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pia-nor481 · 5 months ago

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She Looks Like a Star- Chapter One

Multidriver x reader (mostly Oscar this chapter)

With the growth of her fan base she decides it’s best to join a big company, what she didn’t expect was how scary it was actually going to be.

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She was nervous walking down the hall, wearing obnoxiously loud heels and a tight skirt, not sure how to feel while wearing what was unusual attire for her. Typically she spent her time in lounge wear, lingerie or nothing so having to wear business smart clothes was a little unnerving. Every few steps she looked at the document in the open folder, trying to find the correct room for the meeting she was supposed to be sat in, in about twenty minutes.

With her head pointed down and her mind in a whole other world she walked straight into a man in the dark hallway. "I'm so sorry, are you alright?" She was momentarily stunned by the Australian accent. "Yes, I'm fine, I should have been looking where I was going." After overcoming her bashfulness she looked up, and was met with a sweet smile, only then did she acknowledge the hand on her waist, keeping her steady. "Are you sure, It seems quite hard to walk in those shoes." He said in a lower volume, looking her up and down. Only now was she able to take him in; His messy brown hair, unusually pale skin considering his accent and the tight navy blue t-shirt showing off his strong arms. She was so taken aback that her only reply to the question was a quick nod. "I'm Oscar by the way. I think we'll be working together at some point soon." She smiled finally gathering her things and straightening out her clothes. "It's nice to meet you Oscar."

"I'm still pretty new around here, but I have a year of navigation experience on you so...Where are you trying to go?" He asked, taking the folder from her arms, trying to save her from carrying too much. "Board room two. I'm supposed to be meeting Christian to discuss my contract and well the logistics of working here." Oscar let out a quiet 'Ah', hooking his arm through hers. "It might help walking in the right direction." He gently laughed, turning around. Her face became warm as they walked. "Don't worry, my first day was a complete mess. I was locked out of the building, seriously late to my first meeting and I waited at the wrong set for about twenty-five minutes. So you're actually starting quite well." Her nerves eased slightly, she could tell Oscar wasn't a particularly chatty person but it was clear how hard her was trying to almost comfort her. "So where did you work before coming here, I'm sorry to say that I don't think I recognise you. Then again I'm not really a big viewer." He said almost shamefully, not realising before he started speaking that it could very easily be taken in an offensive way. "No, no it's okay. I didn't really work with a big company, I did more amateur and home-shot videos. I'm guessing you worked for another company before?" She was unsure as to why it was almost embarrassing that she made all her content on her own. "Yeah, I worked for a smaller company for quite a while actually. You must be pretty talented to make those videos on you're own, especially if it meant you've landed a spot here." Oscar spoke with a sense of excitement during the latter half of the sentence. She looked down as she spoke, entrusting Oscar with fully guiding her. "I now this place is one of the best, but why did you leave you're last company?" Oscar sighed just thinking about it. "I had almost no autonomy. There were certain things I wanted to do, not just because I enjoyed it, but because it makes for a good watch too. But they always shut me down with out even considering it." Oscar seemed genuinely sad about it, she quickly spoke up, questioning how awful that must have been. "Yeah, it was really annoying. But a lot of the videos were scripted like that corny rubbish with the awful acting you usually see with ads. That was the worst. Although you won't fully escape that here, that's one of Sebastian's favourites to film." He laughed at the end.

"Oscar, stop boring the poor girl." She looked up to see Christian pen in hand standing outside of what she assumed to be bored room two. "Alright, alright I'll go." Oscar said smiling, passing her folder back. "Don't forget you have a scene wit Lando today." Christian shouted towards him. "I know, set room four."

"Sorry about him." Christian said, guiding her into the room. "So I'm sure you've read the terms and conditions regarding pay and so on. But I do want to elaborate on what would be you're schedule with us. I'm aware and happy that you will continue to film and post you're own content in you're own hours. So here you will be filming a minimum of three videos a week, and a least one of them must be with another actor here, and a maximum of nine, Of course we do not expect or require you to reach that number. So dates, ideas, sets and time allocation need to be made at least three weeks in advance, four weeks if you require and permits or new equipment of any kind. In addition to this, you will be meeting the other actors today and you will be doing a scene with one of them next week. We will have an additional meeting regarding that and what we call a logistics meeting with the other actor to ensure everyone is on the same page." One of the main things she took away from that was how much Christian was able to talk with needing to take a breath, the other was how much work would actually go into this job. "Right, I'm happy with all of that." She spoke rather quietly. "Great. You will also be meeting a few members of the production team, mainly the camera and sound crew which Toto is in charge of." She nodded swiftly as he continued to explain how the company works and what would be happening in the future.

"So you will need to sign here...here...and here." She did so and looked back up waiting to be told what was happening next. "So you have you're own private room here, it's like an office with a bed and a wardrobe. You will be added to the schedule and as you now have your company email feel free to join in and ask questions when needed. So any last questions?" At this point she was feeling a tad overwhelmed but was happy with the outcome. "No, all is good." She spoke with a small smile, slowly standing up. "Wonderful. I'll see you on Tuesday for the next meeting." They shook hands before she left and as soon as she was out of the room and the door was close, she let out a particularly loud sign of relief. Only now did she realise how taxing this could be

She made quick work of finding her office, initially struggling with the key before placing all of her belongings on the desk. She sat down taking a deep breath deciding it would be best to log in and check what he schedule was for next week. Tuesday she had a meeting with all of the actors, directors and some members of the logistics team to discuss the increase in shooting hours for the next set of holidays and what ideas would be used for those videos. That same day she had a meeting with Christian and Charles about their scene on the 14th. She was more shocked than she should have been. Already she was supposed to be shooting, she didn't even know what he looked like and yet she needed to come up with an idea for the video, and be able to put into words what her limits actually were. Before there was no need to plan ahead so much. She could just put on a pretty outfit, turn on the camera and have fun. Now it felt all too much, as though it was more than a fun and paying pastime. She was quick to shoot up upon hearing the knock at the door. "It's just me." Oscar shouted through the door, opening it quickly before sitting down. "So, how was the meeting?" He asked, leaning in as close as possible. She didn't notice to start but Oscar was only wearing trousers and a robe, his blue shirt missing. "It was okay, pretty overwhelming, but good." She said, bringing her eyes back to the computer.

"Since you want to know and wont ask, Lando gets pretty handsy sometimes, that's usually why I film with him last, or wait a few days to film with someone else. It not a territorial thing, he just likes to see the marks." He spoke softly as he stood up, pulling the robe off. His collar was covered in love bites and teeth marks, while his back was painted with scratches. "Oh wow." Oscar just laughed at her lack of filter. "It's not as bad as it looks, and he's not like this with everyone." He said, eyes closed as the robe began to cover his skin again. "Oh, so you get special treatment. I see how it is." She giggled, avoiding his eyes, scared he's begin to dislike her. "I wish...He doesn't really film with the guys much anymore, I am of course the exception."

He took a deep breath before making sure the door was closed. " Since we're both pretty new I'll fill you in with all the secrets. Lando gets attached very quickly, it's so easy for him to love. That makes him a great person, one of the best you'll ever be around. But that trait is bad in this industry. He joined five years ago, along with George and Alex, but they aren't important to the story. When you start, Usually you're paired with just once actor for a while. For him that was Carlos, and for a lack of a better term he pretty much fell in love with him, but not in a 'I want to date' way. It's complicated. After a few years Carlos left to go to another company for a while and Lando was completely distraught and well angry with Carlos." She was a little shocked that Oscar was so willing to tell her so much. Then again it didn't really affect him. "So Zak, the head of the logistic team, paired him up with Daniel for a while, thinking it would do him some good, they're pretty different, but in a good way."

Oscar was hesitant to continue, checking his watch every now and then, but since he started he couldn't really stop. "Yet Lando resented him. Daniel didn't take it to heart, knowing the whole situation. He's been here for eight years longer than Lando so he's seen a lot and could tell Lando was struggling. I'll be honest Lando is a massive brat usually, so that coupled with the whole situation was a lot. It made some great content sure, but it was still difficult for every one around them. Long story short they began to get along and at some point Lando fell for Daniel, may I add, both times it wasn't completely one sided. But when things got pretty good for them, Daniel took a break from filming all together, it broke Lando all over again." She took a sharp inhale at the end, it sounded devastating just hearing about it, so she could only imagine how it felt. "So Lando decided he didn't want to film with any of the guys anymore. He started working on some more kink based content with different actors. But slowly he's been coming back. So when I joined last year he didn't want any thing to do with me. Not in a mean way, it was more like he was apprehensive. And of course Zak decided to pair us up and well, we've been filming with each other at least twice a week since." He said shrugging his shoulders, finally doing his robe up properly. "Oh wow that's a lot. Is he not worried you're going to leave him at some point? Not to be disrespectful to you, but surely that's a concern of his." She said as Oscar stood up, motioning for her to do so as well. "First, you need to get changed as Christian has instructed me to accompany you while you meet the rest of the actors, so I'm going to turn around, promise I wont peek." He laughed, checking his watch again. She was quick to start stripping of her clothes, reaching in her bag for some more comfortable attire. "Second, of course he worried, wouldn't you be? But we're adults about it so its usually okay. Now that you say that, that's probably the reason I'm covered in marks." He trailed off, shocked that he didn't think of it sooner.

She placed her hands on his arms, turning him so they were face to face. "Is this okay?" She questioned looking down at what she was wearing. Oscars eyes followed hers, although stopped much sooner than she did, he couldn't help but stare, mainly at her tits as he could see all the way down her top. He may fuck on camera for most of the week, but he was no better than the average man. "You look perfect." He didn't know what was making him so bold, usually he's quite reserved, not particularly shy, just not talkative. He doesn't know what's gotten into him.

"Come on, it's getting late and it's kind of required that you meet everyone on your first day." They walked out the door and back into another relatively dark hallway, towards on of the many break rooms; Oscar was told to go to the second 'bed set' break room. "So, why'd you tell me all of that?" Oscar didn't expect her to ask him to explain his actions but it seems he really had no choice. "I care about him, so in a way it's just me looking out for him." She hummed with a smile. "If it wasn't me that told you, some else would have, its no real secret. Well the events were not a secret but Lando's true feelings and how bad he really was at the time is more of the secret." After Oscar's little rant she began wonder if they were actually together or if it was once again a two side love relationship without the relationship. "So who's the first one on you're calendar, and don't try to hide it. I know I'm on there but you wouldn't have been staring at that screen so intensely if I was the first." She sighed at his words, ever the observer he seemed to be. "Charles." Oscar was pleased with that, thinking there wouldn't be anyone better. "Actually that's really good for you. He's a lot more sensual and romantic so I believe that Zak thinks he's the safest option because you're content is just you getting off when ever you feel like it, not too focused on the production." He began, not realising he was rambling. "I thought you said you didn't know who I was." She huffed with a teasing tone, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well maybe I lied...Okay I looked you up when you were in that meeting." There was a long pause until they reached the door.

Chapter Two

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris x y/n #oscar piastri x reader smut #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc

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ataraxianne · 3 months ago

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In my feefees again today thinking about Moxxie and Blitzø and their friendship and how Mox needed exactly someone like Blitzø in his life precisely in that moment

Like, Moxxie was brought up in a cold mansion with a man that sucked as a father, that killed his mother when he was little, mistreated him, abused him and neglected him, pushing him to act in a certain way and never appreciating his true self and not even his sexuality and boyfriend. Boyfriend who is actually a whole lot questionable, but hey you have fun, he is (sort of) nice, and you're great partners even on the field, doing heists together and so. Except like wait hold on he just ran away? You got trapped during the job the police arrived and he left with the stolen goods leaving you there? And like hell your father will come to the rescue and deal with the cops because that would mean risking his own mafia empire, so I guess this is it? You're alone now?

Except the weird guy you share your cell with has a plan to evade and even tho you haven't spoken to him not even once since you've been there he's already so willing to make you part of it so you two can escape together?? He doesn't even know you?? And, let's be real, knowing Moxxie he probably panicked and/or fainted once or twice while trying to run away from the prison, questioning some things perhaps slowing them down and getting caught but this weirdo still didn't leave him behind?? Even though he most likely cussed him out half of the time, questioned his brain and body faculties and had to forcibly move him around because he couldn't run fast enough at the right moments but still he never dumped him?? They successfully got out of prison together?? This complete stranger offered him a helping hand ad despite everything he never let go?? And the main reason he did this was actually because he had to come home to his daughter because he cares for her and doesn't want to be too late???

No wonder Moxxie never looked back

#im chewing on drywall #getting emotional over their friendship again #i need more scenes about this duo #helluva boss #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #blitzø #helluva boss blitz #moxxie #helluva boss moxxie

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writefightandflightclub · 10 months ago

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 11 months ago

Text

New Beginnings

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: New city. New job. New school. New apartment,. New neighbors. New beginnings.

Square Filled: choose your own au for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

This is a new start for you. New city. New apartment. New neighbors. New job. A fresh start from your old life. Growing up, you’ve always been a small-town girl with hopes of moving to a big city to chase her dreams. Back home, everyone knew everyone’s business. Like when Shelly from church was caught having an affair with the pastor. Her husband found out that day and both of them had to leave town to avoid the scrutiny of everyone else. Or like the time when your sister got pregnant and only told a small group of people only to go to work the next day and people knew.

Small-town folk aren’t for everyone which is why you left while you could. The only problem is that all your family is back home. You know no one in Quantico, Virginia. You guess that’s the best part about it. You can reinvent yourself and create a whole new life separate from what you’ve known.

Before moving to Virginia, you got yourself enrolled in night school for graphic design since you’ve always wanted to be a designer. You’ve done some work for your town like making websites for businesses and making some ads for smaller companies but you want to know more so you can do bigger and better things.

