#Are usually v much their own characters and not just mirrors of the male characters' desires rlly drives this home i think

[neige-leblanche]

someone's probably made this post before but reading dostoevsky as an aromantic really hits different, bc so many of the main or major characters when pursuing their love interests give the impression that they never learned how to fall in love, or that they know romance isn't supposed to be something moral or political but can't truly conceptualize it as otherwise. prince myshkin proposes to nastasya filippovna because he likes the idea of validating a "fallen woman" through marriage; raskolnikov sees sonya as the only person who can save him due to her "innocent sinner" position; ivan is said to be in love with grushenka, but these interactions primarily happen offscreen, and his brother and father are the only ones with a real chance at marrying her, because they're impulsive sensualists with specific desires who act on them. i think what really hit hardest was razumikhin and dunya's relationship; there seems such a strong tacit acceptance that this is how real people fall in love; good people with care in their hearts fall in love because of romantic desire, and it's utterly wholesome even when messy and imbalanced and in the midst of turbulence, and it is by no means a feeling raskolnikov can experience in his current condition. the way that "good" characters and "bad" characters both experience this tangible separation from romance too ;-;

[janghoefett]

Smoke and Mirrors - The Final Chapter

BOBA FETT X F!READER

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ NO MINORS Pairing: F/M Chapter word count: 4.9k

Warnings: Maybe Han Solo’s plans only work if you’re Han Solo, character death, princess is held captive, princess grieves, I-thought-you-died/I-almost-died SMUT! Some naked female/clothed male, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), p in v intercourse, more oral after that. Absolute raging smut. The L word.

A/N: Thank you so much to all who have read Smoke and Mirrors. The first chapter was published back in February, which is hard to believe, so I am very grateful for anyone who has continued to support this story since then. While I am very happy to have it completed, I’m going to miss it a lot. Please enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

—————————

For the first time in your life, you felt like you were part of something. Something good, something that had meaning. You were beginning to see what your life could be like moving forward whether you found your way back to Boba or not, and it wasn’t the dark, lonely existence you had imagined for yourself after losing everything.

The Rebel Alliance was a brotherhood. It was full of people like you, who were joined by grief and a shared drive to take down those responsible for the evil in this galaxy, and your wounds were healing because of them.

Han Solo told you everything you needed to know - he answered all your questions, he was thorough in his strategy, and he was explicitly clear about the dangers you would encounter. You were ready to leave for Tatooine that very day.

“Alright boys, listen up! The princess over here needs to borrow the worst clothes you have to offer,” Han announces to the barracks. “We need to scuzzy her up real good.”

X-Wing pilots, mechanics, and gunners all turn their attention towards the two of you. Han’s charisma is almost jarring, and you find yourself staring at the spectacle that is him just as his audience does.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” asks Wedge from his bunk.

You look to Han, curious to see if he had one of his witty explanations at hand, but the captain only looks down at you and shrugs. “I’ve gotta tell them, princess,” he admits. “They’re gonna find out sooner or later.”

You suck in a shaky breath and nod in agreement. “Tell them,” you consent.

Captain Solo clears his throat. “The thing is, she’s breaking in to Jabba the Hutt’s palace to find her long lost love,” he announces to the room, with his usual charming flair. “Now what better reason is there to help her out than true love? Am I right, boys?”

Oh fuck, your cheeks are burning. You didn’t know he would say it like that... 

Instead of the heckles and general harassment you had expected, you are met with enthusiastic chatter and applause. Han pats your back in reassurance and a smile spreads across your face - you’d have to remember to tell Leia that Han was a true romantic before you left.

“Now that’s something worth fighting for!” a man shouts, eliciting cheers from the group.

“If she’s going to see her boy toy, why does she want to look like crap?” calls a mechanic. 

“Shut up, bozo!” another retorts.

The men begin to move about their barracks in search of their gnarliest garments. You had never seen so many gentle, kind men concentrated in one place, and they were all treating you as if you were their own sister despite being merely acquaintances. Your heart swells with gratitude as you are handed loads of scarves, old shirts, basically anything worn that the men thought would fit you, and you thank them in your hurry. 

Han helps you dress and makes adjustments as he sees fit. You are left standing in a formerly white shirt with your neck covered in gauze, tech goggles on your head, and torn utility pants that were about two sizes too big on you. 

