

I find the idea of "Naruto's group of friends"… interesting. It's always been so damn conditional. Naruto accepts it, but I don't think Sasuke ever would. So there's already a distance here. Their wounds from the past are different, so are their ext. desires.

But anyway, I think Sasuke would get along with Neji somewhat. They'd at least have some things to talk about regarding clans had the latter not been killed for a brief display of playing last-minute match-making. Lee… possibly, but I don't think they really vibe; he'd exhaust Sasuke, lol. I was thinking Tenten maybe, but she was particularly viscous about him, so I don't see it actually.

Shino had potential.

Shikamaru and Sasuke are purely business. Shikamaru respects Naruto's decisions, and if that includes Sasuke, then he'd stay out of it, but it's nothing personal. Neither was the decision to save him even if it cost his life, or killing him if he thought it'd be for Konoha's sake.

Ah, you know what? Wouldn't it be interesting if Shikamaru had a conversation with Sasuke later to explain that he understood some things better after experiencing the need for revenge himself?! Like, why wasn't that ever brought up later? ;-; 

I think Sasuke would get along with Gaara though? In fanon, it's often Gaara who's the jealous one. Like, he holds Naruto in such high regard that he would refrain from interfering if Naruto were happy. But all three of them know what it feels like to think you need to prove your existence in some way. Gaara and Sasuke definitely have some understanding between them in that regard, maybe less in others.

Sidenote: Am I the only one who'd loved to see Naruto and Juugo get along? 

[tgmsunmontue]

Life is too short to waste time matching socks... (4/5)

Hangster and Bob/Javy/Nat - set post mission with the Dagger Squad having been made a permanent squad.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

                “It says two to six people. You could have brought Phoenix and Javy as well,” Jake says, looking at the description for the room and turning to look at Bob.

                “Why would I want to bring them?”

                Jake exchanges a look with Rooster, because they know that Bob has slept with both Javy and Nat, but if the man wants to keep that on the downlow then Jake will respect that. Except the Dagger Squad are quickly becoming a squad where it’s impossible to keep secrets.

                “Just stating it as fact. Mean nothing by it. You guys just seem pretty tight these days. I approve,” Jake states, slapping Bob on the back and stepping past him to pay his entry fee, letting his hip rest against Rooster’s as they exchange an eyeroll, because it was pretty foolish of them to think that maybe Bob would be the weakest link in whatever Trace, Javy and Bob have going on.

                It’s a horror themed escape room, apparently their tour bus has broken down, they’ve sought refuge at a nearby house and are now trapped in this house by the local serial killer who will be coming back to kill them in an hour unless they escape. Delightful. They enter the room and it’s dark, bookcase, chair, desk, a fake plant… He’s never done an escape room before but Bob had assured him he’d like it. Which in hindsight maybe wasn’t a thing to take on trust. He’s aware they’re trying to force him into situations with Rooster, they’re not subtle. But he also doesn’t think they’re completely innocent either and he’s starting to think that maybe they’re right and Rooster might be more into him than he thought.

                “I’m just going to go and use the bathroom and make a quick call.”

                Jake doesn’t even try and hide the eyeroll this time, goes to exchange another look with Rooster, who has one of the books in his hand and is running it over the side of the bookcase, and then a drawer on the desk pops open.

                “What the fuck?”

                “Magnets and wires. First time?” Rooster asks, smirking and god, Jake wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to shove him. Instead he pulls the drawer out and empties the contents onto the desk, holds up a key which is clearly for the door leading further in, rather than the door the entered through, and which Bob left by. Fine. He doesn’t mind spending time with Rooster at all. He puts the key in and turns it, hears something click behind him and then there’s the sound of several somethings falling to the floor. Rooster is screaming and he turns to find him standing there looking pale, surrounded by fake, covered-in-blood, severed body parts.

…            …            …

                Bradley is pretty sure he’s going to draw blood with how hard his nails are digging into his palms.

                “You don’t like a little horror there Rooster?”

                “No I fucking don’t. Get enough scary shit happening to me at work. Why couldn’t we be rescuing a kitten or something?”

                “Because Bob chose this. And don’t worry. You’re okay. I’ll save you. I’ve had practice remember?”

                “God you’re an ass.”

                “Maybe, but you’re not scared anymore are you?”

                “I wasn’t scared!”

                “Not anymore…” Jake insists.

                The kiss Jake gives him is brief, just a dry press of lips and it’s over so quickly he thinks he might have imagined it, except Hangman is squeezing his waist and then letting go and he immediately misses the warmth, wants to press back into it. He’s starting to think that maybe it was Hangman that gave him the socks. It seems like his way of flirting, little bit silly, but also something he can completely deny if he gets asked and he thinks he isn’t going to get the answer he wants. Bradley wants to give him the answer he wants.

                “Thanks for the socks,” Bradley says, and he can’t really tell if Hangman is blushing or not in the poor lighting of the room, but Jake hip checks him and reaches for the door that has opened after the fake body parts had tumbled to the floor.

                “You’re welcome. Now come on Bradshaw, I want to get on the leaderboard for this room and then take you out where we can do more of that.”

                “Yeah. Okay. And if we don’t make the leaderboard?” Bradley asks, because he’s hopefully about this answer too.

                “I’ll take you out anyway.”

                “Deal.”

…            …            …

                Natasha pushes the chair out with her foot and gives Bob a smile as he grins and settles into the seat; Javy slides his hot chocolate across and she takes a sip of her own drink that Javy bought for her. She doesn’t miss the fact that Javy stretches his legs out so his ankle rests against Bob’s, all while his arm rests on the back of her chair. Hmm. Maybe Bradley was onto something.

                “I’m a genius. They’re both super competitive. An escape room forces them to work together and communicate, and it’s an enclosed space.”

                “So you’re saying we’ve forced them together in a small space in which they’ll likely rile each other up. kill each other and that it already looks like a murder scene?”

                “Uh…”

                “Pretty sure any bodily fluids coming out won’t be blood…” Javy says dryly and Natasha pulls a face.

                “I don’t want to think about them…” she says, and she looks between Javy and Bob contemplatively. “However I did have some thoughts.”

PART FIVE

[blurredcolour]

It's Better This Way | Part One

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Carwood Lipton x Enlisted!Female Reader

Finding yourself injured and without shelter in Haguenau, you shift your focus to caring for the unwell Lipton, but as his promised battlefield commission comes through, it becomes impossible to continue pretending that your feelings for him aren't slowly killing you.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Bull Carries Reader, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Weapons, Pining for a Married Man, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. There will be a happy ending to this but unfortunately Lip and the reader are going to have to go through it first. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5048

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

The fabric of Randleman’s ODs felt remarkably rough against your left cheek as you pressed your face tightly to the small of his back. Each time the soles of his jump boots met the wet streets of Haguenau, your body jostled against his as he ran with you slung over his shoulder, a series of splashes sounding around you as the entirety of 1st platoon fled from the outpost you had very recently been sheltering in. You wrapped an arm around his middle, trying to limit the violent bouncing of your body as the other bent at the elbow to protect the back of your head in anticipation.

“Sergeant why is your platoon running around outside?” You could hear Captain Winter’s voice and felt Randleman skid to a halt, the others quickly following suit.

The man holding you turned to address him with you still dangling from his shoulder. “Well sir, first she started sniffing like a bloodhound, next thing I know she’s screaming like a banshee to ‘get out’ so out we got, sir.” He replied, obviously winded, guilt swelling in your chest both at the urgency you’d expressed seemingly all for naught and the lengths Randleman had gone to get you of that cellar and into the street.

“What did you find, Corporal?” Captain Speirs’ voice reached your ears as he stepped around Randleman to address your inverted face, and you turned your head to speak to your commanding officer, despite the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Really big sh–” Your response was cut off by the explosion of the now vacated building, your eyes going wide before you were suddenly shielded by a wall of ODs as Randleman, and therefore you also, were ushered into a nearby alley for cover.

Your head was starting to swim, the pressure of hanging upside down becoming almost too much. “Think you could put me down, Sarge?” You wheezed and Randleman leaned forward, setting your feet on the ground with a muttered apology.

The rapid draining of blood back to its normal places had you sway on your feet, and you grabbed for his collar, wincing at the unexpected pain in your palm. You looked at the burn there in confusion as Randleman steadied you by the shoulder.

“Your face is bleeding, Corporal.” Speirs said quietly and you dug your battered handkerchief from your pocket, quickly pressing it to your cheek with a wince at the sparks of pain that erupted there, before grabbing a scoop of snow with your hand, sighing a little at the instant relief it brought to your heated skin.

The filthy state of your ODs, a brand-new set you’d just changed into not two hours ago, brought a frown to your face. Lipton was going to be so disappointed in you. Hearing your name, you looked to Captain Winters quickly, following as he motioned for you to head into the Company CP with him and Captain Speirs. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the rest of 1st was splitting up, one group heading to where 2nd was positioned and the other to 3rd. Randleman was nowhere to be seen.

“Sit.” Winters gestured at the worn settee, and you sank into the lumpy cushions apprehensively. “What exactly happened in there, Corporal?”

“Well, sir, we were in the basement waiting for dinner when I could smell something burning – and it wasn’t just the cooking. I followed the scent of it to – well I think it was the coal cellar? And opened the small door. Then I could smell cordite, like artillery, which seemed an even worse thing to smell than smoke.” You grimaced and gritted your teeth against the pain that seared through your cheek in response. “So, I crawled in there just to figure out what the hell was going on when I saw a shell, bigger than the ones in Bastogne, just sitting there amongst smoldering wood and coal, a gaping hole in the bricks above it. But I guess opening the door fanned the flames or something because it started to get very hot in there and even though it hadn’t detonated when it hit the side of the building at some point, I figured we needed to get out of there as soon as possible.” You looked up to the two men staring at you with exhausted expressions, a stunned silence settling over the dimly lit room before Speirs cleared his throat.

“How did you get out?”

“Bull yanked me out of there, thankfully. I was not crawling backwards fast enough.” You looked up as the man himself appeared with Roe in tow, the medic quickly coming over to look at first your face and then your hand, working at bandaging your burn to start.

“Well done, the both of you.” Winters chimed in at last before turning to Speirs. “We need to have each platoon conduct a thorough inspection of the buildings to make sure there’s nothing lurking anywhere else.”

“Yes, sir.” Speirs nodded in reply before looking back at you. “We’ll get you some gear as soon as we can, Corporal, and find you a bed too.”

“Thank you, sir.” You replied before they walked out deep in conversation, and you winced as Roe probed at your face. “Thanks for pulling me out, Sarge.” You gave Randleman a lopsided smile.

“Sorry I caught your face…” He muttered guiltily.

“Just adds to my rugged good looks.” You joked bravely, looking to Roe as he sighed.

“We’re gonna have ta pull all these splintahs out.”

You nodded in resignation, trying not to frown in dread of the process. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

“Can ya lean back fo' me?” He shuffled closer to stand between your legs as you tilted your head to rest against the ornate wood frame of the settee, closing your eyes as he leaned in.

Shoving your unbandaged hand into your pocket, you curled your fingers into a fist, tensing in preparation for the oncoming discomfort of Roe rooting around in your flesh for the apparent crop of slivers you’d acquired during your adventure.

“Ya gotta relax you' face fo' me.” He chided gently, holding up his flashlight and a set of tweezers he’d procured from his aid kit.

“Sorry, Doc.” You exhaled, doing your best to relax the muscles of your face and jaw so he could do what he needed to do as quickly as possible, eyes closing again.

The scuff of boots across the warped hardwood floor followed by the soft ‘click’ of the front door signalled Randleman’s departure, so you were surprised by the dipping of the cushion beside you and a gentle tap at your elbow. You opened your eyes to see Lipton sitting there, looking just as unwell as he had when you’d put him to bed an hour-and-a-half ago. You narrowed your eyes, silently communicating that you would be discussing his presence later, but, undeterred, he offered his hand for you to hold as Roe began to pluck fragments of rotten timber from your cheek.

Fighting with the urge to yank back from Roe, and to cry out pathetically, you pulled your hand from your pocket to clutch at Lipton’s tightly, feeling a great deal of comfort as he held tightly in return.

“Can you hold that for me, please, Sergeant?” Roe handed him the flashlight and began working at a particularly large sliver.