Tomorrow, you’ll scout the city and find a coffee shop to make your second home, find the nearest grocery store, etc. Right now, all you’re focused on is getting all your boxes out of the moving truck so you can return it before the deadline. You’re doing it by yourself but you don’t have a lot to do. You never had a lot when you left your hometown but it’s still a lot for one person to do.

It takes you all day to get everything inside your house, and the only thing you’re able to unpack is your bedframe and mattress. It’s going to take all week to get most everything set up which is fine because night school doesn't start for another two weeks.

You live in a building that sits in a circle of other buildings with a huge courtyard in the middle. The courtyard consists of a dog park, a pool, a volleyball set, and some outdoor furniture where people can sit and eat. Your building is right across from another so you can see into people’s apartments if their curtains are open.

Your phone rings and you answer it while admiring the other buildings.

“Hey, mom.”

“Y/N! Did you get in okay?”

“Yeah, I just set up my bed. I’ll start unpacking tomorrow.”

“I’m sad you’re so far from us but I’m happy for you. Does that make sense?” she chuckles. “Anyway, your dad and I will come visit as soon as he gets this new promotion. He’ll get some time off and we can always use the vacation.”

“Yeah, by then, I’ll have seen some places we can go to. You like history and Virginia is a history-rich state.”

“Okay, I just wanted to know if you got in safe. Your dad and I are going out with the folks from church. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

The building across from yours is close enough to where you could communicate with another resident if you shouted but you’re not going to disturb others, especially at night. The sun is still up but is quickly going down, leaving the sky with pretty colors. There is a young man sitting on his small balcony with a book in his hands minding his own business. Every apartment has a small balcony where people can sit and enjoy the fresh air, but most of them use it for storage.

The young man runs his fingers down the pages of the book and flips through the book at a shocking speed. Is he really reading that fast? He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up and makes eye contact with you. You give him a small wave to which he returns before going back to reading.

You look at the boxes inside your room and see a label on one of them that reads: ARTS AND CRAFTS. You open the box to see thick small poster boards you were using for a project back home. Next to them are your markers so you grab the black one and a handful of poster boards. You write “Hi, my name is Y/N” on one of them before going back outside.

The man looks up just as you hold up your poster board for him to see. You wrote the letters in a thick font so he is able to read them from where he’s at. He reads what you have and leaves the balcony to go back inside his apartment. The smile is lost from your face at the thought of making him uncomfortable but then he walks back out with poster boards of his own. He writes something down on his and shows it to you.

Hi. My name is Spencer.

You like reading?

I love it.

You new here?

No, been here 13 years. You new?

Yes, I came from Kansas.

Job?

Graphic Designer. You?

FBI.

Sounds exotic.

Spencer smiles at this. Some of his nighttime preparations are to read for an hour before bed, and he was at the forty-five-minute mark when you two started talking.

I have to go. Talk tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

Spencer packs up his poster boards and heads back inside, and you follow suit a few minutes later. You’re going to need to buy more poster boards if you want to continue talking to him across the courtyard. Tomorrow comes and you end up finding a grocery store, a coffee shop, and a place that sells a lot of poster boards.

Spencer must have a day job because you didn’t see him at all while you were unpacking. You started with the kitchen and barely finished with it by the time Spencer got back from his job as an FBI agent. Wow, imagine that. A real-life FBI agent. You’ve only seen them in movies and TV shows so it's kind of cool you get to say you know someone in that field.

You sit on your balcony and wait for him to come out. Ten minutes go by and you see the light in his place turn on. Five more later, he walks out on his balcony with poster boards in hand. He doesn’t look too good. Yesterday, he had a natural glow about him but today, he has a sort of sadness about him. Still, he’s out here talking to you because he enjoys your company even though you’re in separate buildings.

You okay?

Rough case.

You want to talk?

Can’t. Open investigation. Of course. Duh. He flips the poster board over and scribbles something else on it. How was your day?

Good. Just school. I graduate Fall 2027.

Field of study?

Graphic Design.

Anything I’d see of yours?

You grin and write down a website you helped design before showing it to him. He takes one look at it and types it on his phone. He admires your work and thinks it’s amazing work. You have real talent.

I like it. You’re talented.

Even from where you’re at, you can see how sad he is. You’re not sure what he’s dealt with today or what he is going through, but you hope to make it better at least a little bit. You have to use two posterboards for this to get your message across.

Don’t let your job strip you of who you are. No job is worth it if you’re losing yourself.

You got Spencer to smile.

Same to you.

As the days progress, you and Spencer make it a nightly routine of talking to each other through poster boards. During the day, you’re unpacking boxes and getting your home ready while Spencer is at work dealing with the worst of the worst. His job isn’t easy but seeing you every night lifts his spirits.

That is until he stops showing up. You gave him a couple of days without bothering him since he might be caught up in something for work, but after seeing his light every night without him coming to the balcony, you know something is wrong. You don’t know who he is fully, but you do know that he would come talk to you if he was feeling up for it.

“Any sights of your secret lover?” one of your best friends, Marcy, says over the phone.

“No, he’s still held up in his apartment,” you say and look out the window to his.

“I bet he’s not even an FBI agent. Maybe he lied to you,” Rebecca, your other friend, says.

“I don’t think so. Maybe he just needs some time alone. I don’t know a lot about him. He can only fit so much on small poster boards.”

“It’s giving You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift,” Marcy chuckles.

“I think you should go over there and talk to him face-to-face.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with Bec. It’s not like he’s your next-door neighbor. If it doesn’t work out, you don’t have to see him in passing.”

“True,” you bite your lower lip. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Let us know how it goes,” Bec smirks.

“Oh, I will. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” both girls say at the same time before hanging up.

You turn back to Spencer’s apartment and see the light peeking through the curtains. You count the number of floors he’s off the ground and the number of apartments he’s at from the wall so you know where to start. You’re not sure what you’re going to do when you get there but you’ll think of something on the spot.

You have some cookies left over from when you made some a few days ago, so you box those up and make your way over to the building across from yours. Your keycard works for this building even though you’re not a resident in it because you’re a resident overall. Once inside his building, you make your way up to the fifth floor and the tenth apartment from the wall.

Here goes nothing.

You knock twice on the door and wait for someone to answer it. It might not even be his apartment but you’ll try all of them if you have to. A few moments later, Spencer opens the door with a confused look on his face. When he sees you, his eyes widen slightly.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“What?”

“You’re more beautiful in person.”

Your cheeks heat up at his compliment.

“I brought you some cookies. I hope you’re doing okay. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Work has just been… yeah, it’s not fun sometimes.”

“I can only imagine which is why I brought some cookies.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” you smile.

You walk inside and immediately notice all the poster boards he’s been using to communicate with you. He’s saved every single one of them and that brings a smile to your face. You never thought you’d meet someone this quickly after moving to a new city, but you’re glad you did.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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acerikus · 2 months ago

Text

G o d. All gekkos' outertale posting makes me wanna talk more in depth about the characterisation and plot issues in this game and why they bother me...

(readmore bc holy fuck this got long, it's probably like 5k words. It's also pretty much all salt, categorised by character)

Toriel

Why. Why is she like this. Kinda feels like the creator of the game hates her and if they don't, they have a weird way of showing it. She's treated as overdramatic and unjustified in her anger at asgore despite the fact that he DID declare war on humanity and he DID willingly let the people believe he was killing human children to harvest their souls. Even if he didn't do it for real in this game, she has every right to be angry and to not trust him, and it CERTAINLY doesn't make her undeserving to be a mother or whatever. Idk about you, but I don't think wanting kids to stay away from a man yelling about wanting to kill every child that crosses him makes you a bad parent, even if it turns out he didn't really hurt anyone y'know?

They also REALLY zoned in on 'mother' with her in a way that doesn't really make sense here. I could maybe see her feeling guilty for making a snap judgement but how would that call her motherhood into question?

Sans saying isolation messed with her makes no sense too!!!! The outerlands or whatever they called the ruins isn't sealed off in this game, other monsters seem way less intimidated by her in this game than in undertale (she has friends! She knows sans by name and goes to napstablook's shows and even has their phone number!), and we outright get told she takes the taxi to get her groceries... Meaning she headed off to the rest of the outpost and probably does that often enough.

All things considered, Toriel seems fairly well adjusted in outertale, at least by outertale standards. Kinda then makes it feel like everyone's just trying to convince her she's hysterical and that... Sucks.

Also the fact that they added an ending where you stay with her and framed it as a bad ending that doomed everyone is... Really mean? It sucked ass I'm sorry :/

Sans

... Why is he like this. This take on Sans is absolutely infuriating tbh. The only positive I really have here is that his puns are kinda good, I've seen fangames that fuck up this element massively and it was kinda fun to see his interactions in starton.

Okay, back to salt. His whole 'i became a sentry to help humans' thing is trash. He didn't care about that in ut! He didn't care about that at all! The only reason he looks out for frisk is because he made a promise to toriel, and he hates breaking promises. He didn't want to let down his friend.

...Huh. realising this is yet another case of Toriel disrespect somehow. Yet another thing they took from her, that they then just... Handed over to sans instead. :/

His lack of backstory. Look, I get wanting something silly, but they took almost everything that makes sans interesting away. Not hyperfocusing on sans like certain aus do is nice, but it feels like in a lot of situations in this game they overcompensated by a long shot.

No mysterious past/origins. We know he worked with alphys I guess but???? Honestly I have a LOT to rant about for that part so I'll leave it for twinkly's section. And yet despite all this, Sans inexplicably bleeds in tpe when not even undertale has that happen? Make up your mind!

His role in non Asriel chaotic also... Sucks ass. I'm in a pretty awesome corner of the fandom in terms of the people I follow and the takes I see as a result, so if I'm honest, when I saw all those posts about 2024 fanon sans being indifferent to his brother's murder, I kinda just figured they were vaguing about this game. You're telling me that sans of all people just shrugs off you killing everyone and complains a little bit before letting you pass?! He should know alphys already ran off. He should know the only person left to stop you is asgore, and that it's obvious he won't. Part of this could be connected to how frisk is written perhaps, and much like the twinkly situation, I'll have much more to say on that further down.

I understand the creator didn't wanna have a sans fight in their game - however, if that's the case... Maybe come up with a reason for him to NOT show up in the last corridor, then? Have him busy helping with evacuations or something, or already dead like in the first chaotic ending... This was just sloppy.

Papyrus

Honestly he wasn't... Terrible. The phonecalls were fun even if most were cheap references (though they can be fun in fangames sometimes so I'm not mad at this lol). Him being extremely talented at making spaghetti is just one symptom of one of this game's biggest flaws, however. I really don't like how nobody's really allowed to be bad at anything or have any real struggles in this game - especially when spaghetti in undertale is used to demonstrate his relationship with undyne and the similar wavelength they're on when humans aren't involved. She's the one who started teaching him to cook it, it's deeply intertwined with his desire to be a royal guard, and it's something they suck at together. Him just inexplicably being good at it is... Weird, and feels really disconnected from their friendship and her reluctance to let him in the guard yknow?

Also: his boss final phase. Having the dog NOT take his special attack away this time was really funny admittedly but... Idk? Not only is the fight really unfair for pacifist/neutral and those who aren't as good at the game (ut never gets this hard outside of geno), it feels way too on the nose in terms of insisting he's strong and has powerful attacks. Undertale didn't need to overcompensate to get across that papyrus is strong and disciplined and the way you have to infer that in undertale is way cooler. I might just be nitpicking with this point tbh but it's whatever. Letting myself be a hater for once.

And don't get me started on him getting together with Mettaton. It seemed to come out of absolutely nowhere, the idea that they were already friends in this was glossed over really quickly and no time was really put into developing the relationship save for papyrus commenting on finding him attractive every few minutes.

Gotta be honest, I've never been a fan of this ship nor understood its popularity. Papyrus very briefly mentions thinking he's attractive in undertale, but it doesn't really go anywhere and I'm not even sure mettaton knows he exists. It feels like it was just kinda added because it's a popular ship and that's it, not sure it really contributes much to either of their arcs. It was a light-hearted celebrity crush in canon and never really tried to be more.

Oh, oops. Had more to say here than I thought.

Undyne

Not much to say here... I think she was okay, there's nothing super bad with her. I do think the way gerson kinda downplays her/lacks faith in her in the chaotic route kinda sucks and I think choosing to make her non-undying chaotic bossfight harder sure was A Choice, but it's whatever. Undying was weirdly easy in a way that didn't do her much justice. Honestly they didn't do enough with her for me to have a wall of complaints and I can't tell if that's a good thing or not. Her relationship with alphys didn't really amount to much and her lack of understanding of human culture doesn't really hit as hard when she's just talking about random sci-fi things that we have no way of knowing are real or not in this game's idea of the 2600s ourselves, y'know? Her love of anime (that she mistakenly thinks is human history) is pretty absent here except to validate her relationship with alphys in a very shallow way.

The Ghost Family

Hoo boy... Was gonna make this the mettaton section, but I wanted to talk about napstablook at the same time, so I'm just gonna lump them all together.

What. What the hell was this plotline.

It feels like they tried to go for 'smalltime farmer chases passion for stardom after feeling unfulfilled at home' and as I've seen someone else say, 'shy business owner struggles to talk to their cousin outside of work'. This would've been fine tbh, but... There's a lot of things in the execution of this that kinda grossed me out if I'm honest. I don't think they were intentional, but I think it could've been thought through a lot better to avoid some unfortunate implications - or even lean into them in a respectful way.

Firstly, the ghost family intervention was pretty long, awkward, and didn't feel like it really added much - especially when most people playing would already know mettaton's backstory anyway (and his house is still accessible like in undertale!!!!! What was the point?)