With sudden realization, Han begins to take the holster off of his hips. “Here, try this,” he tells you. 

You push his hand down. “Han,” you protest. 

He only hands it to you with insistence. You wrap it around your waist and Han helps you adjust the belt, to conform to your size. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got others,” he mumbles with a soft smile. “You keep the blaster, too.”

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the banged up mirror and make your own adjustments, tucking the front of your shirt into your pants and adjusting the scarf to your liking.

“Don’t do anything too stylish, now,” Han warns you with the shake of his hand.

You step away from the mirror to present your finished product. “Alright, how do I look?” you ask the room.

"Terrible!”

“Still too hot!”

“Perfectly ugly!”

You share a laugh with the boys and thank them once more for their hospitality, shaking hands and receiving many strong pats on the back.

“May the Force be with you, princess!!” a mechanic shouts with a friendly wave of his hand on his way to the hangar.

“May the Force be with you!” the rest of the men echo.

“Thank you, everyone, really,” you smile widely. “And thank you, Han. For everything.”

Han steadies you with two firm hands on your shoulders. “Go get him, kid, we’re pulling for you,” he says. “And if you find Boba... tell him I send my best.”

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

Knock knock knock.

A gatekeeper droid appears from a slot in the wall upon hearing your knocks and positions itself just inches from your face. "Ah'chu apenkee!” it demands.

You keep your feet planted firmly in the sand below you and grit your teeth. Just like Solo said, you think to yourself. Firm. To the point. If you believe it, they will too. “I’m here for my next job,” you respond with a bite.

The small droid pops back into its hole and, with a deafening creak, the enormous palace door begins to slowly rise just enough for you to duck below and slip inside the darkness. You are nearly blinded as you walk through the musty corridor from the sudden lack of Tatooine’s bright suns and sand, and the old goggles you wear to conceal your face do you no favors. Adjusting yourself in your ill-fitting clothing, you place a hand on Solo’s belt and cautiously make your way to the staircase at the end of the hallway, beginning to saunter down to the lower levels with quiet footsteps.

You had never seen anything like it. Dancing twi’leks, bounty hunters, rusty droids, strange species you had never seen in your life... the room is packed with characters, one more interesting than the next, as the live band’s music accompanies the roaring chatter. Your eyes, however, are drawn immediately to the right of the room at the enormous figure sitting on a throne... it was Jabba the Hutt himself.

His gaze, fortunately, is fixated on the woman dancing in front of him and not on you. There is someone watching you, however — the pallid male Twi’lek standing by the slug’s side watches you just as you watch him, and you turn your head quickly to avoid any further suspicion. You walk along the shadowed sidelines slowly, peering into every booth to see who you’d find, and you scan the room with hopeful eyes... but there was no man in Mandalorian armor.

Boba wasn’t there.

“If you don’t see him right away, give it a few minutes,” Han had said. “That place is a maze. He could be anywhere.”

You decide to patiently lean against an empty space of the wall, mimicking the body language of a suave bounty hunter standing across from you. Speaking would present too much of an opportunity to out yourself as a fraud, Captain Solo had also warned you, so you would bide your time in silence, and pray you’d see Boba soon.

Your stomach drops when the band stops playing. You reach for the blaster on your leg when a large, green hand envelops your wrist — two Gamorrean guards grab you on either arm and drag you to the center of the room. Your legs flail and your arms pull and pull with all their might to break free of those strong hands to no avail, as the Twi’lek majordomo reveals your face to Jabba the Hutt.

“So this is the little princess who betrayed her husband!” Jabba bellows in Huttese. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, your highness. I can see why Boba Fett was… enchanted by your beauty.” 

The sniveling little creature sitting the nook of Boba’s tail lets out a high-pitched laugh at his master’s remarks as the rest of the room erupts in laughter.

“So what do I do if I get caught?” you had asked Han Solo mere hours ago, to which he responded:

“Talk your way out of it like I always do... I guess.”

“Jabba, I have not come with any intention other than finding Boba Fett. That was my only objective. No harm, no foul, right?” you explain, raising your hands in surrender.

“Boba Fett has much to make up for before he ever sets foot in my palace again,” the slug replies.