Your fingers threaded through Lipton’s to squeeze almost painfully as you did your best to endure silently, the wedding band on his ring finger indenting into your skin as he rubbed his thumb soothingly along the edge of yours.

“You’re doing great.” He wheezed, full of congestion.

Unwilling to surrender without a fight, the shard of wood split through the thin barrier of your skin, drawing a yelp from your throat, much to your embarrassment. Mercifully neither man commented on it. After two smaller slivers were easily plucked free, Roe swiped your skin clean and pressed a piece of gauze to your cheek, wrapping several lengths of bandage around your head across your nose to hold it in place.

“All done, now get some damn rest, tha both of ya. You’ll be no good backin' up tha patrol tonigh’, I’ll tell tha Cap’n.” Roe muttered and hurried out – he always seemed to be in a hurry, something you did not envy him.

Sitting up, you rounded on Lipton immediately. “Bull called me a bloodhound and a banshee all in the span of thirty seconds, why are you out of bed tempting fate?”

“Heard your platoon ran into some trouble.” He grumbled sheepishly before a cough overtook him, body shaking the settee with the effort.

You frowned deeply. “You’re about to run into a whole lot more trouble if you don’t get back to bed, come on.” You stood, tightening your grip on his hand and pulling him after you as you made your way toward the back of the building.

Finding the room he’d settled in earlier, you led him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders until he sat down, pulling off his untied boots.

“You need to be careful of that hand…” He protested weakly.

You simply ignored him as you lifted the sheet and blanket to tuck him in. “And stay here this time.” You said firmly as you made sure he was propped against the pillows to keep his coughing to a minimum.

“Stubborn woman.” He grimaced up at you, making your lips stretch into a smirk.

“Not very creative when you’re sick, now are you Lip.” You muttered and settled onto the filthy rug on the floor beside his bed, not at all concerned now that you’d coated your once clean ODs in all manner of dirt.

“What are you doing?” He croaked, turning his head to watch you lay on your side with the uninjured half of your face resting on your bicep.

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere, not even when the patrol is on its way across the river in a few hours.” You glared up at him affectionately.

“There’s gotta be a free bunk in the other room, go on–”

“I’m not falling for that again, Lip, you already sent me off to get some dinner and snuck out of bed. There will be no repeats.”

“You’re gonna get all dirty again…”

You snorted sleepily, shaking your head. “Too late, now sleep, will you?”

He huffed in annoyance, sending you one last baleful glance before seeming to settle into the bed. You sighed, letting your eyes drift shut as you curled up tight against the chill in the room – all your gear including your coat, blanket, and scarf were lying at the bottom of a heap of rubble, having not been a priority for you or Randleman as he dashed out of there. Despite all that, you were relatively comfortable in a room with four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. It was peaceful, aside from the odd noise outside and Lipton’s ragged breathing. Sleep had just begun to caress the edges of your consciousness when the warm weight of a blanket draped over your body.

At first it was seductive, trying to pull you under into a deep sleep, but realization dawned in your sluggish brain just where the blanket had come from, and you bolted up from the floor. “Dammit Lip, what are you doing?” You hissed at the man covered only in a sheet, pushing yourself to your feet to drape the blanket over him once more.

“Just get up here then, would you? I won’t sleep with you curled up on the floor like the Little Match Girl.” He replied firmly.

What ensued was a silent battle of wills as the pair of you glared at one another in the near-dark of the room until he broke out into another coughing fit, and you relented out of concern for his health.

“Call me stubborn” you muttered, unlacing your boots and yanking them off to set beside his before crawling over his legs to wedge yourself between his body and the wall.

It was not the first time you had slept next to Lipton – you had spent the majority of Bastogne sharing a foxhole with him. Yet there was something unspeakably intimate about sharing a bed that grated at the already frayed edges of your nerves. Doing your best to keep your back to him, willfully ignoring the persistent ache in your left cheek where it pressed against your arm, you sighed dramatically as he tugged at the blanket until it mostly covered you as well.

“Goodnight Clifford.” You said sternly, bringing out the big guns – the first name he loathed.

“When I’m better…”

“Hurry up and get better, then.” You grinned fondly as you spoke, eyeing the peeling grasscloth wallpaper in front of your nose, the ornate designs harkening back to a different time in the building’s life.

A gravelly chuckle was the only response he could muster before he finally seemed to heed your advice, breaths evening out, deepening, as he allowed his body the rest is so desperately needed.

Loving Clifford Carwood Lipton came as naturally as breathing for you. From the moment you had laid eyes on him back in England nearly six months ago, you had been lost. His kind hazel eyes, his humility, his selflessness, his strong arms, his level head amidst utter chaos – the list of reasons why you loved him was endless. You had certainly not joined the experimental female paratrooper program with the intention of finding romance, nor had it come to you willing either, for your heart belonged to a married man. You’d missed your chance with him by less than a year.

Initially the agony of your plight had been so acute you’d considered applying for a transfer, but the thought of being apart from him had proven even more unbearable. You had realized then that you were well and truly lost. Lost in the middle of a war, doing all manner of things a woman had never been allowed to do before. So, like any pain encountered during training you had taught yourself to live with it. Live with the fact that Lipton would never be yours, that maybe you would never find yourself another. It was just your lot in life to have your love so close yet so far out of reach and so you got on with making the most of the time you could have with him.

After every battle, every scrape with danger, the pair of you gravitated towards one another, your lungs refusing to fully inflate until you laid eyes on him. Confirmed he was alright. He seemed just as caring with the rest of the company, and quite honestly deserved every bit of praise coming his way, for he truly was the only reason Easy had made it out of that nightmare of a forest. A battlefield promotion loomed on his horizon, another divide to open up between you. The separation of a commissioned officer from a corporal like yourself seemed nearly as insurmountable as marriage to another woman. You were fiercely proud of him and yet it felt like the friendship you had forged would also have to come to an end any day now.

Listening to his labored breathing beside you, you could not help but frown as you carefully rolled onto your right side to look up at him. He was so pale, ashen even. Your heart ached with the desire to be able to take his suffering from him; he’d been sick for so long now and simply muscling through it for the sake of everyone else. Never thinking about himself.

The slow rise and fall of his chest caused the faint light that filtered through the boarded-up windows to glint off his gold wedding band where it rested on his hip and you swallowed painfully, forcing your eyes to close. You ought to take your own damn advice and sleep, too. With the pressure off your injured cheek and the warmth of his feverish body shared beneath the blanket, it was not long before slumber took you.

The eruption of gun fire shortly after 0100 signalled the return of the patrol, briefly tugging the pair of you back into consciousness. You wrapped your arm around his in silent admonishment against the thought of going to help, trying to quash any foolish ideas he might have harbored inside that head of his, and he grunted in annoyance but stayed put. The next time your eyelids fluttered open was sometime after dawn. The warm exhales of Lipton’s breath against your neck had your brows furrowing in bewilderment and you slowly pulled back to take stock of the situation.

At some point in the early morning hours, he had rolled off his stack of pillows and nestled his head beneath your chin, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You were by no means an innocent party here either, for your arms had slid around him in kind, hands still laying against his shoulder blades as you cradled him against you protectively. Even your legs were somewhat entangled, though the sheet provided something of a barrier.

Shit. Your heart could not take much more of this.

Nor could the sweet, sick man in your arms. You knew him well enough to understand that if he were to wake in this very moment he would be drowning in guilt and take it all upon himself. That was the last thing he needed right now. Taking a slow breath, you retracted one arm from around him to carefully extract his from your waist. Pausing, you watched his face very carefully to ensure he was still asleep before beginning to roll him back onto the set of pillows, gnawing on your lip in concentration.

His face crinkled in protest as cold air rushed in to fill the growing gap between your bodies, a feeling which you thoroughly empathized with, but again you were doing what was best. You paused once more before disentangling your legs and finally unearthing his other arm from beneath your side, tucking him in securely as though there had been nothing amiss during the night. Exhaling slowly, you climbed over his legs and grabbed your boots, creeping from the room to go find some food as your stomach not-so-subtly reminded you that you had not eaten dinner last night.

Tying up your laces on the settee, you followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen downstairs, procuring hot beverages and food for both yourself and Lipton. You were making your way back upstairs when you nearly ran into Speirs.

“How’s the patient?” He asked, pulling his cigarette from his lips.

“Slept the night, sir, so that’s a start.” You swallowed, hoping no one had taken it upon themselves to look in on him last night.

“Good. Keep an eye on him?” He asked and you nodded quickly.

“Yes sir.”

He nodded vaguely in response before continuing down the stairs, most likely to grab some breakfast for himself. Setting the coffee down on the floor, you cracked the door open, almost jumping as Lipton turned his head to look at you.

“You’re up early.” He rumbled and you grabbed the drinks before carrying it all in.

“Got hungry.” You muttered, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed beneath you beside the head of the bed. “Coffee?” You held up one cup and he took it, sipping it slowly as you dug into whatever hot medley of food was passing for breakfast today.

“Sleep ok?” He asked quietly and you nodded, looking up to him. “You?”

“Real well, thanks to some stubborn lady.” He gave you a lopsided smile and you bit back a laugh, shaking your head.

“Glad to hear it. Eat a bit?” You held up his dish and he picked at a few bites, which you considered progress.

“Am I allowed to get up now?” He asked, a little more color in his cheeks but still clearly exhausted.

“Captain Speirs has ordered me to ‘keep an eye on you,’ so no. Unless you know, nature calls.” You took a slug of coffee, enjoying the way it almost burned down your throat.

“Hmn.” He grunted in annoyance, passing back his dish of food and settling into the blankets. “I’m not being of any use at all in here.” He sighed.

“Getting better is of great use.” You countered sternly. “That’s your only assignment right now.”

“Well, it’s…rather boring…”

“I should be offended, Lip.” You teased, finishing up your food, setting his aside in case he wanted more later. “Want me to see if Vest is done with his book yet?”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised, and you patted his arm. “I’ll be right back then.” You grinned and took the dishes down to wash them quickly before finding Vest.

After much cajoling he agreed to lend it to you as long as you promised not to lose his place. You were mostly pleased to find Lipton asleep when you returned with your hard-won reading material and settled onto the floor, back against the wall, to dive into the story. Much of the day passed that way, you reading, Lipton sleeping, though he woke occasionally to eat, drink and relieve himself. By the time Speirs knocked and poked his head in the door mid-afternoon, Lipton was looking remarkably human.

“Think you can join us up front, Lieutenant?” He asked as Lipton sat up quickly, nodding.

“Of course, sir.” He replied and swung his legs from the bed to slide into his jump boots.

Your fingers tightened on the edges of book, halfway read now, and you repeated the page number in your head a few times before snapping it shut as Lipton followed Speirs from the room. So, this was it, then. Walking after them quietly, you looked over as Luz called your name.

“Jesus, you look terrible.” He teased with a wink.

“Oh yeah I think Doc might’ve overdone it with the bandages.” You muttered touching the swathes of them around your head. “Just some slivers in my cheek, I’ll be alright.”

“I got you a present.” He beamed, holding out a helmet and M1 for you to replace those you’d lost in the explosion, and you smiled warmly, taking them gratefully.

“My hero.” You smirked, eyes drawn to the front room as a lot of handshaking was going on.

As if sensing your gaze, Lipton turned towards you and offered a small smile, your heart throbbing as tears began to prickle at the corners of your eyes.

“God you two were made for each other you know that?” Luz muttered under his breath and your head whipped to the side to look at him sharply, a knowing grin on his features.

“Man’s married, Luz, you’re out of your mind.” You croaked, voice betraying you, a rising sense of panic flooding your system.

“Marriage ain’t forever anymore, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly and you bit back the urge to smack him for wishing something like that on Lipton.

“Where’d they put you last night?” You changed the subject firmly, watching him blink several times before he processed your question.

As soon as he provided directions to 3rd platoon’s outpost you turned swiftly on your heel and clapped the new helmet onto your head, walking out the back door of CP. It was time to get out of there for so many reasons. First and foremost, Lieutenant Lipton was an officer with new duties to attend to and no time to spend with a regular trooper like yourself. Secondly, what had happened in your sleep could not be permitted to occur again – you had grown complacent and careless. Lingering at his side with the feelings that you harbored for him was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

Finally, if the loveable idiot George Luz had so very clearly seen right through you, who was to say who might catch wise next. You’d had your time in the sun, there was no need to be Icarus about it and crash to the earth. A swift excision was necessary and prudent. An opportunity like this was not likely to present itself again.