Mettaton airing out his family issues on live TV feels very ooc - he keeps that stuff very close to his chest and I doubt he'd like it getting out. Him entertaining any of that out in the open seems... Weird.

Speaking of the intervention, his cousins' treatment of him was horrifying! Part of it seems intentional and it's nice that there's at least one part in the game where characters are allowed to have flaws and do bad things but... There's also elements that feel like you're meant to agree with them? Their insistence that mettaton just come home and everything they did in the past with constantly badgering him to come and help out on the farm were rightfully treated as something that hurt mettaton's feelings and that gave napstablook and the others pause. That's (mostly, we'll come back to it later) fine. He called them out for it and they reflected on it, cool. The way his ghost form was utilised makes me extremely uncomfortable, however.

Napstablook talks about hearing 'the real [mettaton]' in the recording, right to his face, 'the real mettaton' in this scenario alluding to his ghost form. Considering mettaton is a trans allegory, this feels... Kinda gross? In a similar vein, when passing mettaton's quiz barriers, one of the questions is 'what is mettaton's true identity' and you have the option to deadname him (using a name papyrus literally just made up in undertale rather than having any kind of creativity ofc) Alphys' reaction is simply to ask how you know that which... Doesn't feel great. The correct answer is 'mettaton' ofc thankfully, but everything around this particular plot point feels weird. Maybe don't do that w the most prevalent trans allegory character..?

And ofc, they keep insisting he just come home, go back to working on the farm, go back to his family... Idk, gives me vibes of someone abandoning their shitty transphobic family and then insisting they want to see 'the real [deadname] again' and for them to abandon their new life and just go back to the way things were before. Not good.

All of this would still be okay for the most part since the ghost family are painted as being unfair to mettaton... But in true pacifist, he goes back to helping out with the farm anyway and talks about how he thinks he was probably just being dramatic after all, and how 'blooky didn't do anything that bad'

... What?

It takes me right back to Toriel's treatment. Napstablook, Maddie and lurksalot gave no real thought to mettaton's feelings, made it all about them and showed pretty much no support for his transition nor his career! Fuck those guys! It's funny - mettaton is pretty consistently a pompous asshole (affectionate) in undertale but here, I think all his feelings towards his family were COMPLETELY valid. Mettaton outertale didn't do anything wrong.

Lurksalot didn't feel like they contributed much to the story either, save to be yet another character treating mettaton like shit with zero consequences nor narrative judgement. They just made every ghost family event even more drawn out.

And then ofc!!!! Mettaton and Alphys' friendship is so bland in this game! They're two people who kinda know each other and she says some nice things about him in a letter in chaotic but that's about it. Their friendship and the subsequent conflict frisk's arrival brings to it in undertale is the heart of hotland and the core, but here it's just replaced with unnecessary, hard to watch, boring family drama. The two of them have no issues to work out. She doesn't ask too much of him. There's no funny quips and barely any chemistry at all. God forbid either of them have any real flaws.

One last thing: I'm glad maddie gets her mew mew body, it's nice. Wish it was an on-screen moment or something alluded to more though. Some of that time dragging out the family drama could've been used on that instead, y'know? Especially with napstablook getting the mew mew doll... Genuinely thought they were gonna show it to her when they first got hold of it, rather than dragging Frisk into their intervention. She should've gotten to be more mad, too. Kinda a big part of her identity.

Oh, and mettaton's no-asriel chaotic fight was bullshit. It was a nice spamton reference and the first phase was cool, but the second was utter bullshit and dragged out the fight way too long. Attacking him after snapping all the wires should've killed him im sorry. It's even more of a shame bc I genuinely really liked this game's mettaton neo fight - it was fun and creative and felt possible.

Holding myself back from adding any more to this bc I could go on and on, ugh.

Alphys

Alphys. For a game that tries to make her the star of it, it's actually kinda impressive how much they managed to take away from her and just how uninteresting she is in this game.

At the surface level she's awesome, powerful, and the star of the show. In my first playthrough I was actually pretty happy to see her thriving like this! The more routes I played and the more I thought about it though they just kinda... Declawed her. Took away all her flaws. Made her 'perfect' in a way that I don't think works at all.

The amalgamates never happened. None of her experiments went wrong. She never hid away from her mistakes, or lied to anyone (save for keeping Asgore's secret, which she has no negative feelings about), nor did she over engineer any situations to make herself seem cooler. She doesn't argue with Mettaton! She's confident and assertive! She's Asgore's right hand woman and next in line for the throne! And ofc, the badass final boss! What's not to love?

...But none of this is Alphys, is it?

Her anxiety isnt just because of the determination experiments, it's pretty clear she's always been a pretty shy and nervous person. In fact, based on her entries they were one of the things she was more confident in before it all went wrong. People are hard, but she knows science, y'know?

She doesn't get to be flawed or interesting - despite her presence, she's just a generic cool scientist who's suave with the ladies, I guess..?

She isn't particularly dorky, shes overly confident, she has zero issues to work through. Her relationship with undyne is perfect (derogatory) and her infodumping about anime just before the archive feels very forced, like they remembered last minute that she does that and thought it should be included somehow.

Depicting what she'd be like in a scenario where the determination experiments never happened is a fun and interesting idea! But deltarune demonstrates how to do that well, and I think they completely missed the mark. The way she talks, her body language, the way she acts around others in general... These things are universal constants and yet in outertale, she's basically a different person entirely.

Outertale alphys isn't allowed to lie (save to cover for asgore Secretly Being A Good Person), she isn't allowed to miscalculate, she isn't allowed to mis-speak or make mistakes or do anything she'd regret. She feels like an alphys written by someone who hates her in canon and thinks all her flaws make her terrible and unlikable. I doubt this is the case since I don't think a person like that would've given her such prevalence, but that's the level of love and attention I feel was given to her writing here. It makes me sad.

And, of course... The DT experiments and her fight.

... Why did she have vials of determination if all the humans are alive? Did she take it from them? If so, was this before or after they went into stasis? We know she's not been the royal scientist for long in relation to how long humans have been falling, so did ROMAN take the determination? How much of this did she even DO?

Why did she and sans even DO anything with determination? It... Doesn't really make sense.

Speaking of determination, why did she melt at the end of her fight? I'd assume she's injected herself with determination as one of the vials in her lab is mentioned to be partially used, but I'm pretty sure it's also like this on pacifist. Was that overlooked? Are we just meant to assume it's MORE depleted? Does she just have natural determination now because She's So Cool And Badass? This isn't even really a complaint about the fight, more just how poorly that part of her lab is handled lmao

But getting into her fight... Idk, it didn't really feel like her. A lot of it was just random bullshit that was hard for the sake of being hard, that didn't really seem to be tied to her identity very well at all. People complain a lot about the Zenith Martlet fight in undertale yellow but that's done far better than this, imo. It clearly reflects martlet's character, personality and canonical bullet patterns (we see Alphys' in ut tpe!), there's a genuine feeling of progression in the fight and the act you're given to help with the fight feels more effective - you can still damage her on her turn, so taking a turn to heal act doesn't feel like a waste. The Asriel acts though... They just don't last long enough to feel that worth it? Sure they're okay, but in general, you get a lot less time to breathe. Martlet's fight lets you retry from phase 2 if you die. Sans' in undertale gives you as many turns as you need to heal while he's sparing you. Alphys' fight just feels like it's made to feel un-fun and painful throughout in a way that just isn't worth it, and doesn't really feel like it fits her personality either, y'know? The fight was just a slog and like many others, I had zero motivation to finish it legit. I don't think it helps that the undyne and mettaton fights in this route are fairly easy and simple in comparison.

Tldr: they took away everything that makes alphys endearing, fun and interesting. This isn't alphys at all.

Asgore

A huge chunk of this essay accidentally got deleted, including my first attempt at writing this section. In it, I mentioned that the Asgore apologism went way too far.

This time though, I don't think I'd even call it that. Reflecting on it, it feels less like an attempt to defend him and more like a way to hate on and spite Toriel.

Seriously. So much of his character basically just feels like someone going 'fuck you toriel. I'm giving EVERYTHING to asgore.'

It's... Really weird?

Asgore having a way out of killing humans is an interesting concept! Outertale takes place 500 years in the future compared to undertale, so the idea that they have the resources and technology to do that is kinda cool and in theory, exploring this idea sounds really fun. In practice though, it feels like it was mostly done to make Toriel out to be an asshole for no reason and to laugh at her for ever assuming he would've really killed anyone (despite... Y'know. Telling everyone that's what he was doing.)

He just. Completely moved on from Toriel without a second thought seemingly, and doesn't even look that affected by seeing her turn up again - meanwhile SHE'S got crumpled up tea recipes in the trash and all the Sad Divorced Energy - it doesn't really fit either of them! Toriel wasn't really given a reason to miss him like that, and I think even if he DID fully move on, he'd be way happier to see her than that.

All his leading statements on how she must feel in LV1 pacifist sucked ass also, especially with the way she kinda just agreed that yeah, she feels like shit for not trusting that he'd suddenly do a 180 and not hurt anyone (AGAIN. AFTER HE CONTINUED TO LET EVERYONE BELIEVE THIS) and that she must feel unworthy of being a mother. She hadn't even said half of this in front of him yet! He put words in her mouth! That in itself would be fine (social blunders are pretty normal for asgore after all) but it... Wasn't treated like that. It was handled as if this was a sweet and compassionate thing for him to say which... Yikes.

And ofc he gets to adopt frisk, and monster kid, and get to have Asriel live with him! His fatherhood is never called to question in undertale, but ofc Toriel's motherhood has to be here. Hell, despite their divorced status, if you talk to gerson in tpe it's highly implied frisk asks if asgore would start aging again if he became their dad! Idk, all of this part just reeked of Toriel hate and nothing more. Asgore is just yet another character to get sanded down and de-clawed and it sucks. So much of what makes him interesting is his mistakes and flaws and how they impact him, y'know?

Twinkly

I wanna start this by saying I don't think his writing is too bad. It's not amazing by any means but by outertale standards, he's one of the better written characters. That being said, Flowey is my favourite character of all time so I'm still gonna be critical.

So they did save the goat. Save the goat aus really aren't my thing nowadays - I feel like so often people act like he's a separate person to Flowey entirely and act like the alarm clock app dialogue doesn't exist. Asriel didn't end the story as a doomed tragedy fated to fade away! Flowey ended the story as someone who finally got closure on the loss of his best friend, and can finally learn to move on, even if it takes him a while to adjust. I don't think he needs to be a goat again for that.

That being said, I know these kinda aus are a big wish fulfilment thing for a lot of the fandom that aren't even necessarily something people want to be canon as much as they just wanna explore the idea and see him truly happy, so I won't judge that element too harshly. People are allowed to have fun, and I think save the goat can be fine if it respects him as flowey rather than separating them.

I really like that they allow Asriel to be fucked up and an asshole rather than him soft rebooting into some Sweet Perfect Little Prince once he returns to his old form, like so many other save the goat takes. Even in lv0's ending he struggles to bite back insults and mean comments aimed at Monster Kid which is... Admittedly kinda refreshing! There's definitely some flowey (or I guess in this case, twinkly) behaviour that still comes through here and I'm glad. This carried over to chaotic, too. While his characterisation wasn't perfect, this at least felt like twinkly obtaining a few form and continuing to play with the world, rather than your standard Asriel take. I also really liked that he remembers and acknowledges chaotic if done before pacifist, that was neat and adds to his character (as far as this game goes) I think.

However, onto the biggest, glaring issue I have with him.

Why. Why does he exist.

No, seriously.

In its attempt to make the world perfect, a world that blatantly only exists so the creator could make a save the goat ending, mind, there's no reason for the goat to need to be saved at all. Nor for him to exist after dying back when Chara lived with the dreemurrs.

Asgore isn't killing humans, so the souls don't need to be absorbed by anyone. Frisk can just enter the archive and lend their power to destroy the forcefield themselves, so there's no ultimatum like there is in undertale - there's no implied tradeoff of Frisk's life for the freedom of monsters without twinkly's intervention. In undertale, flowey's messing around opened up an ending that would've otherwise been impossible, something that worked for everyone.

Without him existing at all here, frisk could've broken the barrier just fine. All it really added to pacifist was a couple extra boss fights and asgore being dead for two minutes. And him being saved I guess but again, there's no real story justification for him being here EXCEPT to pat yourself on the back for saving him.

Why was he created? In undertale it's pretty clear - they wanted a vessel to hold all the souls in for now during the true lab experiments. He exists because Alphys selected the first flower to ever grow in the garden and injected it with determination that she extracted from the human souls.

... But all the humans are... Alive and well in outertale? They don't need a vessel to contain their souls. They don't need to extract any determination from anyone. Again, why do they HAVE vials of determination? And why did she inject one into a flower?

AND THAT'S THE OTHER BIG THING. It's established she and sans injected a starling flower for... Whatever reason. SO WHY THE HELL IS TWINKLY A CARTOON STAR?!

This point makes absolutely no sense at all. He looks absolutely nothing like a starling flower nor does he behave like a flower at all, which is confusing if that's what he started as. Honestly, I think it would've made more sense to just keep him as Flowey if they were gonna include him at all, and just have his appearance reflect a starling flower instead of a golden flower.

This applies to his fight too. Mechanically I think it's AWESOME, but the visuals are... Just very very boring. A huge part of why his fight in the original is so good it's the bizarre and chaotic nature of it, the horror elements, and the way so much of flowey's trauma in terms of how he was created and the things he finds scary was put on blast for all to see. The combination of mechanical and organic elements, all the plants and insects... Idk, just going 'hmm he's a star. Let's have him go through a star life cycle' is boring, there's no visual appeal.

If his creation is so vague and wishy washy, this would've been a great opportunity to flesh it out more. How was he created? What kinds of technology and machinery did alphys use to put all this together? How did she (or roman????? unclear) get the determination? What does twinkly remember?