Your eyes search the room and your mind pleads for an escape... but you were fucked. “I can see that now,” you say politely. “Please allow me to be on my way—”

“Ho, ho, ho, ho… not so fast, little princess!” Jabba bellows as the guards tighten their grip. “Perhaps the Empire still might have interest in you! Take her to her husband’s cell!” he orders.

A new wave of dread washes over you. “My...” you falter.

You are dragged from the throne room, stripped of your belongings, and brought down to a lower level of the palace upon which you are thrown into a dark, occupied cell. You are caught in the familiar arms of a man — his blue eyes glow faintly in the dim light and he smiles softly.

“Jamie?” you croak.

You pull away from him quickly. You had expected anger, retaliation, anything but his soft demeanor as he reaches out to examine your tattered clothing with gentle hands. “What are you doing here, sweet girl? No, no, no, you can’t be here,” he chatters.

You had never seen the prince so haggard. His golden skin is covered in grime, his face is unshaven, and his hair is displaced and terribly matted. The sight makes your chest clench; he was here because of your doing. 

You never conceived this to be his fate, yet you still don’t know what you ever supposed happened to him. He’s dead, gone like everyone else, you always assumed, either in a quarrel with the bounty hunters who came to finish what Boba started or along with everyone else who had died the day the Empire decided their lives were not worth living.

No matter what he had done, you did not want to see him this way. No one deserved this. Not even Jamie, despite all he had done to you and all the crimes he committed.

You reach out for him slowly and caress his face, smoothing his messy hair back with your hand. “I’m glad to see you, Jamie,” you say softly. “It’s nice to see a familiar face at the end of all things.”

The moment you realize he’s choking back tears at the mere sight of you, your throat closes and you let out a sob. You envelope him in your arms and allow him to collapse there, his weight heavy and body tired as he takes refuge in your embrace.

“I’m sorry for everything!” he sobs. “I’m sorry I fucked our lives up, you didn’t deserve that!”

“I forgive you!” you cry.

Jamie was your brother, born out of the same circumstances as you and suffering a loss just as you had been, and you needed this closure to soothe over your battered heart and your guilty conscience. You turn your head to press a kiss to his cheek and he takes your head in his grasp, pressing his forehead against yours in silent solidarity.

“I didn’t want things to end this way,” you whisper.

“I know you didn’t,” he smiles. “I know you hated me for locking Fett up, but it was either him or me... I’m only sorry I didn’t tell you.”

You knew. As much as you wanted to blame Jamie for all your misfortunes, you knew Boba’s version of justice differed from yours. “I didn’t ever want him to hurt you, I held him back for so long—”

“I know,” Jamie assures you.

You nod in grim acceptance and burrow yourself into his chest, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck. How did you get here? How was all forgiven so easily when faced with a bitter end? Only Jamie knew the girl you used to be, the girl who was still buried somewhere deep inside you who loved and idolized him, who turned to him for protection and only wanted to be loved in return, and only you knew the man he should have become.

“I guess it’s only fitting that we meet our end together,” you mumble softly.

“You know, if my mother hadn’t kept me hidden from the Jedi I would have been killed,” Jamie confesses.

You don’t know what to say to that. You don’t know why he was telling you this now. “Jamie, I don’t understand...”

“Don’t you see, princess? I’ve been doomed from the start,” he says simply. You pull away from him to search his face, wondering if he was beginning to lose his senses. Jamie instead takes your head between his hands to meet your gaze. “I’m going to distract them, and you’re going to run like hell,” he says with urgency. “You’re going to live, my love.”

You let out a shaky breath when you realize his intent. 

Jamie takes your hand in his own and closes his eyes in concentration. His free hand shakes as he raises it towards the door and you steady him with a firm hand to his chest. “You can do it,” you whisper. “You’re strong, I know you are.”

Jamie’s body had weakened, but his resolve had not. His breathing becomes labored, and with the slow squeeze of his hand, the metal begins to crumple as if by magic. Jamie opens his eyes and grits his teeth, slowly ripping the door open with the strength of a hundred men. You marvel at how beautiful he is and you wonder what he could have been, what you could have had had he only the will to try. 

Jamie never had the strength to save himself. To save your life, however, he would happily lay down his own.