You nearly got away with it, too. For almost two months you managed to avoid Lipton for the most part, through the return to Mourmelon-le-Grand, where you were fully resupplied and rested, and then Sturzelberg. On the rare occasions where he proved inescapable, you afforded him the respect his new rank deserved, referring to him only as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘sir.’ Even though you yourself had been promoted to Sergeant, there was still the gap of a commission between you that you used like a shield. You could tell he was frustrated with you by the way his lips would press into a thin line and his breath would leave his nose in a short, sharp exhale.

The bandages came off your face to reveal an angry, raised line across your left cheekbone and many attributed your retreat into yourself to disappointment at the poor placement of a scar on a lady. You honestly could not have cared less, you were quite frankly too busy feeling sorry for yourself; grieving your self-imposed exile from Lipton’s side.

It all came to a head in Buchloe. After a long and horrifying day, you were making your way back from the house Winters had requisitioned to 1st platoon’s quarters for the night, carrying tomorrow’s orders, when Lipton finally cornered you, alone, cutting through the alleyway.

“Sergeant, wait up.” He called out to you, jogging over and you swallowed roughly, taking a deep breath to fortify yourself as you turned to face him.

“Evening, Lieutenant.” You said quietly in greeting once you’d saluted him.

His lips came together followed by his telltale exhale of annoyance. God, you knew him too well, like an extension of your own self.

“Are you doing alright?” He asked quietly, tilting his head. “Even got Winters asking about you…”

Biting the inside of your cheek in self-chastisement, you straightened your spine to stand taller. “I’m fine, Lieutenant, sorry to have troubled everyone.” You offered a smile, hoping it resembled your former ease.

His eyes narrowed as he shook his head once, almost violently. “Would you quit that?” He said with a quiet vehemence you didn’t honestly know he had in him. Apparently, he could still surprise you. “You know my name. Knew how to use it just fine in Holland and Belgium and France.” The last country he named held a tinge of sadness, sending your thoughts hurtling back to the early morning hours when you had awoken to him nestled in your arms.

Clearing your throat, and the image from your mind, with a forceful cough you set your jaw obstinately. “And then everything changed, sir.”

“God you are stubborn, woman. Lord help the man who has the privilege of trying to make you his wife.”

You unconsciously took a step back, his statement colliding with you like a blow as your eyes began to burn. Under any other circumstance the jibe would have made you laugh. Would have you returning it with some equally snarky volley of your own. But for the fact that the only man you would be willing to give such a chance was standing before you, furious with you, and you knew it could never be him.

Tilting your head to the sky you blinked furiously, willing the dampness of unbidden tears to retreat behind your eyelids. Your lips trembled as they spilled down your temples and into your hairline, breath shuddering as you fought to inhale through the painful lump in your throat, the crushing weight of longing and disappointment piled upon your chest. You were vaguely aware of Lipton whispering your name apologetically before he stepped closer to grasp your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for, please don’t cry.” He rambled desperately as you roughly dragged the cuff of your ODs across your face, frantically trying to hide the mortifying evidence of your feminine hysterics. Your other hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to push him away, but he barely budged, only spurred on to pull you closer. “Forgive me, please.” He sighed your name against your cheek as he pulled you into him, his helmet nudging yours further back on your head. “I didn’t mean a word of it, you deserve so much happiness and love and he’ll be a great guy, I know it.”

His words, his closeness, only served to intensify the flow of tears as you half pushed at him, half clung to him, a pathetic sob working its way past your lips. How could one man be so lovely and impossible all at the same time. You thought it was a fluke at first, the brush of his lips against your cheek as he continued to utter soothing things while you simultaneously struggled against and leaned into his embrace. But then his lips were pressing against yours and everything stopped.

You stopped thrashing in his arms, tears stopped pouring from your eyes, sobs stopped shuddering through you, time itself seemed to stop. The temptation to bask in the feel of his unbearably soft yet slightly chapped lips against yours burned brighter than the sun, but that rude conscience of yours reared its ugly head once more and you shoved forcefully against his shoulders, able to at last push him back a step.

Lipton paled as horror unfurled across his features. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He breathed.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid, Lieutenant.” You muttered bitterly and straightened your helmet, stepping to the side to put some more distance between you even as your heart continued to beat an erratic tattoo against your rib cage.

Realization dawned slowly on his features, a gradual lifting of his eyebrows as his jaw dropped open, eyes widening dramatically. Sweet, sweet Lipton, oblivious to the end it seemed. You sniffed harshly, shaking your head.

“Go home to your wife, sir, it’s better this way.” You continued on your way down the alley, leaving him there in stunned silence as fresh tears blurred your vision.

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

Read Part Two

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

[dichromaticdyke]

GUYS I'M HAVING ANOTHER BOUT OF DIVINE MADNESS

i've been seing posts here and there expressing disappointment at aotd not giving us more answers about the lore of Salacia and the Whale Prophet and all that, and i agree, it's a bit disappointing to not know definitively what's going on with them.

BUT.

I THINK THE LORE WAS IN FRONT OF US THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME.

if you liked my analysis of "Aortic Desecration," "SOS," and "Blazing Star," then hopefully you'll like my analysis (and HEAVY theorizing) of Dethklok's most enigmatic running theme—the "Murmaider" trilogy of songs.

okay strap in i'm probably gna sound like charlie day's pepe silvia rant. i'm gonna start just by breaking down the story of the "Murmaider" trilogy i'll also be skipping any lyrics in the songs that aren't directly connected to by analysis/theory (such as the parts where nathan is just listing different murder weapons or chanting "murmaider").

so, starting with murmaider. this is the only song of the trilogy to actually make an appearance in the show, with the other two being exclusive to their respective dethalbums, but even still, this song only plays for a few seconds, and it's just the chorus. this song appeared in "dethwater," the same episode that established dethklok's connection to the water. this episode also notably featured toki's guitar picking up the sounds of whales (something that would later be revisited when edgar noticed this in season 4 and began decoding the whales' messages).

There are no fingerprints deep underwater Nothing to tie one to a crime And if you seek vengeance All you need are instruments of pain

so the story being established here is pretty clear. some unknown protagonist that nathan is speaking to is going to kill someone underwater so that he can seek vengeance and not get caught.

But beware For when you quench your bloodthirst Others will seek vengeance on you And they won't rest until you're dead

nathan warns this protagonist that his actions will cause those related to the victim to seek vengeance on him. fair enough.

Hold your breath and swim and strain Smell of death, can't escape Blood will cloud, drift away Attract the murders of mermaids It's so cold, they all know What you've done, you can't run Vengeance is the law for thee A thousand leagues below the sea

this is where it starts to get interesting. the fact that those that are seeking vengeance on our protagonist are mermaids says to me that the initial victim was a mermaid. if not a mermaid, they were at least some kind of sea creature. otherwise, why would the mermaids care all that much? care to the point of vengeance? but the next portion sinks this theory for me.

You've been tracked, you've been seen Murdering the next of kin Ate their hearts, drank their blood Washed your fins in blackened mud

"murdering the next of kin" is very important. next of kin to what? or to whom? did our protagonist kill a mermaid/sea creature's child?

Now you swim, try to hide Heart beats faster from inside Thought it was a big charade Your life was ended by mermaids

so our protagonist tries to escape from the mermaids seeking vengeance on him, hiding in the water, but in the water, the mermaids are able to find him, and they kill him.

now let's look at murmaider ii: the water god. already, this song seems important, namedropping a god and all.

The gods watch over you And they consider what you've done But now you've hidden away to gain your strength Deep in a cave Your power is regained And your legacy has spread to the deepest of the sea The one that brought them vengeance That fights for his belief

now, this is where the theorizing really starts to come in. who is this that nathan is speaking to? this figure that nathan is speaking to here is a figure that has "brought [...] vengeance." specifically, it seems that they've brought vengeance to the gods that now watch over them. is this the same protagonist as in "Murmaider?" that seems impossible, as it's implied that that protagonist died. though that protagonist was bringing vengeance, but we're not sure whom to. we also don't know for sure if the mermaids who allegedly killed the previous protagonist are gods or work with gods. put a pin in this.

He can swim through matter He has poisoned teeth His tentacles have murdered His scream can kill the weak He's got explosives (check) Corrosives (check) A master of the art of murder Mermaids weep the blackened tears

despite this being in third person, this still is referring to the protagonist whom nathan is speaking to. this is a direct continuation of nathan speaking about his legacy as "the one that brought them vengeance / that fights for his belief." this is establishing the power that the protagonist has. anyway, mermaids crying blackened tears over this protagonist? seems important.

So you swim to a sunken ship Invited by a soul who bleeds from the lips The prophet, who beckons you, wades in the dark Speaks an ancient language, this language is of sharks

HEY LOOK A WATER PROPHET, THAT SOUNDS FAMILIAR. however, this isn't the water prophet we're most familiar with—we're familiar with a whale (not a shark) whom is referred to with she/her pronouns (not he/him). but that doesn't mean this isn't important. put up another pin.

He says, "You're the one that I decree The one who can save us and set us free You've gained the power of a deity You have the strength to wake us from this sleep" [...] And the prophet gives to you this warning: "If this path is chosen you'll be met with strife For you'll be seen as an enemy of the sacred And the gods will curse you for the rest of your life" And you say, "I get by just fine (check) I've known much worse life (check) I've conquered dark times (check) They should fear my might (check)"

so this shark prophet, as i'll refer to him, is telling our protagonist that, because of their power, they will get the right to further divine powers so long as the protagonist uses this power to help..."us." however, in freeing the nebulous "us," this puts our protagonist in conflict with the gods and other holy/sacred beings. this doesn't dissuade our protagonist, having full confidence in his abilities and power.

So now you know then, go then Swim on through the cold then Harness your strength Because one day you may be called To meet the mighty gods Deep within the ocean And if you're not prepared Your soul will not be spared

OKAY BOYS, HERE'S WHERE IT'S GETTING FUCKING INTERESTING. our protagonist is told to lay low, gather strength, and wait for the moment when they will go up against the ocean deities. again, DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR? don't forget this, but take out that pin from earlier. this protagonist is the same protagonist as in "Murmaider." he didn't die—his "life was ended," but given his divine power and strength, that doesn't necessarily mean death in the permanent sense. the mermaids were bitterly weeping about this protagonist, someone that they thought they had killed but whom is still alive, getting stronger, waiting...

Your eyes have gone black You'll never look back You'll never stop swimming You'll always be tracked Your life has transformed Your power has grown Your minions stretch for leagues For a bloodied coral throne A crown of murdered foes Will sit upon your head Those that wish to challenge you Will wish that they were dead The beasts of the sea will collect and submit Pray for your forgiveness and live as you permit

okay, pretty straightforward yet again. the protagonist is getting stronger, hiding away from the mermaids, gathering minions, killing those in his way. "the beasts of the sea will collect and submit." this is a warning.

And you say, "I am the water god You will bow to the water god You will live for the water god And you will die for the water god" [...] And the deities loom nearer They will find you

the power has gone to our protagonist's head. he is demanding fealty, proclaiming his own divinity, whilst the true divine beings continue to track him down.

okay. murmaider iii. let's look at the conclusion of this story.

The blackened deep The coral keep The dying king Will no one weep? Ruled in fury Incurred his debt This wretched prize Crown of regret Scavenger Savager Blasphemer Vile Violator Tormentor Murmaider Guile

once again, pretty straightforward. our protagonist, who had decided himself a water god, a ruler, is dying. he's been a vicious ruler, and he may have regrets over this, but he also may not wish to go back on anything he's done.

Within this dying sea The Murmaid Three arrive These witches have foreseen The end of everything

three hags with the power of foresight? damn that's crazy, i too love the three fates from greek mythology.