That leads me onto a tangentially related topic - his trauma. I... Don't think this was shown very well. He talks a bit about BEING traumatised from the lab, but telling isn't the same as showing and canon flowey is terrible at hiding it, whereas I'd just as easily believe outertale Asriel made it up for sympathy points. He never really projects, he doesn't force anyone else to experience anything like he did, nothing like that. He's just a cocky asshole who likes killing, and who eventually decides to start being nice.

This game constantly seemed to be speedrunning ways to get him from being twinkly to being Asriel as quickly as possible in almost every single route which... Huh???? It's weird. Would've been nice to let him be a star more rather than just Asriel...

(final amendment bc I lost a huge chunk of this essay originally and had to rewrite it, and I'm realising I didn't manage to fit this in this time... How does a single monster soul let him get his Asriel form again? Sure he's still treated as if soulless and it doesn't make him a good person, but if he was 'so tired of being a star', why hadn't he tried doing this sooner? It makes no sense...)

For a game that exists to give him a good ending, it's so ironic how little he needs to exist at all in this world. Just goes to show what it looks like when you go too far with 'fixing' things or removing stuff you seem 'too problematic' for the sake of being wholesome or whatever.

Chara

Speaking of which... Look I'm just gonna say it. This version of Chara sucks so bad.

Chara is one of my favourite characters - they're really interesting, morally grey, and a fascinating way for undertale as a game to interface with us as players.

They're a child who likely saw the worst of humanity, then found themselves in a home with family who genuinely loved them once they fell down and met the monsters. Their intense saviour complex made them feel like the best way to help their family was to sacrifice their own life to get enough souls to break them free (and once they realised they had control, get payback against the humans while they were at it). They could be mean-spirited and a prankster. They valued efficiency HIGHLY. Their favourite number was nine because it's the limit, the absolute, a way to stop hurting and to stop others hurting.

And by doing geno, you can push this fixation on stats further. Max out all your stats. Gain power. Get stronger. Become invincible. Nobody can hurt any more if the world is gone. And ofc, they stand as the final arbiter of consequences for the player. Your punishment for killing everyone and for pushing them into believing it needs to be completed. Chara both IS is and is separate from us in a way that can't really be fully disentangled and it's really, really cool.

Anyway, enough gushing about undertale Chara. What's outertale Chara in comparison?

... Nothing.

They're nothing.

Outertale Chara narrates occasionally. They're a ghost that follows frisk around, but aren't confined to that, and have been actively wandering the underground since their death. They also still have a SOUL for some reason? This part doesn't really make sense at all.

Other than sacrificing themself and maybe wanting to take out a few humans after Asriel absorbs them, they don't do anything that could be considered bad ever. The most devious thing they ever do is snatch Asriel's diary to leave a silly comment in there when they first arrive at the outpost (sans does this with Toriel's phone in undertale tpe for comparison lmao). Despite what Asriel seems to believe, Chara is completely absent from the chaotic route - never getting corrupted, never caring about our stats, never wanting to hurt anyone, never even trying to make us face any consequences. They're just... Not here. For a character so prevalent in the murder based route of undertale this is fucking wild.

They all but vanish if you so much as say something slightly mean to someone, too! It's strange, makes no sense, and just like with sans, it feels like they overcompensated waaaaaaay too much for the people who insist they're evil. On top of that, if you do chaotic before lv0, they don't even remember chaotic happening! They'd may as well have just been a member of the ghost family who likes following Frisk around when they're especially nice. Like Asgore and alphys, they've been sanded down and de-clawed to be 'wholesome' and 'perfect', and it just results in a bland, boring character who loses anything that made them interesting, nuanced and fun.

'Chara wasn't the greatest person'... Why, though? They don't have enough substance in this game for that line to really have as much impact.

Frisk

I'm gonna be honest - I actually ADORED their frisk at first, and I think that's because I started with a neutral run and ended up drawing them a lot. They felt silly and mischievous and interesting, and this continued into chaotic. They seem pretty chill with what's going on but then take that even further by being hilariously affectionate with Asriel and still doing silly things like being up for picking up the electrodampening fluid or drinking directly out of the fountain. They felt like a funny little mini-kris (save for being okay with all the murder ofc).

Then uhhhhhhh... That's when I experienced the second chaotic ending, the one without Asriel, as well as lv0. I feel like they definitely DID try to lean on the Kris angle on purpose in terms of their feelings on being controlled and stuff but it???? Just doesn't work very well? There's no ambiguity to this version of frisk once you've seen all the routes. Just like EVERYONE ELSE, they're just a perfect little angel who would never do anything wrong and anything past lv0 is just the eeeeeevil player influence or whatever. Come on, we have deltarune for that kinda approach to control 😭 (though even then, Kris is a layered and interesting character who isn't goodness and innocence personalised, and that's why they're cool)

In undertale, we have no idea what frisk is like as a person. WOULD they spare everyone without our influence? Would they kill? Would they be a scared child lashing out in self defense? Would they run from everything, then give up and let themselves die permanently somewhere? We just don't know! We're not supposed to know! It feels like it went back to the very early fandom interpretation where frisk is Good And Sweet and Innocent while Chara is evil incarnate - except this time they're BOTH the former.

It's a contradiction too! Why in the Asriel chaotic route are they so down to follow him, and pet him, and hug him every chance they get if they don't like all the stuff we're making them so? The player has no influence over Twinkly. Every single thing he did, he chose to do, and yet even if the only time frisk has seen him was him destroying their mercy button and forcing them to kill for him, they seem to love him to pieces and go along with whatever he says happily. What.

I feel like they didn't know what to do with Frisk here at all and it shows.

Other characters

This has been ridiculously long, but to quickly go over non-major characters... They did very few things to make Roman seem interesting, the amount of stuff hes implied to have helped Asgore with just reduces even further any influence or impact alphys had, and (a smaller nitpick)... Why didn't he use times new roman as a font when we DID see him speak in the archive/on the signal stars? It's such a missed opportunity...

Burgerpants was fun... Kinda. Developing him like this feels like something that should've happened DURING the actual game rather than before it though because it made him feel like a whole other person entirely? The poisoned food was very funny though.

Why is Snowy now Stardrake when his dad hasn't changed at all and Crystal looks like any other snowdrake? That was bizarre.

I actually really liked the humans! Establishing them as actual characters was really fun, and I especially like justice. Justice, at least in my opinion, is probably the most interesting character in this whole game tbh - someone who tried to do good but ultimately caused more harm than good, while NOT downplaying it, showing the consequences directly, and showing them work to try to make things better. The way we don't grab their item like the others in the twinkly fight nor go through an area for them in the archive (and just talk to them instead) really adds to their intrigue - what are they like? Who did they know? Is there something they don't want us to see? How are they strong enough to not need us to grab their weapon at all to lend their help? I think it's get funny that the only character I'm fully praising is the clover-adjacent one. Justice outertale they could never make me hate you

(that being said... seeing the way this game is clearly just supposed to be a 'fix' for undertale does sour my thoughts on the humans a little. did they only do this bc they thought them NOT being full characters in ut was bad/a problem with it? 🥴 This applies to the additional monster kid story focus too).

Speaking of monster kid... Them being an orphan was clearly just a plot device to give asgore more kids and therefore feel like he won more than Toriel. Monster kid in undertale seems like they probably did have real and loving parents, and they have a sister too!!!! Would've been nice if they'd at least done something with their sister :(

This got... Way longer than I expected, so I'll stop here. But outertale definitely gave me an even bigger appreciation for other ut fangames. My gripes with deltatraveler section 3 feel much smaller in comparison now, if tsus misses the mark on Flowey later down the line they've at least already done most characters so much more justice, and it really puts into perspective all the heart and soul that went into kissy cutie, as well as its genuine love got the source material and characters.

Sorry outertale, you weren't for me. That being said, if anyone disagrees with any of this then that's fine! These are all just my opinions and feelings on it after going through all the routes and talking about it with friends. Media is always gonna resonate with different people in different ways and that's a good thing! If your perspective on any of this is different and if you had way more fun with it, I'm glad you did and I genuinely wish I could've felt the same. I feel like at the very least, making it has probably been a great learning experience for the devs and I really hope they carry on making games and improving their skills. Hope y'all are thriving and having fun regardless 💙

#xan plays outertale #I'm not tagging it w the actual game name. that wouldn't feel right #again: most of this is salt. it's also an opinion piece #it was just nice to get my thoughts out there yknow?#if anyone manages to read all this i respect your perseverance tbh lol

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aihoshiino · 4 months ago

Text

chapter 155 thoughts

Thanks for your patience! I had some stuff crop up IRL this week that kept getting in the way of my chapter review but we're so oshi no back

Chapters Since The 143 Kiss Happened And Went Entirely Unacknowledged And Unaddressed Count: 12

Aqua Hoshigan Status: White

i can't believe toxic yuri was the real core theme of this manga all along

With the long road to revenge seemingly conquered, Oshi no Ko eases us into a bit of a false high before the real finale comes barrelling in. As with 152, it feels like we're tying off a number of arcs that have lasted through the series, with certain characters getting what is clearly supposed to be their big emotional resolutions… and unfortunately, as with 153-4, while a lot of these beats are satisfying on paper, they suffer a lack of buildup that makes them ring a bit hollow. OnK's clumsy handling of certain characters during the Movie Arc has really come back to bite it during the finale, leaving me feeling like a lot of the emotional payoffs for them are undercut and the character work they're doing doesn't have the groundwork it needs to properly resonate. I defo didn't hate this chapter like some folks seemed to, but it has some pretty substantial issues in terms of micro and macro storytelling I am compelled to talk about. This is one of those chapter reviews I think comes across way more negative than it necessarily is lol but man did this one give me a headache…

To start things off, the thing that initially delayed this review: page fucking one!!! By total coincidence, this was the first chapter in basically forever where I didn't get a chance to look at the JP raws until like two days after it dropped and as such I was ripping my hair out trying to figure out who the narrator was on page one - the use of 'Mama' made me wonder if it was Ruby, but the visual flow of the page is much more biased in favor of Aqua and I probably don't need to tell you how fucking huge it would be for Aqua to have called Ai that for the first time!!! However, based on the speech patterns of the speaker in Japanese and the way subsequent pages flow from this intro, I'm pretty settled on it being Ruby - this chapter is a sort of closing of the book on her involvement in the revenge play or as my friend Mala put it, it's Ruby's homecoming so to speak. And like… honestly, thank god lol.

I get a lot of Ruby fans have wanted her to be more involved in this side of the story for a good while but I think the Black Hoshigan Ruby arc playing out like it did made it pretty clear that Ruby as a character is not super well suited to playing a role in the revenge half of OnK in the way that Akasaka wants it to be written. Not just that, but her actual post-BH characterization in relation to this arc has been such a wet fart that I really think it has taken away a lot more than it has added to her arc.

Not only that but… most of it didn't even happen onscreen lol! Not only did we get that absolutely baffling speech in 147 where she literally looked into the camera and Explained With Her Words the character arc she was supposedly having this whole time (just offscreen and nowhere the reader could see) but we now get Aqua going "well ruby decided to forgive him so it is what it is i guess". It feels so limp as a reason for him to have flipped on a dime like he did, especially when we still haven't fucking seen this supposedly lifechanging performance of Ruby's!!!! SO many characters have the resolutions to their Ai-adjacent arcs connected to how Ruby chose to play Ai in the movie but we're not actually seeing it. We're just sort of talking around it and having it exposited to us. I want to assume this is setup for us eventually seeing it ourselves but like… at this point, IS there any point to us revisiting the movie's content? Everything we might have learned from it has already been addressed by characters Telling Us To Our Faces How It Made Them Feel And Gave Them Therapy so it would ultimately be superfluous.

God. I hate still bitching about the Movie Arc now we're out of it, but it really is the albatross around the neck of this finale. So many of the issues littered through these last ten or so chapters are the result of the Movie Arc's fumbling and misuse of the cast and its failure to establish the emotional throughlines that should have been tied off by these chapters. I keep feeling like I'm repeating myself when I talk about XYZ Narrative Beat not being bad on paper but being less effective than it should do because of lacking underlying foundation but it really is the one central thing plaguing this arc right now.

i get what you guys are going for but. seeing aqua just let kamiki walk away when he has definitely killed people is really funny.

The twins' return to Miyako is another moment that I like in theory but honestly just feels frustrating. It's been over 25 chapters - a week short of an entire year since 125 came out where Miyako lamented her inability to reach the twins like a 'real' mother would and this thread was immediately dropped like a rock. She had zero involvement in the Movie Arc even during parts it was straight up absurd that she was not at least reacting to the events going on, didn't have any reaction to the movie or like… anything going on that could have more organically lead to this development.

I also have to say. The twins returning to Miyako performing this Snapshot of Aesthetic Motherhood (as u/DeliSoupItExplodes on the OnK sub put it) felt kind of. Weird and even a little icky to me in a way I've been struggling to articulate. Just that it felt extremely on the nose and kind of. eeeh.

that said. i won't pretend i'm not 4x critically weak to an 'okaeri' / 'tadaima' exchange at the end of a long quest or journey…

For all my complaints about the surrounding context, this scene in isolation is pretty much the one part of this chapter that just uncritically works. It's hard not to read it as a parallel to Miyako offering to adopt the kids in chapter 10 - except there, Aqua refuses to step into his new family. Here, Miyako pulls him into the embrace and the two of them finally engage not as peers but as a mother and son, as they've needed to do all this time. Her words here are so lovely and so, so sincere that it's really no wonder Aqua breaks down in tears. As much as I've bitched about the lacking work in his arc across the last major chunk of chapters, it's nevertheless been incredibly cathartic to see Aqua finally start letting down his walls, believing in his future and letting people love him. I just wish it had the buildup to really land.

also the twins just… still have not had a real conversation or interaction about literally anything lol.