Jamie takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, steadying you by the shoulders. “Go now,” he urges you. “Go up those stairs and you’ll find an east-facing window that opens only a few feet above the sand. You run until you reach Mos Espa.”

“Come with me,” you plead. “We only have each other now, Jamie. Please.”

Jamie shakes his head. “I can’t do that, princess. You’re gonna need someone to hold them off.”

You want to run, you know you need to leave now, but your legs won’t move. “Jamie,” you whimper.

“Go!” he begs you.

Taking one last look at your oldest friend, you turn on your heel and begin to make your way up the spiral staircase just as instructed. The window he spoke of is there, situated on a landing between floors, and you crawl through the window only to fall out unceremoniously onto the hot sand.

You hear it happen. You hear the screams and the fighting, all dampened by the palace’s stone walls as you run out into the open desert, until the struggling is replaced by barbaric, bloodthirsty cheers.

You knew you had just heard the end of Jamie’s life.

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

It was easy to disappear in Mos Espa. Half the population was there to remain unseen, as a matter of fact, and a woman suffering from exhaustion, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood turns no heads.

Your throat burns from dehydration. You have no credits, your comlink had been taken, and you are disoriented. You collapse in the shade of an alleyway and begin to sob from your broken heart, pulling your knees into your chest and burying your head in your arms.

That’s when you hear it:

Tss, tss, tss, tss…

You look up searching for the source of the familiar sound until your tear-filled eyes settle on the figure that was standing still and staring back at you. Just as fate had pulled you together once before, you find yourself staring at Boba Fett and looking like naive girl you once were. 

Boba removes his helmet to reveal a weathered face. There’s a moment of hesitation between you, an intense moment of disbelief, before you meet each other in a frantic embrace. You kiss him fiercely, sobbing into his mouth as his arms keep you locked into his body with an iron grip.

“You’re real?” he falters, his thumb grazing over the plump flesh of your cheeks. “Is it really you, mesh’la?”

“It’s me!” you sob.

Boba’s hands shake as he clutches your head, planting kisses over your face and onto your lips. Your tears flow from your cheeks and onto his skin, but he doesn’t mind. Boba takes your sorrow and your joy and he gives you all his love in return, taking on the weight that had been burdening you for so long and shedding his own pain of losing you.

“I thought you had come to take me to the Maker,” he rasps between kisses. “I thought you were dead — I died with you that day.”

You shake your head and bury yourself into his chest. Boba shelters you there, cradling your head and stroking your hair in reassurance. “Why are you here, princess, huh?” he asks you softly. “Why are you crying? Tell me.”

“I came looking for you at Jabba’s palace,” you explain, your sobs taking your breath straight from your lungs. Boba nods in understanding, steadying your face between his hands as you continue to speak frantically. “Jamie, he— they had him locked up in the palace. He’s dead, he saved me, Boba! I don’t know if they’re still looking for me—”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you now,” Boba says firmly. “It’s all over, my love.”

Boba Fett takes your hand in his, and, without looking back, you seal your destiny by his side. Your relief, your happiness, every wonderful feeling the warmth of his hand gives you makes you feel as if you’re walking on air, and everything you had been burning to tell him now seems unimportant as he takes you home to his ship — you fear that if you were to speak, you’d wake up from this wonderful dream.

Boba is gentle as he takes care of you. He steadies you as you drink his water, he gives you the last piece of bread stocked in his cupboards, and he demands no explanation of where you’ve been or how you crossed his path. And while he feels your relief, he knows deep down that the last bit of innocence you had left had been violently torn from you.

He wonders what had happened to the girl with the light in her eyes. You were pure and lovely and good, and Boba curses every man who could have done this to his girl, his beloved girl, who now shakes with sorrow.

You had removed your filthy clothing and now stand as naked as the day you were born, but Boba holds no presumption of favors nor does he seek sexual gratification from the sight of you as he guides you into the small shower. No, bathing someone is a pure act of love. Boba strips down to just his pants and undershirt, and he washes your hair to the best of his abilities, ensuring he had removed all the sand, and his fingers massage your scalp gently. He runs the soapy washcloth down your body and wipes away the dust and the dirt until he finds your smooth skin beneath its grime.