They say, "Your power blinds you Your DETH will find you Vengeance from your enemies Your kingdom crushed, your subjects bleed Refuse defiance Forge this alliance From the land (check), from the sky (check) And from the blackened fire"

so, the murmaid three are giving our protagonist a chance to avoid his fate of a vicious death. let's note, firstly, that the spelling DETH is important in mtl, as this is the spelling used when referring to the dethlights, and other divine power harnessed by dethklok. but looking past that because we haven't gotten to the analysis portion yet, our protagonist has already forged alliances with land and sky deities, just not from the deities of blackened fire. interesting, blackened fire is also a reoccurring theme in mtl, i wonder if that's important.

The end's approaching (We survive) Darkness encroaching (We survive) This nautic land (We survive) Our final stand (We will swim, check) We will swim (We will fight, check) We will fight (In the deep, check) In the deep

the protagonist doesn't seem to care about forging this alliance, instead choosing to fight.

The final dream The gleaming reef The silver light The murmaids sing The blackened fire The blazing sky The pluming ink The sea beast cry His final sleep But we survive

hey wow, namedropping "Murmaider," "Black Fire Upon Us," and "Blazing Star" all in one verse? damn that's crazy. anyway the protagonist fucking died, but "we" survives. i think the "we" is meant to be dethklok, like. just pretty clearly. nathan and dethklok have never been portraying anyone besides themselves in this series of songs, just singing to/about the protagonist.

anyway, i think this was all about salacia and the whale prophet, with salacia being our protagonist.

i think salacia, back when he was a proper god, fully fused with the four other souls, was a powerhungry god. at some point, he felt wronged by the whale prophet in some way or another, and he killed her child. the mermaids went to try to get vengeance on him, and they thought they killed him, but what they really did was separate the four souls from him, sending them into the doomstar.

salacia fled the ocean from her. now that he was so wounded and only at half his power and strength, staying in the water would allow the whale prophet to find him. this shark prophet in the story, though, is a figure that doesn't show up anywhere in mtl. but we know that salacia can change form, so, why not the whale prophet? though, yes, she wants vengeance too, but she also wants to see what he's capable of. she needs to know what she's up against, after all. she tells him just to rest up, wait for when she calls upon him. but he doesn't do that. he harnesses further power from her, using it to start a reign of terror.

eventually though, he realizes the truth of what/who she is, and he flees the water. out of the water, he no longer has connection to the whale prophet's power, and his own natural powers are dwindling. this would be around the time that he starts the tribunal in a final attempt to regain his lost power. the tribunal is his alliance with the land (check), and his attempt to seek power from the doomstar and the four souls is his alliance with the sky (check). that just leaves dethklok as the blackened fire. i'm not gonna go into a whole analysis of "black fire upon us" to prove i'm right, but they've been connected with the imagery of blackened fire for a long time...ughh i'll get into it in another post. but anyway, salacia doesn't foster an alliance with dethklok, instead using and harming them to get what he wants. the blazing doomstar endows dethklok with the power of the dethlights, and they use that power to send salacia back to the water, where the whale prophet devours him, finally getting her vengeance from what he'd done all those years ago.

this all might be a stretch. as i was finishing this, i was starting to think i was crazy, and maybe i am. maybe i'm way overthinking this, and we'll never truly know what the hell was going on with salacia and the whale prophet and all that god stuff. that's fine with me, tbh. but i hope you all like my little theory, this took me two hours to write once i thought of it while waiting for the bus.

[boywifesammy]

i just reached swan song in my rewatch.

if spn ended here… i’d be happy. more than. it’s a beautiful and bittersweet closure to a heart ache of a show. it wraps everything up beautifully. it takes sam, who viewed himself as a monster all his life, who was constantly labelled by everyone around him as a powerless junkie, and it lets him take over. hell, even SAM said himself that he views himself as less than everyone else. he knows his weaknesses and his failures yet he still said yes. he still fought. and in the end, it was his HUMANITY that brought him back. it was dean and the small memories of happiness that he holds so tight. sam just learnt that his entire LIFE was a lie orchestrated by azazel— but who he is? his family? dean? that’s all his. so in that last moment, by having sam regain control, it’s really the ultimate statement of humanity. he is not a monster. he is so very human that he fought the devil and won. isn’t that amazing??

also… dean in the aftermath. even though he lived through the apocalypse and lost his whole fucking world in one fell swoop, he kept his promise. he did what sam asked of him. he shed the cyclic revenge-fury-anger fate that his father instilled in him and he broke free. he let go, despite how much it broke him inside. every time i think about it, it makes my entire body ache. the sheer amount of grief and emotion that dean must harbour is unfathomable. the pressure he is under is impossibly crushing. but he keeps going on. he lives. he does it one day at a time, and he does it in his brother’s memory.

there is just something so fucking heartbreaking about that, about dean who will never fill the hole in his chest, who will never stop missing sam and seeing him in his dreams and wondering what if but who CHOSES to live. who choses to build up from ground fucking zero and make something of the life that sam fought for. to honour his last dying wish even if it killed him inside because he can finally acknowledge that he is more than sam’s keeper. he is his brother. he respects and trusts him, and he treats him like his own person. that speaks VOLUMES to dean’s character development, because never in my wildest dreams could i imagine a dean winchester who lets sam go BUT THIS DEAN DOES. this dean not only lets sam go but does so with pride and dignity and honour for who he was. that’s just mindblowing to me. s5 did such a PHENOMENAL job at wrapping up spn.

this isn’t to say that the latter seasons are all bad. it’s just that spn has traded so many hands throughout its life that the show that it ended as is virtually unrecognizable from the show it started as. that’s just a true fact. supernatural changed after seasons 1-5. it grew out into something new. i have a shit ton of love and respect for that in its own right— but og supernatural? kripke supernatural? the blood, grit, gore and gothic americana supernatural that i grew up on? in my mind, that ends with swan song. that supernatural is it’s own little story. everything after is an addendum, a sequel. the original story of sam and dean ends with that shot of dean with lisa and ben having dinner. the story ends with sam sacrificing himself for the world and proving without a doubt that he is good and human along the way. it ends on a note of bittersweet hope and raw grief that bleeds all the way down to your core but soothes the wounds in the aftermath, because no matter how much it hurts, it’s closure. for sam, and for dean.

[peachymilkandcream]

The Captain | Levi x Evelyn x Female Reader

(A/N: What? Peachy writing a oneshot? Impossible. Hey guys I know I've been on break for the past while, life has been so hectic lately but I'm going to slowly try and get back in the hang of things. I might even be opening requests up very soon! We'll see what happens. I've never thought of adding Reader into a Levi x Evelyn oneshot but thought hey why not? Let me know if you like these kinds of things, I thought it might be fun! Also I might split this into two parts, so if you'd like a part two let me know!)

WARNINGS: implied/referenced noncon/dubcon, graphic descriptions of violence, domestic violence, manipulation, mind breaking, yandere behaviour/themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, wishing rape upon someone, misogyny, mentions of child abuse, blackmail, murder, stalking, using you this time instead of third person let's try it out, etc.

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The one person you never wanted to be placed with is Captain Levi's squad. Not only because death seemed to follow those who were unfortunate enough to be selected for this squad but also the Captain himself. Captain Levi had a reputation of being a heartbreaker who haunted the wet dreams of most women, however those in the Scouts knew that his cruel and aloof attitude wasn't an act to get laid.

You had done everything you could to be noticed by any other Captain or Section Commander. Levi's marital status was one you respected and since you weren't fond of the man's personality anyway you hoped he would overlook you as not good enough for his prestigious brigade.

No such luck.

During an interview with the Captain about your duties and how he ran his squad you were foolish enough to ask the question why he had chosen you out of all people, considering he demanded the best of the best to have his back.

"Because my fellow officers are fools when it comes to seeing talent." He took your surprised look and returned it with a scowl. "Don't let that get to your head, you don't have talent yet, just potential. Obey my orders and you'll become great."

So it was more of a compliment to himself and his skills than you. And your comrades wondered why you didn't care for him.

The ray of sunshine was the idea of working closely with Mrs. Ackerman, Evelyn was someone few admired due to her "stealing" of Captain Levi. You admired her spunk and tenacity, someone who was known to not take shit from anyone, including Levi was a person you couldn't help to aspire to be. While you didn't want to risk it and get on Levi's shit list, it was fun to imagine yourself becoming a distinguished officer like Evelyn and Hange. In a society ruled by men where women cowered and feared those apparently "above them", you couldn't help but want to be an independent woman and fearless leader like they were.

When you learned Evelyn had taken a leave of absence you couldn't help but be disappointed. You thought that with the looming threat of Marley that she would have taken a more active role, but she was one of the few officers missing from headquarters. Speculation and rumors grew, some believing that Evelyn either ran away from her responsibilities or deliberately became a housewife to dodge serving in war. A few hushed whispers even questioned the domestic state between man and wife, and if Evelyn had met the same cruel fate many women fell into with monstrous husbands.

You didn't want to believe it, not Evelyn. She wasn't one to run away and she sure as hell wasn't so weak as to be dominated by a prick like Levi. She killed Titans! How could one man bring her so low? It just didn't seem realistic. But that didn't stop the knot of worry from forming in your chest, something didn't feel right.

================================================

What was a normal day for most brought a buzz of excitement for you. You would finally get to meet your role model, when Captain Levi announced that Mrs. Ackerman would be coming to meet the new Levi squad you could hardly contain yourself. While it was just a formality for her to meet those who would have her back in combat it meant everything to you. This was second in command to Levi himself, your superior, but one you could actually appreciate. All the things you could learn from her.

Evelyn was shorter than you thought, on a horse she seemed taller, but then again, so did the Captain. What everyone described as an easygoing officer who cared about those in lower rank than she seemed almost nonexistent, perhaps she was just trying to give off a tough impression to those who thought she went soft after her marriage.

"Cadet hm? You look fresh from the Academy." She addressed you this time as she went over each squad member standing at attention.

"No ma'am, I've been graduated for over a year, I was in another squad that was disbanded when our Captain fell."

"So you got placed with the infamous Captain Levi, lucky you." Her tone lacked humor, and your eyebrows furrowed at her use of "infamous" rather than "famous".

"Yes ma'am." You couldn't quite put your finger on it but there was something off about her. The woman you had come to look up to was a firecracker when it came to injustice and protective over her subordinates. This Evelyn seemed like she could care less about them or their fates. "I hope you'll feel safe knowing I have your back."

She raises a brow. "Do you? How do I know you could do anything but watch me die? If it meant saving your hide for your officer would you abandon them? Isn't that what all you recruits do, stay behind and let us veterans mop up after you. That's what the Scouts does, saves themselves, they don't care about anyone else but themselves. You disgust me, you make empty promises you can't keep. Protect me from the Titans? You couldn't even protect me from-"

"That's enough." The cold tone rang through the even colder air. All stood to attention as Captain Levi stepped forward, his icy expression making them all shiver more than the cold. "You're here to meet the squad Evelyn, not harass them. Report to my office."

It was subtle, so subtle you almost believed you were seeing things. A look of fear flickered across Evelyn's expression.

"Wait Levi I'm sorry I should've-"

"Enough of your noise, I said report."

Seeing Evelyn hang her head and look so submissive sent a wave of anger from you. She had insulted you and now she was being barked at like a dog and was just taking it? To hell with military discipline you couldn't help but scream at her.

"I couldn't be more disappointed in you! I looked up to you and thought you were a great role model! You're just some arrogant jerk who cowers! I thought you were a strong leader but you're not! You're weak! A disgrace to that uniform!" You spat it out, surprised that Captain Levi allowed you to finish and speak to his wife like that. Afraid of what would come you tried to will back some courage, knowing his punishment would probably hurt.

"That's enough of that. Squad dismissed." Was all he said. "You, cadet. Report to my office this afternoon, we need to have a chat about respecting officers."

You swallowed the slight fear before nodding and saluting. "Yes sir." You deserved it, but man it felt good to wound Evelyn back the way she wounded you.

================================================

Barely satisfied with your rations you make your way to Levi's office, silently dreading what would come next. You had tried to stay off of the Captain's shit list, infamous for being hard to get off of with some of the most horrendous punishments known to man. But this is what you deserved for letting your anger get out of control.

As you rounded the corner you couldn't help but overhear muffled yelling. Coming closer to the door, with your ear to it you could make some of it out.