Ichigo's back…! I already aired my major complaint about this scene vis-a-vis Ruby but I imagine this is the last time we're going to get a real Moment with Ichigo so I might as well get this off my chest now: it was and continues to be utterly bonkers to me that of the characters we saw having Feelings about the 15 Year Lie cast screening, Ichigo was not one of them. And it's even more bonkers that we got this whole bit waxing poetic about fucking Kaburagi and how he feels soooo bad about Ai when like… I'm sorry, but Kaburagi's feelings about Ai are so low on my list of priorities as to be functionally irrelevant. Quite frankly, he does not matter and it's INSANE that the story gave this misty-eyed moment to him and not Ichigo - you know, the agent of the industry that went on to exploit and kill her, her literal, actual dad whose guilt over what happened to her made him ghost his family for nearly twenty years? Can you imagine what an insanely powerful moment of resolution it would've been for that moment of Kaburagi addressing Ai through the 15YL poster to have gone to Ichigo instead?

I also have to note this weird ongoing thread of 'the Dome' being framed as Ai's dream that Ruby is inheriting when it, uh, patently was not! I'm sure she felt some pride in her success but all she herself said on the matter back when it came up was that she didn't get what a big deal it was but that since everyone else was happy, she'd be happy too. I initially took this to be laying the groundwork to disprove this idea and make the characters work out what Ai really wanted in her heart of hearts but now the narrative seems to just be uncritically treating this as a value neutral fact. So… who even knows lol.

Short hair Akane returns…! I don't imagine it was planned, but it's a cute coincidence that she cut her hair in the manga right around the time anime Akane grew hers out for season 2. I've always liked short hair Akane best so this was a nice surprise…

I have to say it was uh, really funny to see so many people get so shocked and mad when Akane talked about 'imitating Hoshino Ai' and screaming that this was a retcon or ruining Akane's character when like… was this really news to you guys??? Even before she grew her hair out, she flipped her bangs to go in the same direction as Ai's as soon as she started acting as her and she was popping hoshigans all over the place when she was getting her career off the ground… like, seriously, was this really a shock to people???

Anyway uh. Vindication for me from this scene!!! I've been pointing out for over a year now that we should be very cautious about taking it at face value that Hikaru killed Gorou and Yura because the story has been very delicately implying that to be the case while avoiding confirming it outright in a way that reeked of a red herring to me. That combined with his failure to even mention these two victims while 'fessing up to Aqua really raised some additional red flags for me and finally, we see Aqua confirming that no, Hikaru was not the one person behind everything, Light Yagami style and the final boss of the series seems set to be B-Komachi's former Queen of Smiles. Fuyuko Niino.

And Iiiiiiiii… feel very uneasy about this twist!

First of all; I have to acknowledge that nope, we have no fuckin clue how either Aqua or Akane figured this out but we'll probably get the exposition in that regard over and done with next chapter. Also something a lot of people caught is that Ryosuke is referred to with a different name here - Sugano vs Kaihara, which was used during the Movie Arc. I've heard this called out as a mistake/retcon and it could be, but tbh I'm inclined to think it's just that Ryosuke's name was changed for the movie, since a point is made about needing everyone's permission to include them in the movie and they, uh… can't exactly ask Ryosuke!

But… back to the real point here.

Nino has been one of my favourite OnK characters since I first read 45510 and every subsequent expansion on her character and her relationship with Ai has only made me more invested in her. But the story setting her up as the final villain here is… it leaves me feeling a little cold and very uncertain about how it'll go.

First off, the framing of Nino on these last two pages is just so overwrought that it's a little ridiculous lol. The image of her squatting in her filthy room, listening to old B-Komachi tracks and staring at a poster of the old group with all the other members but her and Ai aggressively scribbled out… it feels downright parodic to an extent that I think honestly makes Nino that much less nuanced and human by its inclusion alone.

Like… a big part of what I loved about Nino's inclusion in the story and how her relationship with Ai was framed was that it was messy and honest in a way that felt like it wasn't judging Nino herself or making her out to be a villain. Her and Ai's relationship breakdown was a two-sided failure of communication spurred on in large part by Ai's own avoidance and inability to have frank, sincere discussions with the people who cared about her. Nino's tangled up feelings of admiration and desire, envy and resentment, love and hate were not flattering but they felt so real and so human. She was a young girl put into an impossible situation and without the power to change the invisible dynamics of the systems around her, she lashed out at the person in front of her that she could see. The impression I always got was that part of what so deeply fucked up her feelings about Ai was her lack of closure - that she had never gotten to say sorry or patch things up. That she had screamed I wish you'd die at someone she loved and then she fucking died. No wonder she was a mess.

All this though… maybe I'm overreacting when we're just a page and a half into this reveal but again, the framing here really does feel so exaggerated and shallow. It feels like it's falling into the trap OnK previously fell into with the GRSR relationship where it attempts to amp up the drama by massively overexagerrating the emotions at play, blowing them up to their hugest possible extreme and letting all nuance and subtlety get lost in the noise. Ultimately, this will all come down to execution and while it's possible for AkaMengo to get us back on track with the Nino I already liked… idk. Like I said. I'm uneasy.

I also can't let it go unsaid - accidentally or otherwise, the framing of Nino here leans extremely hard into the stereotype of the 'psycho'/predatory lesbian and I don't think I need to explain why that sucks donkey nuts, especially in the midst of a manga that is so insufferably hetero at all other times.

at least she has good taste in b-komachi tracks.

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #chapter reviews #onk spoilers

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collapsedglasshouses · 8 months ago

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WOULD YOU SAY I'M WORTHY? || TWO

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x OFC ; slight Nick Folio x OFC

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY: When Eden meets Noah, her life is anything but perfect. Her heart is far more broken than Noah can even guess at this point. Will he be able to mend the wounds he hadn’t caused?

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, eventually smut, mentions of grief/loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of illnesses

A/N: OMG. I didn't expect the first part to go that well. Thank you for every comment, like or reblog (especially the rebloggers, ily with all my heart)! im sorry it took me so long to upload part two, i had a lot to do irl. but here it is! i hope you like it!

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @lma1986 @missduffsblog @cookiesupplier @thescarlettvvitch @bngurngheart @dream-machine-love @arkiliastuff @vinyardmauro @lacktoesandtoddlerants @princessmarshmallowx @circle-with-me @thisbicc @xxkittenkissesxx @malerieee @smoke-in-diamond-shape (pls dont be mad if i missed someone, just remind me, im clumsy sometimes)

If you wanna be added to the story's taglist or to my taglist in general, leave a comment or message me privately!

MASTERPOST || MASTERLIST

Eden had been staring at her phone for forty minutes straight.

After waking up, her thoughts had been running constantly. She didn’t have a costume, she wasn’t in the mood to go out, she had just turned 26. All she had done since waking up an hour ago was shower and brushing her teeth. She stood in her kitchen, still wrapped in her towel and her wet, unbrushed hair just dangled over her shoulders.

She knew she was overreacting, but everything reminded her of the things she desperately wanted to suppress.

She had been staring at Nick’s messages from the previous night with a weird feeling in her stomach. She didn’t even know what brought her to the point of agreeing to go to a party. A birthday party of a man she didn’t know, while she also tried to suppress the thoughts about her own age.

She was snapped out of her thoughts, when her phone began to ring. Her sister.

Should she answer?

She continued to stare at her phone.

The call went away.

Thank god.

She blinked for a couple of seconds, while she felt her heart beating so fast that she actually thought for a second, she was going to have a heart attack.

Then her phone rang again. Her sister again. She bit her lip for a second, before she sighed. She knew, she couldn’t ignore all the calls for the whole day, so she grabbed her phone and answered with a simple “Hello.”

“Took you some time.” Her sister answered and Eden could picture the sweet smile plastered on her sister’s face. Her little sister Raven was four years younger than her. At first, her parents hadn’t really planned on having another child, but when her mom fell pregnant with Raven, they were all over the moon. Eden couldn’t remember most of the time before Raven was born, but she remembered vividly how excited they all were when she finally was here.

She always had been the complete opposite of her older sister. While Eden was rather quiet and liked to be alone, Raven enjoyed the company of each and every individual around her. Raven liked to speak; Eden hated it. Raven was great at school; Eden wasn’t.

Even though they were basically polar opposites of each other, Eden loved her dearly and they always got along. But things had changed after Eden moved away from their hometown. She found herself not liking the company of anyone anymore. She knew it hurt Raven, but at the same time she felt like Raven was the only one that understood her and her decisions.

“Sorry, I was showering.” Eden quietly answered her little sister.

For a couple of seconds, it was rather quiet. It seemed like Raven tried to find the right words.

“I know, you hate it, but I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday.” Raven began. “Mom told me to wish you all the best from them too, but they didn't want to bother you any longer than necessary.”

Eden swallowed. She knew she had been a pain in the ass the last couple of months, but she didn’t realize she had driven her parents to the point of not even wanting to call her.

She tried to swallow her doubts, before mumbling a response. “Thank you. I’m sorry for being so quiet.”

“Oh… Don’t worry, Eden. We love you.” Raven answered her quickly and tried to sound as happy as possible, but Eden heard the worry in her voice.

“I’m going to a party today.” Eden than exclaimed, to calm her sister’s nerves and seemingly it worked.

“Are you for real?” Raven exclaimed excitedly. “Yes, I am.” – “Where? Who? I-…?”

Eden laughed quietly. She really missed her sister. She really did.

“A friend of mine invited me to the birthday party of his friend.” Eden answered her sister with a small smile on her face.

“A friend or a friend?” Raven then wanted to know. Eden knew for a fact that Raven was wiggling her eyebrows while asking that question.

“A friend.” Eden rolled her eyes. She knew this was coming.

“Sorry, I was just asking.” – “You know, it wouldn’t be this way before you even asked, Raven.”

“Yes, I know. I just wanted to make a joke… I’m sorry.” Raven apologized.

After that, it was quiet again.

“Please don’t be mad at me, Eden.” – “I’m not, Raven. Don’t worry.” – “It was really insensitive of me… Considering, you're not-…” – “It’s really okay, Raven.”

It was quiet again. Eden wanted to cry because of the awkwardness.

“I… You know… Imma... I need to go.” Raven then said and Eden’s heart hurt. This was exactly how she didn’t want this to go.

“Okay. See ya.” Eden then answered and soon the call ended.

Eden felt bad. Everything felt bad. She just wanted to curl into a ball on her couch and never move again.

She looked at the clock and realized, she needed to head out sooner than later, to find a costume, if she wanted to be on time for the party. So, she sighed and got ready. Before she went out, she ate a bowl of cereal and then grabbed her keys.

While she was walking to her car, she covered her head with her hand. It had started to rain like crazy.

Right as she reached her car, her phone buzzed. It was Nick.

Nick: Just wanted to see if you would come tonight… Nick: I mean, since you didn’t answer yesterday…

Eden starred at her phone for a second, before she answered.

Eden: was about to head out to get a costume

She thought for a second, before she texted again.

Eden: maybe you wanna join me?

Nick instantly answered.

Nick: send me the location and ill be there

Eden sat in her car, nervously biting her fingernails as she waited for Nick to arrive. The Halloween store's neon sign flickered above her, casting a somewhat spooky glow on the damp pavement. She glanced at her phone and saw a text from Nick, confirming his arrival.

Nick: two minutes…

She took a deep breath and stepped out of her car, feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety. The rain had stopped, leaving a crisp chill in the air.

As she entered the store, the scent of latex and plastic immediately crept up into her nose. Rows of costumes, masks, and accessories sat in front of her, ready to be explored. Eden wandered through the aisles, unsure of where to start. Her eyes scanned the racks of costumes, ranging from spooky to silly. She felt totally overwhelmed.

It had been a while since she last dressed up for Halloween. To be exact, it had been about ten years. She also didn’t quite remember what happened on said Halloween, since she had been more than drunk. The only thing she vividly remembered was how she puked her brains out that night.

Before she could think about it any longer, she heard someone enter the store and was soon met with Nick’s broad smile that was almost contagious to her.

"Eden! Happy Birthday!" he exclaimed and hugged the girl for short second while she started to blush like crazy, his enthusiasm echoing through the store. “Ready to find the perfect costume?”

She nodded, trying to match his energy. "Not really, but let’s do it anyways."

For the next hour, they searched through various options. Eden couldn't decide whether to go for classic monsters or popular characters from movies and TV shows. Nick showed Eden some funny and silly options, making her laugh at his playful behavior.

"How about a giant banana?" Nick suggested, holding up a bright yellow costume.

Eden shook her head, grinning. "I don't think so. I prefer my fruits less... inflatable."

Nick laughed with his full heart, before going on with his search.

Right as Eden set her eyes on a black lacy corset dress, she felt Nick’s presence close to her and jumped when she saw him with a ghost face mask on his face.

“What’s your favorite horror movie, Eden?” Nick asked with a deep tone in his voice, while Eden held her chest. Her heart was beating fast.

“Don’t scare me, Nick!” She shouted and shoved him away from her with a small smile on her face. Nick pulled the mask off while still giggling his ass off.

"How about Ghostface from Scream?" Nick suggested, holding up the iconic white ghostly mask.

Eden's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Actually, that's a great idea, Nick. It's simple, yet mysterious. Let's go for it."

“As mysterious as you.” Nick answered while handing the mask to her. Eden smiled a little to herself, not knowing how to answer him, so she just decided to ignore it.

Eden’s eyes traveled back to the black lacy corset dress in front of her and she decided to spice her costume up a bit. If she was going to have fun for once, she was going to do it right.