Boba’s eyes are warm and his smile is soft and reassuring as he dries you with a warm towel, wrapping it around your form before guiding you to the bed. He comes to sit beside you when you reach for his hand, searching his face as you struggle to find all the words that were bursting from the seams your heart.

“My strong girl,” Boba whispers. “You came back to me.”

Slowly, your lips meet in a chaste kiss. The months of separation leave an uncertainty to your touches, but with the swipe of your tongue against his lower lip, Boba gladly deepens the kiss. He pulls you in close, his body demands to feel that you are near, and your leg crosses over his so that you bring yourself to be sitting over his thigh.

Boba wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in closer. An unmistakable whimper escapes your lips as the action grinds your pussy against his the hard muscles of his leg. He feels it in your body, your dripping need for him, by the way your back arches and the way your hands dig into his shoulders.

Your eyes meet yet neither of you say a word. Boba’s hands come to your hips, to the crooks where your thighs begin. Without breaking eye contact, you begin to grind yourself as Boba guides you with firm hands. He works you on his thigh with steady pressure and your face falls into his shoulder.

“That’s it, baby girl, I’ve got you. Just like that,” he coos. “Take what you need.”

You start to grind down harder, searching for that sweet friction to your clit. Boba's body responds to the sensation — his cock swells, his breathing becomes rougher as his heart rate increases. He can feel the growing damp spot that is produced by the drip of your needy cunt through his pants, and his desire to sheath himself in that wet warmth between your legs is almost overbearing.

“Boba, I need you,” you plead against his lips. “I need more.”

He maneuvers you down onto the bed and removes his shirt before he takes his place over you. “Can I taste you?” he huffs.

You let out a shaky breath and nod in anticipation. Boba parts your legs — there’s only just enough room in the bunk for you to spread your legs back and out — and he holds them there as he licks a stripe up the seam of your sex.

“Taste so good just like this. So fucking soft,” he grunts.

You shudder at the sensation. Your head falls back and your eyes flutter shut in bliss as the soft parts of his mouth envelope your pussy. For months you had dreamed of him this way, trying desperately to cling onto the fading memory of of the way his flesh felt on yours, only now it was no longer a dream and your sensitive skin is lit ablaze. Boba’s massive arms keep your thighs locked in place and they begin to shake from the violent pleasure of his mouth. “Please, please, please, I’m gonna come!” you cry.

Boba’s mouth attacks your clit with harsher motions, and he removes his hand from your thigh to quickly slip two thick fingers inside of your cunt, pressing up into the spongey rough spot on the roof of your walls. You cry out when you come for him, your thighs threaten to clamp around his head, but Boba eases you down from your high without removing his mouth or fingers, relishing in the feeling of your cunt spasming on his fingers.

“Can I have you, pretty girl?” he pants from between your legs. “Will you let me?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. Your hands reach out for him, desperate to bring his body closer to you, desperate to be stuffed, and Boba quickly meets your demands. With one hand, he unbuckles his pants and pushes them below his hips in haste before nestling himself between your soft, spread legs. 

His bare cock fills your dripping cunt with ease. Fresh tears push their way to the corners of your eyes and your mouth falls agape. He rocks his hips gently, groaning at the way your wet heat envelops him as you adjust to his size, before he leans down to kiss you one more time.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, plain in his words though they carry every ounce of meaning.

You whimper into his mouth when he presses into you again, and you take his face between your hands to meet his gaze. “I love you, Boba,” your voice shakes. 

He could have fucked you slowly. Softly. He could have have chosen to fuck you gently like the way they tell you a man fucks the woman he’s in love with, but Boba fucks you like he thought you were dead, and it is a new consummation of your love. He fucks you as if to tell you not to break his heart like that again, to never venture where he cannot follow... and you give yourself to him, you allow him to take you just like that, keeping your legs open and taking every sharp, deep thrust.

Boba’s lips never stop working against your skin. There’s a heartbreaking desperation about him that you’ve never seen — he fucks into you almost greedily, and you begin to clench. “Fuck me, please, Boba, fuck me... right there,” you pant.

Boba grunts in satisfaction. How many nights had those sweet cries and hurried breaths of yours kept him up at night...

His thrusts are short and frantic. You take it all for him, you gasp at every short jab that brings him pleasure. “I’m gonna come, mesh’la, I can’t hold on,” his voice breaks.