"Enough of this childishness Evelyn, when I give you a command you obey like a good wife. You force me to punish you like this, look at the man you're making me become. What were you thinking involving that girl in our marriage? Hm? How selfish could you be? Her lashing out at you is what you deserved." A slight pause. "Don't worry, she'll be punished, but I wanted you to hear what the world thinks of you. You're no longer this respected woman, they hate you as much as I love you."

You couldn't help but scrunch up your nose in disgust, that sounded awfully manipulative. Why would Captain Levi say that to his wife? Uncomfortable with overhearing any more you knock on the door, the noises from within silence before a stern, "Enter." is heard.

As you open the door you notice the Captain's stern expression and Evelyn standing in the corner refusing to face you. You tried to explain it to yourself that she was hurt by your words, but the hand holding her arm slipped just a little for your to see a large red welt on her skin.

What the hell had you just walked into?

[emilyprentiss-ily]

It kinda makes me laugh

tw: a bit gory at the very beginning, (talk of a case), mentions of blood and amputation, cussing, minor injuries, a bit suggestive

wc: 2k

note: i’m uploading this again because i made a new account. read about it here

When you first joined the BAU you were quite looking forward to meeting the agents you had heard so much about. You couldn’t believe you had the honor to work with the very best.

You did your research, maybe a bit too much, wanting to make a first good impression and you genuinely thought you would get along with everyone well. You got along with most people.

“You could have killed him.” Derek spat at you as you both walked back to the rest of the team, each step away from the forest that would haunt you forever filling your lungs with fresh air you very much needed. In the mix of chasing a serial killer, fighting him off — which resulted in you now having a bleeding cut from your forehead and your cheek stinging with the bruise that was forming — and then having to make the almost impossible decision to amputate a man’s foot, was really catching up to you, and somewhere in all of this, you had forgotten to properly breathe.

“His foot was rotting, Morgan. If I wouldn’t have amputated it, he would have definitely died. I saved his life.” You didn’t bother looking at him, already knowing exactly what expression was on his face. A look of anger you always saw every time you were around him.

“The rock was dirty, Y/L/N. You didn’t think about the fact that he could’ve gotten an infection?” The anger in his voice made your heart ache. You scoffed, out of anger and hurt and maybe to be able to exhale in an attempt to cover up how much you wanted to cry. You had been nothing but kind to him when you first met and he had been nothing but rude and mean. He hadn’t shown you an ounce of appreciation or kindness, so you had decided — after a week of trying to be nice to him, only to be shut down — that he didn’t deserve your kindness either.

You knew that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. Or he was just intentionally trying to be mean. Probably both.

Taking a breath, you looked down at your dirty clothes before your eyes could make out your team in the dark from a bit away as you walked towards them, and them towards you.

“Look, I know you hate me, but the very least you can do is respect me.” A few more steps and you could breathe out and be alone and sleep. “You don’t have to like me, just respect my place in this team and respect my decisions. I’m not stupid, okay?” You couldn’t resist glancing at him, seeing him already looking at you, a look of something you weren’t quite sure of.

Immediately, you tore your eyes off of him, looking at your shoes. “If you can’t even respect me, then just try to accept the fact that I’m here, I’m a part of this team and I’m not leaving any time soon.” You didn’t know if he even cared about what you had just said, but as soon as you took your eyes off the ground, you saw the team approaching you with relieved expressions and open arms. At least they had been welcoming towards you. Especially the girls, who you had grown close to in these three months.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, cupping your bruised cheek carefully as she looked at you with concerned eyes.

“I’m okay.” You breathed out, nodding before JJ brought you into her arms.

As you hugged everyone tightly, really needing them after such a brutal case, you heard Hotch say something about checking into the hotel and finally be able to sleep. You exhaled, feeling Emily’s hand on your back, rubbing comforting circles.

Never had you been so relieved to be in a hotel room as you were now. As the door clicked, you finally properly breathed in and out. Letting the bag fall off your shoulder, the fabric thudding against the floor, you immediately walked to the bathroom, looking at your exhausted complexion in the mirror. Sighing, you placed your hands on the faucet, leaning against it as you closed your eyes, just breathing.

You almost fell asleep like that, feeling so utterly drained, but suddenly a knock echoed through the room and you raised your head, wondering who it was. Maybe Rossi wanted to check on you. You had grown close to him too, him being like a father figure to you and he always checked up on you, knowing how hard it can be to be the new one in a team. Anywhere, really. And hard it definitely had been.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you opened the door, expecting Rossi there, but to your disappointment, it was the one and only Derek Morgan. You found yourself just staring at him for a moment.

“What is it?” Your tone was harsh and you watched as he seemed to search for words. All you wanted to do was get into bed and sleep. “Why did you come here if you have nothing to say?” Derek took a silent breath.

“I just… I just wanted to tell you that you’re wrong.” Your eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Your fingers turned white from the hard grip you had on the door.

“Earlier… you said that I hate you.” He looked away from you. “I don’t.” You wondered if he was more tired than you were.

“Okay?” You didn’t know what to say. He looked up at you. “Look, I just want to sleep. I’ve had a hard day and you’re not making sense,” You sighed. “so can you just leave me alone?” A familiar anger flashed in his eyes.

“Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m standing here trying to explain something to you and you’re being rude.” His voice raised and your eyes widened, knowing that he probably just woke up about 15 guests with his loud voice. You dragged him into the room by his arm, closing the door behind you. He crossed his arms, his eyebrows frowning in anger.

“I’m being rude? Are you fucking serious?” You chuckled. A sarcastic one. “You have been nothing but rude and mean and unfair to me since I started. That was three months ago and you’re still the same. Are you blind to your own behavior? We are work colleagues, Morgan, and you treat me like I’m garbage.”

“What if I don’t want to be just work colleagues?” He spat out, unhooking his arms. The air seemed almost knocked out of you as you stared at him with slightly wide eyes. He stared at you back, regretting his words as soon as he had said them. But he didn’t look at you with the same shock you had on your face. In your eyes. There was something else glimmering in his. Something you were too shocked to try to understand at the moment.

As you stared into his brown eyes, you realized that maybe Garcia had been right all this time when she occasionally whispered — not so quietly — to the rest of the team about the sexual tension between you and Morgan. And that tension was incredibly, painfully obvious.

It felt like hours before either of you moved, but as soon as Derek took slow steps towards you, you looked him up and down, your breathing still not under control. Time stopped and nothing felt real when he was almost overwhelmingly close. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him. You could feel his breathing cooling your skin as your heart pounded in your chest.

His eyes were dark and filled with lust and God, so gorgeous. They penetrated yours. Your own flicked between his and suddenly there was a slight crimson covering your cheeks when your eyes had accidentally glanced at his lips. You had caught the small curve of them before you looked up at his eyes again, seeing that he was smirking, his eyes shimmering. It was small, but with him being so very close, you had seen it.

He placed a warm hand against your cheek, caressing the purple bruise. His other hand he placed on your waist and your knees almost failed you.

“Tell me to stop anytime.” He whispered, his voice husky with desire as he lingered close to you with his lips open, touching yours, but not kissing. Without thinking, you took a hold of his belt, dragging him closer to you, your hips meeting at the same time your lips met. The air shifted; it charged into something intense. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a hummingbird as you both slowly, clumsily stepped backwards, your back hitting the wall. You felt your breasts against his toned chest and you never wanted that feeling to go away.

The only sound in the room was your heavy, shaky breaths and you placed a hand on his back, fisting the shirt he was wearing. Almost involuntarily, you leaned in more to deepen the kiss. Derek felt like heaven and his lips were divine.

Derek was still cupping your cheek, caressing, and his other hand traveled to your hair, gently grabbing it. “Derek," You gasped breathlessly against his lips. You thought the tension between you was strong before, it was nothing compared to now. Although, this was another kind of tension. A good one. More than good.

His tongue sneaked out to trace the edge of your lower lip. You opened your mouth, and his tongue caressed your own. The feeling of him caused you to moan into his mouth before you could even think about holding it back. Derek’s kiss was magic. It was frantic for you, desperate. His hand dug into your hip. You pulled back, gasping for air, "Derek, the bed." His lips didn’t leave your skin, falling instead to your neck as you both took a few steps to the bed.

Pulling away almost reluctantly, Derek sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, grabbing your arm to lead you to him, drawing you close again. His eyes alone almost made you groan.

You swung a leg over his lap and straddled him, your hand finding the back of his neck. His kisses fell to your neck where he continued his barrage of kisses, your head leaning to the side to give him better access. He took advantage of it, surely giving you marks that you didn’t care for right now. You were too lost in the moment and the feeling of his hands around your waist.

You felt his lips trail down to your collarbone, his hot tongue making you slightly gasp. He felt incredible below you. He looked up at you, smirking which only added to your already burning desire. You didn’t know if this was going to end up turning into something more, but right now, you were more than content to kiss him.

Connecting your lips to his once more, you closed your eyes again and savored the feeling of his lips moving against yours before both of you gently pulled away, breathing heavily, your chest heaving against his. You looked into his eyes, kissing the very corner of his mouth before you placed your hands right under his jaw, smiling at him. You earned a toothy, shiny smile back.

“I don’t know.” He said with earnest eyes. “All I know is that I never hated you, and I’m tired of ignoring it.”

You rested your forehead against his, tracing his muscly arm, still looking into his brown eyes. He traced your hip and you shuddered at the feel. “Can I ask you something?” You quietly spoke, breaking the soft silence. He nodded and you pulled away a little. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.” He said with earnest eyes. “All I know is that I never hated you, and I’m tired of ignoring it.”

[kuroneko1815]

Imperial Domesticity: Unexpected Surprise

20 years of Marriage later and they were back where they started all because Callisto couldn’t get enough of his wife. Featuring the Imperial children, which one? All of them. Family time with the young dragons.

Callisto had once told her that she’d be the woman he’d spent the last twenty years loving and building a family with. And he was right. That had been at the very beginning of their marriage, now twenty years on and she never imagined they’d be back to what was essentially the start of their marriage.

At forty three, she thought she’d be done with her days of pregnancy and childbirth, especially with how difficult Nicholas’ birth was, and the Doctor’s own words that it would be near impossible for her to get pregnant again. She and Callisto had taken that at face value, fully believing that they’d never have another. And Callisto in particular had taken it to mean that contraceptives were no longer necessary.

“You said it was impossible for this to happen again.” Callisto, her husband, the love of her life, father of her children, Emperor of Eorka, and the biggest lusty dumbass that had ever existed said flatly as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand.

The Doctor gave a frustrated sigh from where he sat. “With all due respect, Your Majesties, but I said near impossible, not completely impossible. Obviously, if you refuse to use contraceptives and still continue on with such activities with the frequency and passion that the two of you have been, then it was bound to happen.”

Penelope turned red at having it pointed out and stated so. Callisto was shamelessly unapologetic for their passion. The very passion that had never died, not through the pregnancies nor through time. Callisto had kept his promise that he wouldn’t get fat until at least twenty years had passed. Well, the man had shown no signs of stopping his gruelling regiment and training, though that was mostly because he’d been the one to train their children. He placed a blade in each of their hands and taught them to fight and defend themselves as a way to bond.

“I’m concerned about Her Majesty’s health. Her last birth had nearly killed her and had left her bed bound for awhile and she’d been younger then. Not to mention how…fragile her health has always been.” The Doctor confessed. “There are options of course.”

Penelope felt bile rise in her throat at those words. She refused to give up on this child. “That’s out of the question.” She said immediately, voice rather sharp.

“I understand.” The Doctor said soothingly. “Then we’ll need to keep a closer eye on you throughout the pregnancy. Given the complications and the difficulties from your last pregnancy, it would be advisable to have a Doctor assigned to you at all hours. And, as hard as it is for me to say, there is a higher chance of you losing this baby.”

“Then I’ll do whatever I can to give this baby the best chance.”

The Doctor said a few more things but her mind had gone too far for her to even begin to comprehend anything he was saying. Callisto though, was taking notes beside her, even though she knew the Doctor would give them a full written report on it later.

When the Doctor left, Callisto turned to her, and she knew he’d already been able to tell that she was troubled. His hand went to cup her cheek as he brought his forehead to hers. “My Love?” He asked.