“Will you try it on?” Nick asked with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. Eden felt how her cheeks heated up at his expression.

“What if I wanted to surprise you?” She answered him boldly and her mind instantly started to race at her sudden change in demeanor. She didn’t even know why she acted that way.

Nick smiled at her cheekily, before they started to add the last touches to her costume. A pair of fishnet tights, some black gloves and a fake knife. Eden decided she was going to wear her old thigh high boots with it.

As they approached the checkout counter, Eden felt a mix of excitement and amusement. She surprisingly was pretty happy about her choice, and even more, she enjoyed the process with Nick.

Exiting the store, they headed back to their cars with bags in hand. Eden couldn't help but smile at Nick's infectious energy.

"Thanks for helping me pick something out," she said shyly but genuinely grateful.

Nick grinned. "Anytime, Eden. Now, let's make sure you turn heads and give everyone a good scare tonight!"

As they parted ways with a hug to get ready for the evening, Eden felt somewhat excited for the upcoming party, grateful for Nick's help in what she thought would be a complete disaster.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio x ofc #collapsedglasshouseswrites #bad omens rpf

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spirit-meets-the-b0ne · 5 months ago

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Someone put Ryan on the spot about the changes to B&C and his answer is a lot of word vomit to cover up his laziness and and incompetence in story telling.

Choosing not to have Maelor exist yet (now creating a crisis of succession because he is left with a single daughter or his brother just like Viserys was) because they wanted to only recast the kids …. You’re telling me a fuckin baby doll in Episode 9 couldn’t have covered that? Fine you don’t want Maelor to be a toddler that’s one thing. But this scene would literally be no different if Helaena just had a baby in her arms:

Ryan saying he wanted “this to be this very visceral experience that happens to Helaena”

Well it feels like it happened on accident???

Not to mention even the exclusion of Maelor aside because okay you had no ground work done for that characters existence (aka you’re lazy and bad at your job) but there IS reason to be overly cautious? You have the skies being patrolled by Aemond, you have the ground forces watching the skies as well, however, the Red Keep is left under guarded? You’re telling me that after Alicent and Otto spent over 2 decades screaming at the sky that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the biggest threat capable of boundless evil and now we just killed her son, well it’s okay it’s late we’re tired no need to be worried? We’re not even adding an extra security detail, not even some little bells on the doors idk? The Lord of Flea Bottom he couldn’t POSSIBLY get into the castle!

Criston is obviously busy during the murder but what about the OTHER 6 KINGS GUARD?? Is he as lazy and bad at his job as Ryan because he never filled those positions after Arryk and co left? We are in a heightened state of awareness and those halls were EMPTY

You’re telling me there’s not even a mf doing a perimeter check?

There are a few stationed (not even all 6 from my count) in the throne room with Aegon but the heir apparent is left defenseless? Him and his mother both?

Not to mention Blood and Cheese basically being the fuckin live action weasels from Who Framed Roger Rabbit just bumbling through the castle fighting

Then actually getting caught by the first person seen on the floor that the Royal family inhabits

She leaves without a word! Never sure if she goes to get help?? Even if she did I guess it wouldn’t have mattered because every man with a sword was all the way down in the throne room! Is there any continuity of logic from this entire fuckin event? I can’t find it. Fuck you Ryan and your lame ass excuses for how messy you executed this whole fuckin plot.

#anti hotd #anti ryan condal #it’s like ACTUALLY so bad #blood & cheese #hotd critical

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applepiesupreme · 1 month ago

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American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 37

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/152613556

She crated everything of importance, then lingered around for a bit, equally relieved and sad to finally leave Shady Belle. Relieved because she had never liked it here and sad because this time she was definitely losing the tent. Sadie had told her that they were going to move fast, so they would only take the important personal items. Aside from Charles, there were no other men left to lug the big stuff - Uncle wouldn’t touch anything due to his lumbago, Swanson was perpetually stumbling around drunk and Strauss argued that if he had been built to do this kind of work, he wouldn’t be needing a collector for his debts in the first place.

She sat at the table as the day was still bluish, her breath misting a little and wondered where Arthur was and how he was doing. It felt a little ironic that she had arrived in this country on a ship in less than pleasant circumstances and now he was leaving on one the same way. Like a silly relay team, they had connected and brushed fingers for a second, then they were thrown hundreds of miles apart. Anger and longing mingled and intertwined in her heart. She thought of how he had explained to her in the Bayou that he didn’t have any other means to make money and that he needed money to break off. She understood that this was his only trade and yet, in her heart, she also resented him for it. Arthur was a smart, capable man. Most people in the gang were. They could do a million other things. Instead they were all addicted to easy money, and the funny part was that it wasn’t even easy.

She approached the horses and patted Frost's neck, cooing to him that his owner would be back, then climbed on Cricket and rode this particular route for the last time. Despite hours of thick, dreamless sleep, she was tired and worn out. Like a bucket brimming with water, she had reached the limits of her capacity. Every added drop now just slid off because there was no more room in her. Sister DuBois used to say bad news come in threes so if there was one more shoe to drop, she expected it to happen soon.

Work was surprisingly boring. Despite their promise the previous day, the detectives didn't return. But the lunch crowd doubled in size, full with with people who wanted to mingle and gossip about the robbery. She fulfilled order after order, her plates meticulous and perfect but also repetitive and boring. When her shift ended and she walked out of Antoine's, Sadie was leaning against a lamppost nearby.

"Did you find a spot?" Savigne walked up to her.

"Did. Ain't great but it's well hidden. Pinkertons are in a frenzy. ‘M sure they gonna find and swing by Shady Belle soon."

Savigne exhaled with frustration. Ever since the Heartlands, the gang's prospects were continuously declining. It was obvious to everyone but themselves. Every spot they picked was worse, with every move the noose drew tighter. If it wasn't for Arthur, she would have moved a long time ago, but here she was schlepping her stuff around with them and living off crates. Why even work in one of the most prestigious restaurants in the country if you're going to live like a fucking homeless person?

"You ready, Sugar?" Sadie straightened.

"Yeah, let's go. I still don't know what we're going for, but I guess you would have told me if it wasn't private."

"Feel crabby," Sadie rolled her shoulders.

Savigne blinked up to her and half chuckled. "I thought that's just the way you are."

Sadie gave her a side eye. "More crabby than usual."

They checked Cricket out of the stable and tied him and Sadie’s horse a block away from the clinic. Then they filled out forms and waited in the small lobby. Sadie paid upfront and asked Savigne to get checked first when prompted and she relented. Maybe she would get some candy out of it and hell, even that would be an improvement to her current mood. Finally they were guided into a small, spotless room and she looked around with approval. You would expect all clinics to be clean, but in Saint Denis if that was your expectation, you were in for a rude awakening. This, no doubt, was one of the fancier ones. The clinics in the poorer neighborhoods stank worse than the neighborhood itself, which was an impressive feat. She poured herself a glass of water and inspected the books on the shelves - a mixture of medical works in French, German and English.

A few minutes later a stunningly handsome, tall man with sandy hair, a slim mustache and soft hazel eyes walked in, their folders at hand. Savigne did a double take - in another life she would have been smitten with this man. Impeccable suit, well picked spectacles, an attitude exuding professionalism, discipline, precision and care.

"Ladies!" She heard the slight French accent in his perfect English. "I'm Doctor Polleux. Welcome. Who goes first?"

"My friend here," Sadie ushered Savigne into the chair.

She sat down, enchanted by the turn of events. She liked clean, well kept, professional, beautiful people and she liked watching them display their art whether it was food or medicine or something else entirely. His hands were silky and warm as he shook hers - clearly the hands of a man who handled delicate skin and turned book pages and wielded intricate tools instead of guns.

“So…” the doctor said and pulled a chair to sit closer. “…nice to meet you, Miss Ricci.”

“Likewise,” she breathed and took another sip of water. Up close, he looked even more handsome. There was a bit of yellow in his hazel eyes and his lashes were long and dark. She sat up a little and hoped that she didn't look like roadkill after the day she had yesterday. Was it odd to be enchanted by some stranger while Arthur was fleeing for his life, fate unknown? Perhaps. Had Arthur made that choice without even talking to her and practically abandoned her? Absolutely.

“Can you state your complaints?”

“She fainted a few times,” Sadie stepped up to stand behind her chair. "Overall tired. Gained a little weight. You get the picture.”

"W-what?" Savigne stammered up to Sadie and and turned back to the doctor. "Just a tiny little bit," she said hastily. "Also, the fainting - more like I was a little dizzy.”

“We had to carry you,” Sadie crossed her arms and threw a foot out. “And, like I said, y’aint exactly light no more.”

“That’s bull-” Savigne bit down the rest of the word, cleared her throat and glanced at Polleux sitting in front of her. “My friend exaggerates.” She glared up at Sadie, irritated. She was perfectly well and only here to do this woman a favor and there was absolutely no reason to mention any weight gain.

“I see. Let’s get your blood pressure and all that. Please take off your coat.”

The doctor checked her vitals, her eyes, her ears, then put on his stethoscope and listened to her heart and her lungs. His touch was light and soft and she enjoyed his sharp attention on her, even if it was purely professional.

“You seem a bit anemic, but otherwise fine.”

“Thank you,” she smiled and wished she had met him when she was cleaner. Judging by the immaculate white of his shirt collar, he was the kind of man who would have noticed that.

“Any unusual complaints?”

She inhaled and thought on this, milking her moments in the chair. "Well...I have a weird flutter in my stomach sometimes.”

He paused. “A flutter?”

“Yes, right here," she pointed to her abdomen. "It's not painful or anything. Feels like bubbles.”

Savigne was pleased when he didn't give her a dismissive look and instead asked “May I see?”

"Certainly, doctor." She unbuttoned the bottom buttons of her blouse and pulled it up to reveal her chemise underneath. When he leaned in she smelled his cologne - very faint but vibrant and fresh, like his hands and his eyes.

He inserted the earpieces, held the bell of the stethoscope against her stomach and listened for a while.

“When was the last time you bled?”

This gave her pause. “I don’t bleed very regularly,” she explained as she tried to remember. "Never have. But it’s been a few months. Maybe…three?” It occurred to her then that for a long time now she had been expecting a period that had never come. He moved the bell around, listened attentively, then folded it away as Savigne flitted through her memories and tried to pinpoint an approximate date.

“Any nausea?”

“Sometimes. I threw up a few times, but the last one was weeks ago and..." Ecco's memory floated by and with it, her stumbling to the street and finding a dark corner to unload her stomach like some homeless wretch. "...I'm a cook," she explained as she wiped the memory away, "and I could have tasted something off." Then, eager to gain his approval, or any reaction whatsoever beyond the mild disinterest he was gracing her with, she added: "I work at Antoine's." If he was impressed he didn't show it, which bruised her ego a little.

“Your friend mentioned weight gain?”

“Just a little,” she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her dresses had been adjusted twice now but that wasn’t because she was enormous, only because she enjoyed a perfect fit.

“Mood swings? Cravings - that sort of thing?”

“Yeah but I have a stressful job,” she tried to gloat again. "It can be hectic at times." Again, he didn't react other than a mild "hmmm" which was disappointing. God, how much weight did I gain? she thought, a little deflated. Sure, I'm no staggering beauty like Sarah but I’m practically invisible to this man.

“A fluttering you say…”

“Yes. Like bubbles.”

“Hmmm…”

Polleux gave Sadie a look and Sadie looked back, silent and unblinking.

“Miss Ricci, I think it’s safe to say you’re pregnant.”

Savigne blinked at him, then grinned and giggled with childish delight. “Very funny. I know you read my file, doctor.” He was flirting with her after all and that gave her a hefty boost of confidence.

His brows pinched and he opened her folder again. “What did I miss?”

“I was told the ship I arrived on had a typical outbreak of cholera a few days in. But the real kicker was the smallpox that broke out after.”

“Yes, I see.” He looked up at her with raised eyebrows as if he expected further explanation. “I mean…I almost died. Most of the passengers died.” His expression didn’t change at all. “Doctor Polleux," she cleared her throat. If he had a sense of humor, it was as dry as the Sahara. "I'm sure you're pulling my leg because we both know I can’t get pregnant.”

Those cool professional hazel eyes assessed her for a long moment.

“Who told you that?” was his late flat question.

“I’m sorry?” she stammered.

“Who told you that…” he repeated calmly and added “…nonsense?”

This threw her off and she struggled to find a response. Either he was exceptionally gifted at delivering dead pan jokes or he wasn't nearly as good of a doctor as he pretended to be.

Clearly ‘Sister Rodriguez’ would be a ridiculous answer so instead she opted to mutter a defensive “Everybody knows that.”

He gave her an owlish blink and closed her file.

A short silence ensued.

“There is no direct correlation between smallpox and female fertility,” he said carefully.

Something coiled around Savigne’s throat and started tightening.

“W-what?”

“There is no link. Scientific link. I know there are some midwives tales, but they’re incorrect,” he said calmly. "It might have made you less fertile but clearly it hasn’t made you sterile. While not the only criteria, the fact that you bleed indicates you’re fertile.”

“I bleed very irregularly,” she quickly countered.

“Indicates perhaps low fertility. But not infertility.”

She looked at him like he was speaking in tongues. “That’s…you’re clearly mistaken.”

He shifted in his seat, gently reached out to place the files on a nearby table. “I understand this comes as a surprise to you,” he said slowly, “and I’m trying to be…delicate. But there is no in between or 'a little bit' here. You are pregnant.”

“I can’t be!” she lobed back, now skidding dangerously close to irritation and panic.

His eyes, soft and warm when he had entered, hardened a little. He seemed to take her objection as an affront to science itself.

“Miss Ricci, I’m going to be direct…”

What the hell were you until now? she thought sourly.