Boba was lost inside of you. Hearing his pleasure makes you gush around him, it brings you that much closer to your own release. “Come inside me, Boba, it’s okay. Come, my love,” you coo.

His arms wrap tighter around you and his forehead presses against yours. Your legs are trembling; with every motion he makes, a nearly pained whimper escapes your lips. The feeling of your cunt clamping around him and your body going rigid with release is enough to make Boba follow. He buries his head in the heat of your neck and releases himself with a groan.

You go limp in each other’s arms, breathing heavily and smiling at your newfound bliss. His large hand strokes your hair back and his nose brushes across the dew decorating your cheeks as he begins to soften inside of your satisfied heat.

Boba eventually removes himself and comes between your legs once more. You bite your lip in anticipation, nodding for him to continue, as he proceeds to taste the mixture of your release straight from your freshly fucked cunt. It’s a soft pleasure, one not meant to bring you to a high, but merely to soothe the sensitive heaven between your legs as his tongue laps between your folds.

Boba looks up at you with a mischievous grin. He comes back to your side and pulls you in close, kissing you with heartfelt affection and smiling softly at your tired eyes.

“How did you find me in Mos Espa?” you ask quietly.

“I didn’t,” he replies. “I had only come to Mos Espa to get supplies — almost docked in Mos Eisley, actually, before they rerouted me... and there you were, mesh’la, as if you were waiting for me.”

You exhale in disbelief. A coincidence is such a fragile thing, and one second could determine the course of someone’s lifetime... yet Boba had appeared before you as if it had been the will of the universe. “Boba, because I was looking for you, I missed it. I missed the day I was supposed to die,” you breathe.

If he believed in cosmic intervention, he would have found reason in it all... but Boba can only decide it was fate, just as it was his fate to take up the job as your bodyguard with hidden intentions all those months ago. The thankful man takes your face between his hands and he presses another soft kiss to your lips. “You are safe now,” he says firmly. “Always, my love, you are always going to be safe with me. I promise.” 

The harsh timbre of his voice is a stark contrast to his words, but Boba had never spoken words that held such sweetness before... never in his entire life. You wrap yourself around him, moved by his declaration, and nestle your head into the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s all gone, Boba,” you whisper into his skin. “I’ve lost everything.” 

Arcada, your childhood, your innocence, your friend... they were only memories now, but Boba shared those memories, in part. He knew and loved the girl you once were just as he loved you now, and he would share in the burden of keeping those memories alive.

Boba rests his forehead against yours without speaking, just as he did the first night you made love. There was nothing more to hide from and there were no more masks to wear or pretenses to follow. After all they had shared and lost, and after their two lifetimes had been spent in solitude, they had finally found their home in each other.

They were free.

--------

EPILOGUE

[isagisyoichi]

YOU MAKE ME FEEL SPECIAL!

SYNOPSIS: niko as your boyfriend

CHARACTERS INCLUDED: niko ikki aka my boyfriend hello

WARNINGS: swearing, pretend all the boys go to the same school and they're all friends for plot, normalize not writing serious boys as someone that practically hates their s/o and never opens up to them god bless, also no such thing as ooc since we dunno shit ab him so everything i say is law. SUPER LONG LOL, it's like 2k+ words 😭

A/N: i love my boyfriend and i'm v happy about all the attention he's getting (even if he will prob will b subbed out 👎) this was fun to write bc i think he would b very soft as bf and also i hate the notion that stoic and serious = boring and detached in a relationship. also first post w the new user yayyyy rip yoichisagis an end of an era for realsies.

FOR: fox anon my beloved this one is for u😩

it takes a while for you two to get together, just because niko wants to think things through and be sure he’s making the right decision, as well as him being naturally apprehensive about this whole dating thing.

when you do eventually start going out, keep in mind you're probably his first real anything, so-

niko needs to take it slow for the first month or so because he needs time to adjust and get used to being in a relationship.

when he gets comfortable around you, niko starts to talk a lot more.

niko starts to talk about his interests more-soccer, stem stuff (idc i'll die by my hc that he's a stem boy), etc. and niko's really happy that you're genuinely interested in what he has to say :)

and as your relationship progresses, niko becomes more inclined to share his inner thoughts.