“I’m worried.” She confessed as she looked at the rings on their fingers. “Judy was barely thirteen when I gave birth to Nick, and I’d almost died. We almost died. I’d never regretted the ring more than that day. I was so worried on what would happen to the children if we’d both passed then. I know we spoke to my family and to Cedric and Winter but… but I don’t know if they’d have been able to stop factions from forming around them, if they would have been able to shelter the children completely from the infighting and the machinations of the nobles the way we have… and now this.” She touched her womb where another little life was now growing. “I already love this child as much as I do our other children.”

“So do I.” He told her gently, a smile on his face as he touched her womb, that look of wonder was on his face again. “I hold the same worries but Judith is older now and I like to think on the bright side when it comes to our family.”

He truly did. While Penelope often worried, staying up late into the night until Callisto soothed her, calming her down, or wearing her out through the more physically amorous means, He would often weave happy tales of their family and he made sure they were things that were plausible, always making sure that they would come true to the point that she sometimes thought of it as clairvoyance until he’d pointed out that he had the means to do whatever he wished to make their children’s dreams come true.

Callisto was different now from the man she’d met in that maze almost twenty six years ago now. That man was paranoid, suspicious, dark, and hard. His smiles and laughter were cruel and vicious. He had been fresh out of war and knew only brutality, death, and deception. He was frequently attacked and saw the assassin’s shadow at every turn. He had terrified her back then.

But this Callisto in front of her now was soft and light. His hair still that same golden blonde but now she could see streaks of white gold peaking out, his face unlined save for the smile and laugh lines by his mouth and eyes. And he still only looked at her, no matter how many women paraded themselves in front of him, his eyes saw only her, his body craved only her touch and her flesh, his mouth sought only her kisses. It was her bedroom, their bedroom that he retired to at night, and their bed he slept in every night.

His hard edges hadn’t appeared in front of her in so long, though she knew it was still there and often directed at those nobles that made trouble. And the children had never once seen it, nor did Callisto even have any inclination towards showing them. It had gotten to the point that the children doubted the rumours and tales of their Father’s reputation as the barbarian. That, or, as Sophia had once told Diana, they suspected their doting Father had merely gone senile with age.

Callisto had pouted at hearing their words. “I’m not senile or old.” He’d protested.

“But you are, Papa.” Selene had said as she stared at her Father from across the table. “You’re so old, You’re fifty.”

“I’m forty eight!” He said indignant.

“That’s so old! Forty eight is a bajillion years from now.” Nicholas said solemnly.

Penelope laughed with Judith and Roxanna while Callisto had spluttered at their only son’s words. That conversation had happened not even a week ago. She had soothed Callisto when they’d gotten back to their room, stripping him and pushing him to the bed before she took the lead temporarily while she extolled his virtues and the merits of his handsome face and form. Allowed him to ‘seek’ comfort in her arms and her body until he took over for her.

Thinking on it harder, was it any wonder that she’d ended up pregnant again? Especially when nearly every night had ended in such a way, one part of him that showed true for his dragon lineage was how he was always greedy and lustful, seeking to take and conquer her body, to become one all the time. Now that she knew it was a possibility all along, she found herself surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner.

“Callisto.” She called out from where he’d gone down on his knees to kneel beside her womb, whispering promises and assurances the way he had with her five other pregnancies. He looked up at her call and she took his hand to give him a gentle tug to signal that she wanted him beside her. He obliged immediately.

She leaned over and kissed him, hands going to his hair, mussing it up the way she just loved to, the way that had always gotten her hot and bothered.

“I love you.” She whispered to him.

“And I love you, My Empress.” He answered back. “Don’t worry. We’ll weather this together as we’ve done before.”

Penelope remembered when she was pregnant with the twins, the incident with Nausica that had nearly come to war. She worried at the time that it would truly come to such a thing as their trollop of a Princess had continued to try Callisto’s patience by first refusing to give an apology and then showing up at the Imperial palace under the guise of finally giving an apology only to insult Penelope at every turn, in front of an already seething Callisto (she worked rather hard to calm him down all the time) and then proceeding to try and seduce him.

Penelope herself had reached her breaking point when she dared call Judy an abomination for her wings and magic. It was Penelope who had lashed out, slapping her after that and giving her a tongue lashing of her own, dressing her down in front of everyone, pointing out her shameless behaviour, and then actually telling Callisto to tighten the noose and stop any and all imports and exports from Nausica around the Empire and it’s other tributary states. An economic embargo that nearly crippled the kingdom had it gone on for too long.

In a panic, the King himself had gone down on his knees and begged forgiveness, practically pulling his daughter down on the floor with him before promising to deal with her personally. Princess Bianchi had lost her title to marriage and was brought low, not a commoner but not an upper noble either, nor was her husband wealthy enough to sustain her lush habits.

Penelope had long been known as the Emperor’s mediator because she was the only one could temper him and mediate any sort of peaceful resolution through her ‘suggestions’ (truly, the wonders of threatening to cut him off intimacies).

-

-

Callisto stared at Penelope’s sleeping form. The silver that had begun to lightly intersperse her magenta hair was especially pretty during the night when the moonlight would hit it. He understood her worries, he always did. And he knew what she was trying to say. Of their six children, only Judith was of age though the other two were old enough to discern things for themselves, but the other half was young enough that they were impressionable and easily tricked. Thankfully, they’d all inherited their parents stubborn nature so it was difficult to try to pressure them into doing things.

He mentally made a list of things that needed to be done. Penelope would no doubt want to inform the children first before they informed her Father and brothers. There was also the pillow to think of. Penelope, throughout each of her pregnancies had favoured a pillow she’d specifically designed to keep her comfortable while she slept. She claimed that it helped reduce the aches that came with pregnancy. And he believed it, had seen the noticeable reduction in Penelope’s subtle grimaces of pain while using it, even if he was loathe to have her hugging a pillow rather than him while they slept.

He’d have to have another one made. He had a ritual of burning them after she’d delivered the babe. The offending pillow that hoarded his wife’s cuddles while he was forced to sleep alone, her back turned to him. Also, those pillows had seen things. He smirked at the creative ways he’d made use of it with Penelope. There was a reason why they needed multiple covers for it.

He also needed to make contingencies should the worst happen, even if he hated to even think on it. Penelope was right that Judith was older now, she’d come of age last year and was now closer to twenty than ever before. Out of all of the children, Judith was the one who’d have the most responsibilities thrust upon her should… should that happen and they were both lost to the children.

He sighed and decided that there were things that could be put off until tomorrow.

-

-

The children sat down for breakfast, their tradition of taking their meals together as much as possible was unbroken. Breakfast and Dinners were practically inflexible, a fixed part of their routine. Snacks, tea, and lunch was the variable part.

He had spoken to his wife earlier and they’d both agreed that it was better to tell them now. The children had taken it quite well… in fact… to well. They eyed them suspiciously.

“Judy guessed it yesterday.” Roxanna answered simply. “And then she told the rest of us.”

The twins nodded. Sophia and Selene had expressed their happiness over having another sibling.

“I’m not gonna be the baby anymore. I’m gonna be a big brother!” Nicholas exclaimed happily, hands flailing about in a little seated dance.

“Do you think it’s going to be a boy or a girl?” Diana asked her siblings as they began to make bets. Before Nicholas’ birth, nobody would have made that bet, not even Callisto, believing that he’d have another daughter, they’d chosen the name Nicole which was immediately changed when their baby was born a boy.

Of course, on top of Penelope’s condition, they had to scramble because the nursery they’d prepared and all the clothing that he’d bought was for a baby girl. It was a great shock and a joyous blessing but also, a large headache in the form of the traditionalists who wanted a son on the throne. He’d had quite a few nobles publicly disciplined and censured for stirring up all of that trouble.

His baby boy, sweet and innocent child that he was, had, much as his older siblings did, publicly turned his nose at the thought of taking the throne, wanting to become the next head mage instead.

“Hey Servant Emperor!” Judith called out cheekily. “You know, if I have a child of my own soon, then my little baby brother or sister would be around the same age as my son or daughter.”

Callisto’s face darkened at those words. “Ha, no way are you,” then he paused to look at each and every one of his children, “any one of you, having a child anytime soon.” He declared.

“Yeah, Servant Emperor is right!” Nick said, nodding along with him. That’s right, as the only two ‘men’ of the family they needed to stick together and protect the women. “I’m too young to be an uncle.”

His older sister began to coo at him, causing him to pout, magenta hair covering his ruby eyes as he looked away petulantly. Nick had been the only one to have Penelope’s colouring, even if it was just the hair. His son often tried to pretend to be a grown up but always failed short, his over protective older sisters and parents, grandfather, uncles, cousins, and well everyone basically, always doted on him fiercely because he was the baby of the family.

Callisto smiled at them all fondly as he took them in. There was a time when he’d dined alone, and now, the empty seats in this large table had slowly been filled up. He remembered being six and eating alone after his Mother’s death, remembered being a child thrust into a battlefield and eating in his tent while he listened to his men enjoying themselves and building that camaraderie and knowing that he never could join them unless he wanted to cause them some discomfort.

When Penelope came into his life, he would take his meals with her, even if they had to do it miles apart and through a communication orb. The lonely anxious days when he’d wait for her to call only to realize that she may or may not have forgotten. The days after she’d finally moved in permanently and he would push his meals back so that he could wait for her to wake up and they’d take their meals together.

And then Judy came. When she could finally sit up, Penelope had a small table placed in their room and they’d have her in a high chair, the two of them taking turns feeding their daughter. The high chair turned into a normal seat propped up by pillows as she grew older. And the cycle repeated itself until they finally transitioned to the large dining room that they now ate at. Another chair or two would be occupied soon, filling up all the spaces.

Penelope caught his eye and she smiled at him from across the large table. Now too far apart to reach across and hold each other’s hands but neither of them minded. The sounds of their children’s laughter and their carefree, unburdened, smiles always filled up whatever lonely spaces remained in their hearts until it was full and bursting at the seams.

-

-

His Father-in-law took the news about as well as could be expected in that he collapsed into his seat, clutching his heart. “I thought the two of you were done having children!” He exclaimed as he stared at them.

“So did I.” Penelope confessed. “But apparently near impossible doesn’t actually negate the slim margin of possibility that I could still have another.”

Neither of his Brother-in-laws looked impressed by their words but there was nothing to be done. After all, Penelope was a married woman and their Empress, they couldn’t really try to censure her. He’d never let them live if they tried.

“Well, look on the bright side, it’s another grandchild for you to dote on.” Callisto reminded him.

And yes, just as predicted, the man softened at those words. “It would be nice to have another baby to carry around.”

The Duke was now seventy one and spent most of his days puttering about in his gardens or spoiling all of his grandchildren.

“Speaking of grandchildren, where are they?” The Duke asked as he craned his neck around as though they’d magically appear in front of him.

“They’re out on the grounds. Nicholas has a riding lessons today and they want to be there for it.” Penelope answered. “And what of William and Richard?”

Richard was Derrick’s son, the heir to the Dukedom who was a quiet and introverted child. He was sweet and much like William, Reynold’s son, were close to their cousins. They were closer in age to the twins and Nicholas than to Diana or Roxanna. And certainly not close in age to Judith.

“They went out in search of their cousins so they may be with the Princesses and Prince now.” Derrick Eckhart said with a sigh.

Reynold Eckhart snickered at the thought of what mischief their sons would be dragged into now that they were with the Imperial Children who were notorious for their incidental mischiefs.

“It’s nice to see them all getting along.” The Old Duke said.

-

-

Penelope had the pillow now and she was cuddled up to it leaving Callisto feeling lonely. She stirred slightly and turned to him. “Come over here.” She demanded. “I’m cold.”

Callisto grinned, the best thing about fall and winter whenever Penelope was pregnant was being used as her personal heat pack. The pregnancy always left her feeling too warm for comfort and his body was warmer than an average humans all the time as a call back to his dragon heritage. It meant that extreme temperatures rarely bothered him.

He quickly shifted to hug her from behind, his hand on the swell of her womb where their youngest (and hopefully last) baby grew.

“Hmm.” Penelope sighed contentedly. “Much better.”

-

-

“What’ll we call Servant Emperor once he’s not Emperor anymore?” Judith asked one evening during dinner.

“How about Papa or Father?” Callisto offered.