“…unless you swallowed a pocket watch, there’s an extra heartbeat in your abdomen.”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?!”

He calmly studied her as her hyperventilating picked up speed.

"Check again! Please!"

"Certainly." The stethoscope was pulled out again and he meticulously listened to her abdomen as Savigne watched him with hawk-like attention and a growing sense of dread.

He cleared his throat and put it away.

"I stand by my diagnosis."

The room darkened and brightened back up as if something monstrous had flown in front of the sun.

“This is...can't be," she panted.

"Would you like to hear?" he held out the earpieces to her and she recoiled as if he had slapped her. "No!"

"I would," Sadie spoke up.

She crouched down as Polleux offered her the headset and under Savigne's disbelieving stare, listened intently, then grinned up at her. There was a forlorn look in Sadie's eyes and it only disappeared when Savigne angrily slapped the bell on ther stomach aside. Sadie cleared her throat and moved back to her spot as the man sat back in his chair.

"Judging by your reaction, this was not planned," he remarked. "I'm sorry to hear that. I’m going to give you a few minutes with your friend.” He rose to his feet. “I will be back.”

The monster flew across the sun again Savigne felt herself go boneless on the chair.

“You faintin’ again?!” Sadie remarked above her and next thing she knew, she had grabbed a book from the shelf to fan her face. “Listen here,” she hissed, then softened her tone, “Savigne, honey, calm down, okay?”

“I can’t be pregnant,” she mumbled. Moving her lips was an entire endeavor. The dark spots were back.

“Well…” Sadie chuckled nervously, “…gonna have to go with the doctor I paid fifty fuckin’ bucks for on that one.”

Savigne tried to speak but words wouldn’t come out. Her mind went blank every time she tried to think about it; like it was so big, it wouldn't fit into her head. “I can’t,” she tried again. She hadn’t bled in a long time and she had gained weight and also her breasts had been sensitive for months now, but these were all fragments, tiny brush strokes on a painting, how could they add up to a child? She had been sexually active since she was a young girl. True that it hadn't been nowhere near as rampant and consistent as it was with Arthur, and true that her previous partners had pulled out more often than not…but still!

“Remember, children,” droned Sister Auchter in her spinning head, “the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. It is vain to do with more what can be done with less.”

“Calm down. It’s fine.”

“How…the fuck…” Savigne panted, “…is…it fine?!”

“Don’ make me hit you with this book,” Sadie hissed, fanning furiously. “Will, if I have to.”

She wheezed for air and loosened her top buttons, too. Impossible, she thought and yet, deep deep down, in the dark folds of her gut where instinct ruled, somehow it rang true.

She almost erupted into laughter at the absurdity of her situation. A child out of wedlock! Worst thing a woman could do to herself. A scarlet letter that she had hung around her own neck. And now of all times! The room did a full flip and settled down again.

The other shoe, she thought then as her humor curdled into misery. Has to be. Bad news come in threes.

“It’s okay,” Sadie crouched down and grabbed the back of her head to press her face against a shoulder. “It’s fine. Breathe.”

Savigne exploded into sobs. “Oh my god! I want to die.”

“The hell?!” was the other woman’s gentle scolding. “Settle down. What if it was TB or somethin'?”

“At least that would kill me,” she cried harder.

“Hush sugar, just calm down. We’ll think of something, okay?”

“That’s right,” Savigne whispered hastily as she pulled back, “I heard there are places we can go! Doctors that will-”

Sadie gave her a look. “No.”

Savigne’s face fell. “What do you mean, no?”

“You know how many women come out those feet first?!” was the vehement hiss. “Ya gonna have to shoot me before I let you go near!”

“But…but…I can’t shoot!” Savigne wailed.

"Just breathe. Easy. Calm. Breathe."

Sometime later the door opened and closed again.

“Miss Ricci,” said the doctor, settling in his chair across from her again as Sadie vacated it. He handed her an immaculately clean handkerchief. “I understand your worries. You might think this is the end for you, but you’d be surprised how many women come here in your condition. You are not alone.”

She wiped her face furiously and cried harder. “Can you give me something? A…a remedy?”

“No. You’re too far along. Heartbeat audible with a stethoscope means at least twelve weeks, probably more. Any concoction someone might offer you is likely to kill you. Do not - I repeat - NOT drink it.”

“Hand the damn thing over!” she sobbed.

The doctor and Sadie exchanged a look. “I’ll never understand why this country is so damn…puritanical,” he sighed and scraped his chair closer. “Young lady,” he started as if he wasn't a only a year or two older at most. “I understand you’re not married. Personally, I don’t give a damn. I’m a doctor, not a priest. Now…let’s be pragmatic. Is the father still in the picture?”

“He will be. He’s away,” Sadie piped up.

“That’s good,” he remarked.

“I will kill him when he returns!” Savigne yelped.

“I would rethink that strategy,” Dr. Polleux said drily. Then he turned to the blond woman: “Does she have others to lean on? I know she doesn’t have a biological family,” he sifted through the file.

“Course she has,” Sadie said, clenching her shoulder.

Savigne just cried and let them talk it out. Her head was reeling, everything was is shambles. Someone was standing in the room that was her mind with a sledgehammer and meticulously smashing every piece of furniture into smaller and smaller pieces until there was nothing but dust.

“Excellent! Women with experience in the matter?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. A little laudanum if she gets too worked up but keep it on the low end. I know it’s passed around like candy these days, but personally I don’t think it’s good for the baby. I recommend regular check-ins. And she is a little underdeveloped.” He eyed Savigne with some scrutiny. “There are maternity houses…”

“She ain’t goin’ there,” was Sadie’s sharp interruption. “Like I said, she got people.”

“I admit…I wouldn’t recommend it,” Polleux said with some resignation. “One hears barbaric things. But it would at least be a safe birth and if she doesn’t want the baby…”

“No maternity house for Savigne,” Sadie squared her feet as if she was going to get into a fistfight with the doctor over it.

“I’m glad for that. If money is an issue…I have sent many unwed mothers to the workhouse.”

“She good,” Sadie growled. “We got money, too.”

“I know she’s working but she might not be able to much longer. In this country, for whatever reason, that’s a scandal. I’ve seen mothers work in fields all over the world but here we get hung up on such things.” He turned to Savigne again. “You will start to show soon,” he said calmly and ignored her whimper of disbelief. “Only reason you haven’t already is because you’re undernourished and it’s your first. Your stomach muscles haven’t expanded before. But that will change very quickly. If you must, stick a ring on your finger and lie would be my suggestion. Wouldn’t fly in a small town but in Saint Denis, nobody knows their neighbors’ name.”

He watched her cry for a while longer, his face calm and composed. No sympathy but also a complete lack of judgement. “Of course I suggest you do it for real when the father returns, so he can claim the child. Otherwise things might get…complicated for both of you.”

“But I can’t have a baby!” Savigne sobbed miserably. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a baby?”

“Miss Ricci," he pushed his spectacles up with the faintest impatience, "I hope you’re not making a case for immaculate conception.”

“No but…”

“Or claim that you don't know how babies are made.” Savigne decided that she didn't like Doctor Polleux after all. Not even a little bit.

"I want a second opinion!" she spat.

"Sure, that's your prerogative. Like I said, I stand by my diagnosis."

His complete confidence made her panic even more. “But…”

“Good news is that it’s only six months out - give or take.”

“Oh my god,” moaned Savigne, dizzy with overload. “What’s the fucking bad news?”

The doctor didn’t even flinch at the vulgarity, just looked at her, cool as a cucumber.

“Bad news is the same.”

“Thank you doctor,” Sadie said hastily and started to button up Savigne’s blouse. “We'll be back.”

The blond woman pulled Savigne to her feet and stuffed her arms into her coat, then hustled her out of the room. They stumbled through corridors and then back through the waiting room where Savigne’s clearly unwell state alerted the waiting patients and scared a child enough to make him burst into wails. Once they exited the clinic, Sadie turned her by the shoulders and propped her up against a wall. “Now listen, I need you to pull yerself together here! You’re pregnant, you ain't dyin’.”

“I can’t be! Sister Rodriguez said-”

“Bitch lied. Let’s go.” She grabbed Savigne’s arm and dragged her towards the horses.

The Saint Denis crowd parted around them, a sea of eyes brimming with curiosity, revulsion, sympathy at her state. Nothing felt as lonely and humiliating as being in a vulnerable state in a big city. People glanced at her like she was rude for crying in public, for making them uncomfortable and marring their perfect day. Women tsked with disapproval as they glided by and men averted their eyes, reluctant to shame her further. Don't you understand that it's crude to be upset in public? they said silently. That it's uncivilized to cry and moan out in the open? That’s what closed doors are for.

“Cheer up, sweetheart!” someone yelled.

“I'll cheer you up..." Sadie’s head snapped back, "you son of a..."

“She was a nun,” Savigne sobbed. “Nuns can’t lie.”

“Doctor didn’ even give you nothin’ and you gone stupid anyway.”

Savigne stopped in her tracks and forced her to stop, too. “What are we going to do?” she whispered with urgency, grabbing Sadie’s jacket.

“We gonna go back to camp,” she growled, peeling Savigne’s claws off herself, “Then we gonna eat. Then we talk.”

“But…”

“Asked n’ answered. Let’s go!” She dragged Savigne further down the street. For her size, Sadie was remarkably strong.

“Oh how dreadful!” was a tittering whisper from nearby.

“Then look away you ugly cow!” Sadie yelled before she turned back to Savigne and jabbed her head at Cricket: “Up you go. Preferably before I shoot someone.”

Savigne wiped her palms over her face, took a deep shuddering breath and put a foot in the stirrup. Then she blinked and looked over her shoulder: “How come you’re so calm?”

“I knew,” was the dry retort.

“W-what?”

“I know what a woman with child looks like,” she glared. “My babies never grew full. But I been there. Three times.”

Savigne slowly climbed up the saddle and somehow found the decency to feel a little abashed. “I’m sorry.”

There was a curt nod. “‘M sorry too, Savigne, I am. Sorry y’aint ready. Sorry yer dumb man ran off. Sorry you had nobody around you honest. Or nobody to teach you. Cry about it, sure. I know I did. For my babies and Jake. Cry about it long as you need. But then you get up and go on. Life comes at you and you got no choice.”

“I can’t do this,” Savigne whimpered.

“You can and you will. Women been doing it since dawn of time. Your mom did it.”

“My mom wasn’t alone,” she hiccuped. “She had a husband.”

”First of all, y’aint alone. What the fuck am I? Furniture? Second, Arthur gonna come back.”

“We don't know that!” She flinched a little at the hard reaction in Sadie’s eyes.

“He ain’t dead," the blond woman hissed and inched closer to Cricket, her eyes blazing. "He was dead, I would have to give ya his bag, don’ I?” She shook Arthur’s satchel in Savigne’s face, her sisterly patience clearly running thin. “Y’aint gettin’ it cause he ain’t dead. Maybe will be by my hand or yours when he come back, that’s a different story. Now…” she swung herself up into the saddle and gave Savigne a fiery glare that didn’t brook arguments. “Camp. Food. Talk. Let’s go!”

She rode on and Savigne swayed on the saddle and turned Cricket to follow.

He had never been homesick before. Probably because, discounting the hellhole he had ran away from as a child, he never actually had a home. His home had been the gang and for over twenty years, he had never been apart from it. Even now, in this godforsaken place, he was with them. And yet, he was homesick. A deep painful yearning was burning through his gut, threatening to bore a hole through him as he longed for his tent. Not the old cot he had slept on for years. His tent of barely six months.

He sat apart from the others, elbows on raised knees, back against a crumbling ruin of a wall, trying to to ignore the sunburn that was blistering his skin and the dizziness dancing behind his eyes. That proved to be easier to ignore than Dutch's incessant droning in the background and the homesickness in his gut.

Turns out, washing up on a shore a thousand miles away with nothing but the clothes on your back and the bruise of colossal failures in your heart gave you a hell of a perspective.

Hindsight was cruel; there was little of value to be found in that garden of regret. But, spurred by his thirst for pain, he went digging anyway. He thought of Luther and he dug that bitter soil every day, every hour of every day. And just like Luther, he reached the same revolting truth:

Vanity.

Vanity had watched him from the corner of the room as he argued alongside Hosea to Dutch, all the while smiling coyly at his hubris. Vanity had cooed encouragement into his ear as he had lied on the bedroll the night before, thinking the plan was solid and doable and most importantly - his ticket out. Vanity had squeezed his shoulders and cheered him on as he sat that morning to watch Savigne ride away and Vanity had insisted all would be well. No trouble, Vanity had whispered, no worries, no hesitation. Hesitation is defeat. It had held his coat as he dressed up, had sat on the saddle behind him on Frost as he rode out, had followed him step by step when he fled from the gunfire and had crouched next to him in that deserted building as they waited for nightfall, purring that it wasn't over yet. Vanity had aided his steps as he boarded the ship and the next morning when he stood at the banister to watch the endless stretch of water, drifting away from everything that had any value to him, Vanity had stood with him and soothed his regrets. Vanity had woken him on a strange shore and urged him to go on, to fight, to try, to live. For what? To amuse me, little boy, Vanity smiled. To entertain me. To please me.

The colossal pompousness of thinking his participation was going to prevent another Blackwater! His gut had advised caution but his arrogance had won out. In the end, his arrogance always won out.

Now it was time to feast on the fruit of that arrogance: the loss of his home; the loss of a future with the woman he loved; the loss of a friend and last but not least: the staggering loss of a parent.

But, in this vast dark ocean of despair, a single source of consolation: Savigne didn't need him anymore.