“this song is so bad, i hate it and how it's everywhere,” like, babe that sucks, but what do you want me to do, take it off the radio myself? 😭

you find out that niko’s kind of a hater LOL, but it’s okay, because it means he can be himself around you <3 and the mini debates you have with each other are fun.

he’s someone you can take shopping with you if you need a solid second opinion.

“ikki, is this cute?” you niko as you adjust the shirt you tried on in the fitting room mirror.

“no.” he’s so straight up LOL. “the blue one from earlier was better.”

“this one?”

“yeah, that one. you look really pretty in it.”

ngl though, niko’s not much of a mall person. he'd just follow you around like a little puppy LOL, but he doesn't mind too much because it's for you.

communication is important to niko!!!!! he wants someone that he can have real conversation about the things that matter to him, so he rly makes an effort to have that kind of connection with you.

niko's naturally funny but he isn't aware that he is lol.

but when he does try, i feel like his humor comes in the form of sarcasm and dry wit. likes poking fun at you here and there with a lighthearted jab.

"you're so weird, y/n," is the most common one.

niko’s naturally closed off emotionally (male aquarius 😒) but i, personally, think he’d really try and push himself to be more open with you, especially if you expressed for him to do so </3

he'd be really appreciative of someone patient and understanding of the fact that he doesn't open up easily, though.

but eventually, you become the person closest to him- niko confides in you a lot, which he’s grateful for because he usually holds everything in.

not one for pda or other lovey-dovey things in public, other than the occasional holding of hands but behind closed doors, niko’s so soft around you, it’s like he’s a completely different person.

also, i feel like niko’s real handsy with you, i get the vibe he’s super touch starved 😭

although it does take him a while to get used to physical affection, once he has, niko cannot get enough. he’s always touching you when he has no real reason to.

(and because you're his first relationship, i feel like it’s just natural that niko’s going to be kind of clingy towards you.)

“you okay, ikki?” you ask as niko suddenly wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“mhm,” he mumbles. “just wanna be close to you.”

niko likes when you sit on his lap when he’s on his computer. you can have your arms wrapped around his neck, your head resting in the crook of his neck, or you could just be on your phone or whatever, it doesn’t matter, niko just likes you near him.

you guys don’t really talk to each other when you do this, aside from niko occasionally checking up on you and asking if you need anything from him.

but other than that, you guys just enjoy each other's touch in silence. it’s one of his favorite things to do with you.

however, if you start kissing him in the middle of whatever he’s doing and keep it up for long enough, niko will drop everything to make out with you right then and there (also one of his favorite things to do with you).

speaking of kissing- you kiss niko first.

niko would try to plan your guys first kiss out because he wants everything to be perfect.

but, he ends up taking forever to execute it because he keeps overthinking and you can only wait so long before kissing him, so you take matters into your own hands.

his kisses are sloppy and juvenile at the beginning, but he’s smart and learns quickly what you do and don’t like.

likes being kissed on his jaw and forehead the most :')

if the team ever happens to see niko kissing you, they're gonna be so annoying 😭

"yooo niko's making big moves ‼️" "my son's growing up on me!😩" "good job *pats on the back*" and niko is red all over as he drags you away from them, muttering about how childish and annoying they are 😭.

but, they're all very supportive of you guys, even if they're embarrassing as hell 🙄.

they even give niko relationship advice- which luckily, he doesn’t follow (most of the time), because, let’s be honest, if you're getting unsolicited dating tips from a bunch of teenage boys, it’s probably bad 😭.

you’re the only person niko shows his forehead to. just know that having the opportunity to see it means that niko trusts you more than anyone else :’)

repay his trust by kissing his forehead lovingly and showering him with compliments whenever you can !!!!!!!!!!