The children all looked at one another and then back at him. “No, thank you.” They said in unison.

He sighed in defeat. What started out as teasing nickname from Judith when she was three years old had turned into a lifelong name and term of endearment from his children. “How about Dowager Servant Emperor?” Selene offered.

“Dowager implies widowhood.” Penelope pointed out. “I hope you’re not wishing that upon your father.”

“No way!” Selene said. “No Dowager then.”

“Former Servant Emperor?”

“Well, how about Grandpa Servant?” Roxanna said with a teasing smile. “Since he’ll likely step down after Judy has a child.”

“How about we table that nickname until after I have a child.” She said wryly.

Diana leaned forward. “Servant Emperor Emeritus.” She offered.

“A bit of a mouthful.” Sophia said with a grimace.

“Let’s just stick with Servant Emperor.” Nicholas said.

“Agreed.”

-

-

Callisto had finished the conversation with Judith and Roxanna. While all of the children were aware to varying degrees about the way their parents were tied together, only the two older girls truly understood the severity of the situation. And he needed to prepare them.

He sighed as he stood, the bare bones of a coronation ceremony was already planned should it be necessary to have his eldest take the throne within a year. Right now though, he was tidying everything up, making sure to tighten his grip on the worst of the troublemakers to ensure a smooth transition for Judith which he hoped wouldn’t be necessary.

Right now, the two had already begun to take over some of Penelope’s duties as her strength waned and the symptoms of pregnancy continued to plague her.

He caught sight of twin magenta hair within the gardens and he grinned. Judith and Roxanna followed his gaze and they smiled. “Let’s go see Mama.” Roxanna said as they grabbed his hand, dragging him down the halls and out to where he could hear Nicholas’ laughter.

“Well, I hope the little Prince hasn’t been tiring you out, Empress.” Callisto called out.

The two immediately turned to them. “Servant!” Nicholas called out and ran to him. His arms outstretched and he caught him immediately, lifting him up and letting his son place a kiss on his cheek.

“What about us, Nick?” Judith asked with mock hurt marring her voice.

“Aww, don’t be sad, Judy, Roxie!” He said and immediately held out his arms to give his big sisters hugs.

Judith took him into her arms. “Why don’t we give them some time alone and we can go find the others and we can have a boat race on the lake.”

“Yes! Let’s do it!” Nick said with cheer.

The children gave Penelope a kiss on the cheek first before they turned to him and gave him one as well. “We’ll see you for dinner, Mama, Servant Emperor!” Roxanna called out.

“I guess that’s just my name forever.” Callisto said resigned as he walked towards his wife.

“Could be worse.” She said as she leaned into his arms, they walked slowly, making their way to the maze. “They could call you the unrepentant bastard or psycho asshole.”

“Ahh, yes, your nicknames for me.” He said, recalling what she’d sometimes call him when they were younger. “I like the nicknames you gave me later.”

“Which ones? Lusty moron? Crazy Emperor? Pervert stalker?” She threw out.

He grinned down at her. “Darling, dear, love.” And then he leaned down. “The world’s best lover.”

“I never called you the last one.” She said.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you did.” He said in mock contemplation. “Maybe it was in my dreams.” And then he froze, grinning down at her, the little one inside her was calm for the moment. “How about I try to make you admit it?”

The lascivious grin he gave her made her blush. “You really are shameless.”

“I don’t deny that, but only towards you, Love.” He said as he picked her up, carrying her gently as they stood at the heart of the maze where they first met. “At least we don’t have to worry about contraceptives.”

“This is exactly how we got into this situation in the first place.” Still, she craned her neck and gave him a kiss. “Hmm… I can’t believe you’re seducing me here.”

“Why not? This is where it all began for us.” And then he turned around and made his way back to their palace.

-

-

Penelope still attended Judith’s birthday celebrations despite the fact that she could give birth at any moment. Judith had fussed and told her it wasn’t necessary but Penelope was adamant about not missing any of their children’s birthdays. Thankfully, it passed without incident.

Although, Penelope woke Callisto up a few hours after they retired to bed.

“It’s time.” She said, breathing through the pain calmly, having had enough experience with it that she knew what to expect and what to do.

Callisto jumped up immediately and called for the guards to get the Doctors as he rushed to Penelope. This was the part that he hated the most, seeing her in so much pain, worriedly wondering if she would make it. He climbed in beside her, repositioning her to give her enough comfort and support.

As the minutes trickled by, he noticed the rapid progression of her contractions. This was the fastest her labour had developed and he worried that she’d deliver without the Doctors here.

The door flung open and the maids entered with basins of water and towels. The Doctors all gathered around her. He whispered soothing words into her ear the way he’d always done each time she went into labour.

He could hear the children outside, speaking and pacing up and down the halls as they waited for any news.

“This is definitely the last one, Your Majesty.” Penelope said, a whine in her voice as she grunted through the pain. “We’re too old now, Judy was right when she said she might start having children soon. I don’t think I’ll have enough energy in me to run after a baby of our own and whatever grandchildren we’d have.”

Soon the Head Doctor was instructing Penelope to push. In no time at all, an infant’s cry was heard. He waited, having learned from the twins that another could come soon but there wasn’t anything from the Doctors who quickly took the babe nor from the Doctor who delivered the after birth.

“Congratulations Your Majesties. We have another beautiful and healthy little princess.”

Callisto hugged Penelope tightly as she leaned on him in relief.

The babe was in Penelope’s arms within minutes, swaddled in a soft green blanket that Penelope had made with the help of the children.

He leaned over to look at his newest daughter and laughed happily. His beautiful wrinkly little baby had tufts of dark pink hair that would no doubt turn magenta like her Mother and brother’s hair had. He touched her cheek with a finger and her eyes opened, hazy blue green eyes peaked out from behind him.

“What should we call her?” He asked. They’d spent months trying to figure out a name but couldn’t settle on one.

Penelope looked at him with a soft smile before she turned to the baby. “How about Felicity?” She suggested. “For the happy laughter you let out when you caught sight of her. May she always be happy and bring happiness to those around her.”

“Princess Felicity Regulus.” Callisto said, trying out the name on his tongue. “I like that. Felicity it is.”

And then he smiled down at his daughter while the Doctor recorded the name on the family registry and prepared the forms for her birth certificate for them to sign later on. “Hello, Felicity Regulus. I’m your Papa, don’t listen to that awful nickname your siblings, I’m Papa to you, the man that keeps talking to you while your Mama slept. Welcome to this madcap family, you’re in for a wild and happy ride.”

He let go of Penelope and the baby and stood to change behind the screen while the maids tended to his wife and cleaned up the bed, then he went outside to the door to let the children in.

“Come meet your new sister, Felicity.” He told them.

They squealed and rushed to his wife, pushing him away from the door. He smiled as they converged around the bed and leaned in close.

Callisto dismissed the servants and the Doctors and just stood there at the foot of the bed with a smile on his face feeling nothing but absolute joy and contentment, peace settled in his heart.

From the outside, the bells rang to announce the birth.

Penelope looked up at him and she mouthed an ‘I love you’ to him. She blew him a kiss that he pretended to catch, hand going to his heart and he mouthed back the words.

I fully believe these two would still be going at it even decades later. Callisto loves being a Father even if he hates the Servant Emperor name, he knows it’ll be the name that’ll follow him for the rest of his life and he’s okay with that. All of the girls had taken after Callisto and Nicholas broke that trend by being born a boy and with Penelope’s hair. And now they have their little Felicity. It took me a lot of math to calculate their age gaps and the ages of both Callisto and Penelope when they were born. Also… I’m planning on adding doing the Nausica incident that Penelope briefly touched on if anyone is interested.

[acutemushroom]

Who might be Tinky's and Blinky's prophets ?

So, I adhere to the theory that each Lord in Black has a prophet. It goes with the whole "God" thing and most of them have known ones, so it isn't a stretch to assume they all have. The problem is....who are Tinky's and Blinky's ?

I mean, we the answer is obvious for the rest of them. Wiggly has Linda and Wilbur; Pokey has (the very unwilling) Paul and the (much more willing) Otho; Nibbly has Roman Murray, Linda's father; and Webby has Hannah as her prophet.

But the other two ?

Tinky's prophets would be the Spankoffski brothers ? Not completely impossible, it would make sense even. But they really feel more like well, toys to him. All the other prophet seems to be somewhat respected by their patron in a weird way.

By that I mean that their lords give them an actual goal (feed me, bigger the hive, sell dolls, ect), a task to expend their domain. What are the brothers really doing to expand Tinky's powers, concretely ? So yeah, I am doubtful about them. Not impossible. If that theory is right, they are the more likely to be the canon ones. But I really don't see it.

For Blinky, it's completely up in the air ! I mean, we know he is the most sadistic. So, someone who is either really good at making people suffer or is just a complete punching bag with a freaking dramatic life ? He is also the One with a Thousand Eyes, so someone that is in a position to gain plenty of information on a lot of people ? Alice and Bill ? They where his victims in Watcher World, but I doubt Blinky would want them after Alice shot him. Grace Chasity then ?

She's my best guess, actually. We know she ends up working for the Lords at the end. Being one of the nerdy prudes, I'd say she saw a lot of suffering, even if she didn't receive any (the apex bully having a big crush on her does help). Also, her religiousness. She believes in the eternal suffering in Hell of those who go against her faith. She killed who knows how many dudes because of it. Although she had good intentions, she created the rumours that brought Stephanie to camp Idontwannafuck. Also, the whole "God is watching over our actions" thing that goes with her faith. No, really she'd be a real possible candidate.

Or I might be completely wrong and they are characters that are not even introduced yet !

Either way, it is just a theory.Though, I am curious on who you might think they are ? :)

[mariacallous]

Where were you that morning when the great war began?

Here's my story: The war spoke to me with the distant rumble of explosions outside the window, but I didn't believe it, thinking I was living a dream. Then, on the second floor of my friends' house near Kyiv, the door slammed shut, and slippers clattered down the stairs.

"The war has started, the airspace has been closed," said Katia, the owner of the house.

She mentioned the airspace because I was supposed to fly to Vilnius two hours later to present the translation of my novel. Her voice, after sleep, seemed rough and masculine, hoarse and smoky. But in reality, it was the sound of primal fear. A large dog stood in the kitchen in front of the window, looking into the dark sky, barking nervously, listening to the sounds of rockets and warplanes.

Every Ukrainian will forever remember the dark morning of Feb. 24, 2022, when the full-scale invasion began. Some woke up to explosions, others to frightened calls from their families – but everyone remembers that second to the last detail. It's a memory that pierces through our entire lives. The commonality of this experience makes us not just one people, but a closer, more intimate community – something akin to a family. Because we experienced that moment together.

Afterward, there were many different moments, alarms and tears, pain and anger, but those first seconds remind me of a freeze frame. As if in a 3D program, I can recall all the details around me: the air temperature, the glasses on the table from the previous night's gathering, the clock hands above the door, the smell of the dog in the room, the cool tiles on the floor.

It was the most important moment of my life, after which everything went awry and all plans were disrupted. Perhaps, I’ll remember just as piercingly and deeply the moment when I hear that the war is over — if I live to see that moment, of course.

Two dreadful years have passed since then. What has changed within us and around us? The most significant change is that we have become accustomed to war — it is part of our lives, our daily routine. This is the scariest change because we have acclimatized to something absolutely abnormal and horrific. We have learned to live without paying attention to it.

Now, when the air raid siren sounds in Kyiv, almost no one rushes to find the nearest shelter – people continue to go about their usual business without haste. Death has acquired the features of an ancient Greek tragedy where it is now governed by fate and destiny. You have almost no influence over it — it may happen that a missile will hit your house today, fall on the café where you order your cappuccino, or destroy the station where you meet your friends.  It's practically impossible to protect yourself from this, so we have to accept it as a daily possibility. “Thy will be done,” as we atheists say.

There is a lot of death around. In the spring of '22, when the first coffins of soldiers killed at the front were brought to my city, each death was felt as a personal tragedy. As the hearse moved through the streets, people on the sidewalks dropped to their knees, laying flowers on the pavement, and crowds gathered at the funerals.