Truthfully, she never had. Her independence had been the source, the inception point of his desire for her in the first place. The way she had come and gone to camp, full with her own purpose. Her steadfast march through life. He was just the brute who had saved her from other brutes. And now that the last of them was rotting in a swamp, his mission was complete, his role fulfilled. She could finally ride on and prosper. Perhaps she would get that dinner shift. Perhaps she would go to New York. Maybe she would meet a man like Dunham. She had Luther, she had Sadie, she had his money and she would be happy. Hosea had told him that making her happy would make him happy and in a twisted, ironic way he had been right. He just hadn't known that the price of making her happy was removing himself from her life.

In this, at least, he had accidentally succeeded.

A hand landed on his shoulder and a water canteen appeared in front of his face. "Son," Dutch sighed and dropped down next to him. "How are you holding up?"

"'M fine," he rasped and took a swallow.

"What a shithole," Dutch muttered, leaning his head back on the broken wall.

"Don' like islands no more?" Arthur chuckled bitterly as he took another mouthful.

"I have to admit," the older man drawled, "The plan is going to need changing."

They sat in silence for a long while. The heat was as bad as Lemoyne heat because it had a habit on settling on everything like dust. There was no escaping from it in the shade, in the open, wet or dry. It was in your eyes, your lungs, between your toes.

"We need to get off this island," Dutch said at last. "Hercule says he can provide us a boat."

Arthur didn't answer. He wasn't interested in getting off the island. He had made peace with the fact that this was his final destination.

"We need to get back to our people."

They better off without us, he thought but didn't say it. It was simply too hot to argue.

His silence must have bothered Dutch enough to push on: "They need us."

They need us like they need the plague.

His huff of amusement stirred Dutch: "You disagree?"

He sluggishly scratched his beard. "If you say so, Dutch."

"I know you're tired. God knows I am, too. But if we stay here, we will die."

That's the plan. Better than any of yer shit plans, that's for sure. Turns out, better than mine, too.

Dutch flustered a little at his non engagement. "He was like a brother to me," he offered at last. It was a seldom moment of sincerity for Dutch and Arthur took a deep breath and nodded and hoped that would be the end of it but of course he wasn't that lucky. "But we have people depending on us! You have people depending on you!"

Any other day, this would infuriate him. This cheap attempt to dangle Savigne in front of his nose to make him get up and trudge on. Today it only amused him. That's the thing, he thought, she don’ depend on me and she don’ need me. In fact, she better off without me. I played my part in her life, I killed that asshole and cleared the ladder for her. Now all she gotta do is climb and all I gotta do is die.

Dutch prattled on and on but Arthur hardly listened. There was a vast sadness in him, for things that would never be, but also gratitude for things that were. He hadn't managed to touch that untouchable thing - a family of his own - but he had come very, very close. And somehow, in the mayhem that was his life, he had stumbled upon a woman to allow himself to be vulnerable with; and when he had unwrapped his heart to her, she had handled it with care and tenderness. If that was all that was in store for him, so be it. It was more than he deserved.

Night crawled in and the music of the jungle changed. Dutch left his side at some point and at some other point he was given something to eat and he chewed on it listlessly. He wasn’t hungry but it helped to pass the time. Then true dark set in and he was looking forward to it, because night meant sleep and sleep meant dreaming. The same dream he had had since he had fallen into this hellhole. He wasn’t interested in escaping from the island, but he was very happy to escape from reality.

He stumbled to his hammock and lied in it, swinging and watching the stars, waiting for his eyes to grow heavy. Waiting for sleep to end the nightmare that was the day. And eventually, it did.

Their tent stood before him, in this perpetually repeating dream, location unspecific and unimportant. What was important was the tent and what it stood for - home. White drapes hitched to the ground, firm enough so they wouldn’t blow in the summer breeze, but loose enough to let the air in. The thicker maroon canvas rolled up and tied off. In his dream, it was always summer. Maybe because that’s when he had built it. Some indeterminate time between twilight and the earliest hours of daybreak.

Instantly he was in front of it, pushing open the flap to step in. The light in here was a muted blue, as if the tent was encased in ice. The covers on the bed were piled up and he knew she was there. A feeling of deep pleasure surged through him, cool in contrast to the hot flare of his homesickness. He unbuckled his gun belt and in the dream, it didn’t jingle. Then the belt of his trousers. One by one he peeled off all his clothes.

Then he carefully crawled on the bed and lifted the covers. A flash of her toffee skin, the curve of her buttocks, the slope of her hip. In reality, Savigne rarely slept naked. She claimed that if something unexpected happened and they suddenly had to run out, she would die of shame if she was naked. He remembered bursting into laughter at her admittance and he also fondly remembered how annoyed she had been at his mirth. But in the dream she was always naked. He moved the covers further: the gentle indentations of her spine, the soft shoulders and the waves of dark locks. He slid in behind her and settled against her back. This was his favorite position and maybe that’s why he dreamed about it so often. She was smaller and fit perfectly into his chest. He tucked an arm under his pillow as his other hand glided over her hip, her waist, up an arm, then down to rest against a plush soft breast and he spread his fingers to gently grasp it.

She stirred a little and took a deep breath. Her skin was smooth and soft. He kissed her neck as he shifted to adjust behind her with little to no gap. Her hair smelled of lavender, the way it had when she had first approached him in Valentine way back when, but her skin smelled of lemon drops and that was new. He paused at the change, cautious. The dream was precious to him and the last thing he wanted was a deviation, a disfigurement, a change to it. Because it was perfect as it was.

She sighed and dreamily grasped his forearm, her clutch weak with sleep. In his dream he somehow knew it was Sunday and the whole day was ahead of them, so he didn’t want to wake her yet. But when she did wake, he would make love to her, slow and lazy and he felt his cock between them harden at the thought. Then they would sleep some more, eat breakfast and go to Valentine. And there, in that warm pool of water he would make love to her again - this time rough and aggressive. His appetite and need for her never waned and he was fascinated by that. Why had that first tryst in the woods not been the end of it? Why had he circled back again and again, unable to stay away? It had to be the curse of good things in life.

“Welcome back,” she mumbled as he kissed her shoulder.

Then suddenly the dream diverged again, sharply this time, because she said “You’re late, Arthur.”

He froze for a moment, finding himself in unfamiliar territory and not happy about it. This was all he had left and he liked it fine the way it was. Although it wasn't unpleasant, he didn't like that she smelled like lemon drops and he didn't like that she spoke those words. Before he could dwell on it though, she mumbled “Don’t smush the grub”.

He blinked in confusion. “What d’ya mean?” he whispered, alert and wary.

She sleepily tugged at his hand resting on her breast and guided it to her belly. She pressed his palm flat on her pear shaped bump and folded her hand over his to keep it in place. He rose on his elbow in surprise. Under his fingers, the tremble of a rabbit heart, soft and hurried.

“The grub,” she murmured.

In his gut, currents turned, collided, swirled, spiraled and converged to form the point of a vortex. It grew and grew and expanded into a maelstrom that yawned open with quiet force. And in its dark center blossomed a dazzling flower of understanding.

Arthur flinched awake and the hammock rocked wildly as he struggled to sit up.

“Can’t be,” he mumbled softly into the thick cacophony of bug chorus. A sharp shake of his head to disperse the spell of sleep followed. The dream unfurled and blew apart like an apparition as he clutched at it. “Can’t be,” he said again, mouth dry.

And yet, in his gut, it felt true. An instinctual certainty, like lining up cross hairs on a moving target and knowing the exact moment the bullet would fly true.

He fell back into the hammock and gulped deep breaths of the soupy air. He ran his hands over his face and then wiped the sticky film of sweat on his shirt. His heart hammered in his chest as the dream lifted and evaporated. It was still dark and the only sounds were the chirping of bugs, the croaking of frogs and the snoring of the other men. He shifted in the hammock and straightened a little to settle back in, but he knew he wouldn't sleep again. He lied there and thought and thought, and the more he thought, the more it seemed true. He thought on the little things and he thought on the big things. His mind flooded with memories, by themselves subtle and tenuous like wispy strings. But when he lined them up and coiled them together, there was a solid, firm rope in his hands. No wonder my plans derail, he huffed a quiet chuckle of disbelief to himself, 'm blind as a bat.

It’s a dream, let it go, his head tried feebly. You’re just spinning tales.

But his gut held firm: you're going to be a father.

Rapture exploded and expanded in his chest and he took a slow, deep breath as it burned through him with blinding heat. He lied dazzled and faint as a tidal wave of pleasure rolled over him. And then another. And then one more.

But underneath those waves: a dark undertow:

He had left his woman and his child behind, defenseless and alone.

Again.

The notion prickled the hair on his arms like the advent of a thunderstorm.

Years later the spiral voyage of his life had turned the same bend. Maybe the mere irony of fate. Or maybe a test of capricious gods to see if this time he would choose differently.

And he had chosen the same.

He scrambled out of the hammock, fully awake now and stood weak and trembling for long minutes, grateful that everyone else was fast asleep. Then he grabbed the half empty packet of cigarettes and walked away from camp on shaky legs.

Dark thoughts clawed at him. All this time he had convinced himself that she didn't need him. That his part in her life was complete. That she was better off without him. For days now he had taken countless casual risks, had tempted death, even chased it every time he had popped out behind a wall or a tree to shoot back just a little too early or had remained in the open just a little too long. His steps faltered as he realized that an enormous calamity had swum by him like a great shark in dark waters and he hadn’t even known, merely now felt the wake of its departure. His vision blurred with the afterthought. Because alone maybe she would have moved on and prospered. But a woman with child? His child?

The shark hadn’t swum by after all. It was merely circling.

What man would darken their door? Micah? O’Driscolls? Another group of drunk vagabonds? Come to bruise and smother what he had neglected and abandoned. Come to hurt what he loved.

He stood breathing the thick air of the jungle and watched the blue of daybreak settle around him. A new day was dawning. The fever dream of the past week shriveled and dissolved and the fool who had wallowed in aimless self pity gasped his last breath. A great weight rolled off his shoulders. He shifted on his feet and and straightened his back. Made a promise to an asshole in a swamp, he thought. And ‘m damn right gonna keep it.

Hercule heard the approaching steps and rose a little to see who it was. It’s the runt of the litter, the sickly man, he thought when Arthur strode out from under the trees and headed towards him. Only he didn’t look so sickly today. Today he looked like a whole new man. Taller and bigger somehow, with a different gait. “Can’t sleep?” Hercule asked as he fished out a cigarette from the offered package.

The American grunted affirmation as he lighted first Hercule’s cigarette, then his own.

He was curious why this blan, this white man approached him now. All these past days as they marched to lose the men following them, he had barely spoken, rarely eaten, never even met his gaze. He had just trudged around with the rest of the group and whenever they ran into trouble, his friends had slapped a gun in his hands and he had shot back. His marksmanship was spectacular, but it was obvious that his heart wasn’t in it. He just did it reflexively, as if this was his second nature, something he could do in his sleep. His compatriots treated him like a formidable warrior, but Hercule had been convinced he would die within the week. He had seen people give up before. They had that particular look in their eyes.

So when Arthur’s cool blue gaze locked with his now, he was naturally startled to see a different man looking out. His curiosity turned into intrigue.

“Different climate?” This wouldn’t be the first man who looked tough until he met the Jungle.

“Got things on my mind,” the other man grimaced.

“Your people back home?”

The man exhaled out a long cloud of smoke, nodded, then quickly glanced over his shoulder before he said “My family.” The timbre of pride was palpable and pulled a grin of approval from Hercule:

“Lucky man.”

They didn’t talk for a while, just watched the day break as they smoked. The jungle sloped downwards ahead of them, lush and thick as he watched a flock of parrots take flight. Hercule had run into all manner of folk in his life and he liked to think that he was a good judge of them. These Americans acted like a band of brothers, a pack. The fancy man, the cunning one was the leader of the pack. But interesting enough, this man here was no follower. No, he was his own wolf.

“You got kids?” he was asked suddenly.

“Unfortunately no,” Hercule mused. “My life too crazy for that right now. Some day, I hope. When all this is behind me.” Then, just because it was the polite thing to do: “You?”

Arthur squinted into the distance and took a moment before he uttered a confident “I will.”

Hercule resisted the urge to smack him on the shoulder. He got the feeling that this man didn’t like being touched. “Congratulations.”

The cowboy nodded, then turned and gave him an intense look.

“Tell me ‘bout this boat.”

He sobered at that. “I need a favor first.”

“Name it,” was the flat response.

“Fussar. He’s enslaving people. Exploiting them, using them. They live in horrible-”

Arthur’s hand waved away the rest like it was unimportant. “Name it,” he repeated.

He hesitated. A no nonsense man. Not interested in plight and tragedy, just here for a transaction. So be it, he thought. “I need him dead.”

A nod as he smoked and scanned the horizon line. “Anythin’ else?”

Hercule huffed a half chuckle despite himself. “My apologies,” he laughed. “I think I made it sound too easy. Fussar has a small army in his command.”

The blue eyes flicked at him and his grin dissipated. Yeah, forget the others. Forget the fancy leader. Or the one with the cruel eyes and the big belly. This was the man he needed in his corner. Because, if he asked it, this man would burn the world and light his cigarette on the embers.

“You got guns?” was the casual question.

“Of course,” he licked his lips.

Another silence ensued. He watched the bigger man smoke and wondered if he had had a heatstroke earlier. He had looked pretty miserable and spent. Now he stood shouders rigid, oozing competence and confidence. In truth, Hercule had offered the boat in a moment of desperation and hadn’t been too concerned with keeping his word. Now he thought he damn better made sure to arrange it for real, because it wouldn’t do to cross this man.

”Get me them guns,” Arthur said as he crushed his stub under a heel. “And that boat. Fussar is dead. He just don’ know it yet.”

Hercule watched him turn and stride back to the ruins of the church. Over the years, he had met many who vowed the same. But this was the first time he actually believed it.

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