Now, there's a whole section of military graves in the city cemetery, each adorned with the Ukrainian flag. Relatives, colleagues from civilian life, and front-line comrades accompany the coffin — it's usually a small procession. People on the streets pause in respect, but they no longer cry or kneel. In general, it's more comfortable for them to look away or rush into the nearest store to avoid a personal encounter with the death of someone who sacrificed their life for our right to live in the relatively peaceful rear.

Don't rush to judge these people – they're not cynical or callous. It's just that there's been so much death, pain, and grief in these past two years that tears have been shed, the emotions have faded, and the shock of each new tragic news story paralyzes us, only to quickly dissipate. Because you have to gather all your strength and keep living — it's easy to go mad from the onslaught of emotions and experiences. Sometimes I feel like we've all collectively gone mad.

I'm not exaggerating, believe me. In Kharkiv, after a Russian shelling, an entire family perished – two parents and three children. The Russians attacked an oil depot, causing a fuel leak that flowed down the street and ignited dozens of houses in the residential area. It was a literal hell on Earth; people burned alive.

The father and one son were in the hallway attempting to escape. The mother and her other two children in the bathroom. The youngest son, Pavlo, was seven months old. His mother held him close when they died. The baby was so badly burned during the fire that nothing remained, not even his bones – just ashes.

Can one not go mad after such a reality? Can one not go mad after such a reality? And have I truly gone mad if my first thought was that it would have been better if it were a missile, so that everyone would perish instantly? Because in the fire, everyone endured fear and pain.

A Ukrainian soldier, who only returned from Russian captivity on Jan. 31 after enduring humiliation and torture for two years, was fatally struck by a truck at an intersection on Feb. 8. After returning from captivity, he didn't even get the chance to see his daughter, Valeriia Halkina, who now lives as a refugee in Lisbon.

She wrote on her Instagram: "Today my dad passed away. He wasn't killed by war, nor by a bullet, nor by two years in captivity. He was just crossing the road and was hit by a car. It's surreal. I can't believe this is real. I'm sorry for everything. I waited for your call, as you promised, but I can't wait anymore…"

These are not the most striking stories from the war – just two pieces of news from the morning as I write this piece. This is what everyday life has looked like for two consecutive years – 730 mornings in a row. Every day, civilians die – defenseless, innocent, completely ordinary people, killed by Russia in a supermarket, on the street, in their own homes.

Not only random civilians are dying – Russia kills our soldiers every day. The world has accepted the idea that military deaths are normal, that they are just statistics of war. But aren't soldiers humans, too? Can they simply be killed by invading our country? Who decided that killing soldiers is not a crime, and when?

Especially considering that the Ukrainian army mainly consists of civilians, people who voluntarily went to defend their country or were mobilized under state conscription. These people had no military training before the invasion and were managers in offices, city bus drivers, pizza chefs in trendy restaurants — just like you, reading these lines now.

Consider my friend Maksym Plesha, a 32-year-old artist whose lifestyle embodied that of a hippie — a true free spirit. He earned his living by painting portraits of people on the streets and restoring paintings in temples. He went to war as a volunteer, although he had no military background. He was wounded twice and survived battles in Bakhmut last winter. After his injuries, we joked that he had nine lives, like a cat.

These extra lives saved him more than once, but when the war continues every day for two consecutive years, not even nine lives are enough to survive. Maksym was killed last year, and his handsome body was brought to his funeral in a closed coffin because it was badly mutilated. Is killing such a soldier a crime or not?

And now let's answer together the question that I am asked very often in different countries: "Are you currently writing fiction?" The answer is obvious.

We live every day amid such a whirlwind of stories that writing fiction capitulates to reality. No novel can compete with the stream of everyday plots from the lives of ordinary Ukrainians. I am not writing anything fictional and, in general, I do not think about literature today as something imaginary or detached from life.

Because the only function of Ukrainian literature today is to witness, to describe fates, to document crimes. When I wrote about Maksym, his relatives thanked me for the fact that, this way, the memory of him will live a little longer and more people will learn about his life. Literature becomes a kind of psychotherapy, helping to endure the greatest losses, giving hope that all this is not in vain, that we will be heard.

These are not empty words: During the war, in the midst of a deep economic crisis, the circulation of Ukrainian books doubled, and the book market remained one of the few profitable ones in the country. It's a paradox, but only at first glance — in times of turbulence and uncertainty, people need books. The demand for books has increased because they're about people, about human and intimate matters.

To be a writer in these times is both honorable and immensely challenging because literature today does not entertain, but helps and saves. However, it also poses a certain danger: If you have a large paper library in your apartment, then during a missile strike, your dwelling will burn much faster than others — firefighters may not have time to rescue you.

But this cannot be predicted. Over two years of war, as it has already been said, we've learned to rely on fate and destiny. We've grown accustomed to the deaths around us and accepted the possibility of our own sudden demise. We no longer react as vehemently as we did before to terrible news — our emotional skin has thickened. Or perhaps it has simply gradually withered away because, with each day of horror, which our lives have turned into, we all slowly died, too.

What makes us human and normal has withered away within us. Everyone has become a victim of the war – both those it has killed and those who have (so far) been lucky enough to survive. Over two years, we've grown accustomed to war and tragedies, and have started to consider it the new normal, a part of our everyday lives.

And that's the scariest part of it all.

[mrsjavierp]

Where you belong?

Chapter 2 - Wasted Times

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing, bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader. The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Javi's 3rd)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: thanks so much for all your love and curiosity, I've got 4 chapters written by now, I don't know how many will be nor the ending yet.

To make it fun, lets add a song to it:

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

The weeks flew by without me even noticing: Between an apartment to find furniture, trying to catch up all that they did about Escobar before I arrived, a routine seemed impossible.

Rights and wrongs, new problems and struggling to find solutions.

And, of course, Javier Peña was fulfilling his bad fame towards bosses.

Sometimes, his name tasted like whiskey in my mouth: bitter.

Peña was, in fact, an intelligent agent... But oftentimes got blindsided by his arrogance or for being a pretentious jerk.

Sometimes, his own dick betrayed him.

"Oh, for fuck sakes, Peña! You still don't get it, do you? No, we're not sacrificing a squad like this! We need to be more reasonable! Enough with wasting DEA's resources!"

He made a noise, frustrated.

"Y/LN, things here were always like this. It's not..."

My mocking laugh interrupted him:

"¡Díos mio, Peña! (My God, Peña!) And it worked perfectly, right? And they brought me from hell just to see how beautiful Colombia is? 'Cause this stupid and dated strategy is working... No, we're doing it my way."

Murphy tried to interfere:

"Y/LN, with all due respect..."

My fist hit my table, really fucking angry. They were not expecting this kind of attitude from their "girl boss".

"¡Callarse las bocas! (Shut up!) ENOUGH!" - I screamed. - "If you want to get yourselves killed, be my guest, however, leave my office and this position! I'm not authorizing, not like that. I want to get Escobar as badly as you, but I'm not risking anything. Yes, he's a hijo de puta and would love to shoot his head, but if we do it right, we can make him pay... But with the extradition. I'm not arresting and leaving him here."

Peña left my office, probably seeing red. Murphy took a breath and went right behind.

It was Friday, for fuck's sake. I decided to dismiss all of them earlier. I needed to rest as well.

While everyone was talking their ways, Murphy knocked on the door again:

"Jefe, let's blow-off some of this and get a drink, we all could use." - pointing out Peña as well.

Peña rolled his brown eyes to Steve.

"Gracias, Steve. I'll join you. You better call Connie, she'll be the lightness that we need... No talk about work, dios mio."

Murphy smiled and called to her, to come meet us at the bar.

"You're coming, Peña?" - I invited him, as I got my belongings.

"No, jefe."

"Peña, don't take it personally. Doesn't have to be like this. Let's go get drunk, first one is on me."

He took a deep breath and came with me and Steve.

*

"Mi amor, cuatro tequilas, por favor." (My love, four tequilas, please) - I ordered to the barman, wearing my most charming smile available.

It worked out fine, actually, they came and kept coming as we wished.

Reggaeton with this sensual and smooth rhythm was being played at the sound box, yet, no one was dancing.

Not now, at least.

"Wow, nice, jefe. I think the barman is not leaving... Not without you!" - Murphy and Connie laughed and Javier turned his face, not looking at us.

"That boy is not my type anyway, mi amigo, thanks for the compliment... Well, got us drinks, so served its purpose." - I laughed, trying not to think about going home alone.

"The way you speak Spanish is so natural, so beautiful, Y/N... Are you also a latin, like Javi?" - Connie asked.

"Yes, I'm of Latin origin, but I was born in NYC... My family is pretty much a stereotype of big and latin..." - I looked at Javier, who seemed so far away. - "Javier, I assumed you were indeed, but I hate to be wrong. Nice to have a Latin fellow here."

"I'm Tex-Mex, jefe." - he said, without any emotion in his voice.

*

As the night passed by us, tequila took us far from problems at the DEA. Actually, tequila made us laugh, even made me dance with Connie.

Javier remained quiet and distant. Something felt off about him.

My body was sweating, my skin felt hot. I knew that feeling: I was reaching my alcohol consumption limit.

Truth be told, dancing was the red flag for me.

Whenever I wanted to escape something on my mind, I went out dancing and drinking. Ever since college, ever since I started my career at NYPD, I'd love to escape like this.

I excused myself and went to the restroom, to check the way I looked: not that bad, as a matter of fact, my black dress and heels were okay, my hair a little messy, my red lipstick were lighter than it should be, so I just made a retouch.

When I came back to your table, Murphy was gone, slow dancing with Connie in his arms, Javier was distracted, still very far from us.

I took my seat, across from him.

To crack up a conversation, I started:

"They're so much in love, aren't they? It's genuinely beautiful to see them, when we're used to so much violence..."

"I've got to agree, jefe... I wish I could have that kind of sentiment, to truly feel that..." - He added, appearing bitter.

Honestly, I was bitter myself and agreed:

"Me too, Peña... Me too."

At that moment, we shared this... Look, a bit longer than anything appropriate.

"Why do you hate me, Y/N?"

I laughed, I didn't hate him. He got all wrong, thank God. My cue to go, or else.

"Good night, Peña."

Drunk and horny, I drove back to my place and went to bed, alone.

*

Narrator's POV:

The last thing he heard from her was a lame "Good night, Peña."

He drank up until the last drop of his whiskey.

Javi closed his eyes, wishing her.

No, craving.

Javier paid his part of the check and left it to one of his... Girl who wasn't his friend.

"I'm not fucking my fist, not tonight." - it was a promise to himself.

*

About 9 A.M., Javier entered the hall of the apartment complex he lived in.

Not entirely sober, his movements were slow, as he made an effort to find his door, when light, calm steps walked towards the path he passed by just a moment ago.

His head was hurting, his last night clothes smelled like sweat, sex, cigarettes and alcohol.

Took a little while until Javier recognized the beautiful woman wearing a tight gray gym set...

"This can't be happening... You've got to be kidding me..." - Javier grumbled to himself.

She was even hotter wearing those shorts and crop top.

"Peña? What the fuck are you doing here?" - she asked.

"I live in here, Y/LN... Buenos días, vecina." - Javier pulled out his keys, shaking them, wishing to be wrong about Y/N being his neighbor.

"Holyfuck..." - she cursed. - "I thought I would have some peace at home..." - and as she came, she left quickly and slammed the door to the streets.

Peña, with all the strength on his whole body, entered his place and put his body under cold water, ignoring his hard dick.

Well, how could he ignore it?

The cold shower gave what felt like shocks to his skin. It almost hurts, but he couldn't leave like this, so he fucked his fist one more time, as if he haven't been fucking some chick for hours, until dawn.

His handjob was different this time, if so, even worse than any other, his fantasy was so much closer.

Because, now, he knows...

She lives right there.

Just a few steps...

He still felt hated, however, by someone he would and could make hard.

Her words made an eco into his mind:

"Good night, Peña."

"Mi amor, cuatro tequilas por favor."

"Peña..."

Javier Jesus Peña only prays for two things, now:

That he could see his son before he died.

That his fantasies towards Y/N passed as fast as it came. His guilt and inability to do some or anything were almost killing him.

His load blew on him, while he moaned Y/N.

"Death by hard on" - he made a joke, feeling as dirty as when he walked home.

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