“y/n, why’re you so embarrassing,” niko says under his breath, blushing as you hold his face and litter soft kisses on his forehead, rambling about how cute he is.

always looks for you in the bleachers when he has a game and you’re always the first person he talks to after.

and the fact that you make an effort to come as often as you can means sooo much to him. definitely considers you to be his biggest fan.

real classy with nicknames- uses “my love/love,” and “darling,” the most.

his favorite petname from you is "pretty boy." gives him butterflies each time he hears it.

the first time you call him that, he's confused, but after you explain that being called pretty is basically the highest compliment a boy can receive, he gets all soft on you.

only uses instagram to like and comment on your pictures and that's it 😭.

comments stuff like “you're so pretty” and "beautiful," without any emojis because niko refuses to use them LOL.

remembers the compliments you give him! they help with his self esteem and i feel like he values your opinion a lot.

so, tell him all about how cute and smart and talented and hot and funny he is and how much you love him and he'll replay it in his head 24/7.

i think he prefers to be the big spoon, unless he's sad- then he really wants you to hold him.

niko gives me homebody vibes, so expect relaxed dates, but still nice, yk?

what i mean is niko's not gonna take you out to get gas station food and call it a day 😭 he's classier than that and he always puts in effort towards dates.

he always plans them ahead of time and takes into consideration what he thinks you'd enjoy. and he insists on paying 🤗.

but, niko always does something special for days like your birthday or an anniversary, like go somewhere fancy if you wanted to or buy a nice gift you've been eyeing for a while.

helps you with your schoolwork, 100%. most of the time niko tutors you because he wants you to actually learn the material, but if you're feeling lazy and just wanna get it over with, niko will just give you the answers.

this is a big deal because i love him and all but, niko gives me the vibe he's super stingy with his work 😭.

"this is the last time i'm going to just give you the answers, y/n." niko sighs out. "you have to start doing your homework by yourself."

niko's said that dozen of times but he's still giving you the answers free of charge. can you guys say #whipped 🤣?

LOL speaking of school, if you ever text him during class, i highly doubt that niko would entertain you 😭😭 (it's out of love, though)

y/n 💗: hiii baby imy 🥰

pretty boy: do your work, y/n.

y/n 💗: ALL I DID WAS SAY HI

pretty boy: pay attention.

y/n 💗: fine ur so lame 👎

pretty boy: whatever you say. i miss you too, by the way.

he likes to moves your hair out your face because he wants to see your pretty face better.

which is why you have to do the same with him 🥰!!!!!! makes him blush like crazy.

gets soooo soft when you post him or even take pictures of you and him together :') just the thought of you wanting to show him off makes him soooo happy.

he won't entertain you if you make a tiktok, though LOL. he's very stubborn in his belief that it's stupid.

just stands in the background with his arms crossed if you try to make him do a dance or something 😭 (he does think you look cute, though).

niko has such nice eyelashes but i doubt he's aware of it 'cause he's, y'know, a boy 🙄.

"my eyelashes are ... cute?" he questions. niko wasn't even aware that such a trivial thing like his eyelashes could be considered cute.

"yes, oh my god," you gush. "they're so long and nice, i wish mine were like that," you groan, examining yours through the camera of your phone.

"you're so weird, y/n," he says, a blush staining his cheeks. "your eyelashes are nicer," he mumbles as he kisses your forehead.

he's one of those people that prefers to be alone, but you're the exception. you know?

niko likes to keep to himself most of the time, but that whole thing doesn't apply to you, because he'd choose to be with you over being alone anytime :')

[pasteljeon]

sincerely, yours (m)

summary: in which you return to an apartment full of 7 horny boyfriends.

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings: pining, dirty talk, heavy petting, sexual tension

length: 2.9k

notes: this is another blm commission written for the amazing @/himbeaux-joon. thank you so much for your support and donation! i hope you enjoy n forgive me for the wait.

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“You’re fucked.”

You pull your phone away from your ear out of pure disbelief. Squinting at the screen, you’re assured you’re speaking to the right person when your friend’s name peers back at you.

“Sorry?” 

She said it so casually and offhandedly you do a double take. Your luggage rolls noisily behind you, a hefty and rather rickety thing, though you don’t quite have the heart to rid of it just yet. It has character, stickers and stamps collected from your various travels scattered on the cover. Some are fraying and others greying and half-peeled. Some are new, recently added to the collection and sparkle almost obnoxiously next to your dying ones.

“You are so fucked,” she laughs. It’s less of a laugh and more of a cackle. You check your phone again. Still her.

“Are you going to elaborate on that?” You say dryly as you finally wheel yourself out of customs. The last month has been hectic, your job and position requiring you to fly overseas for the past three weeks. You would think your boys would have been used to the asynchronistic nature of your schedules considering how busy they usually are, but they did finish the last leg of their tour just as you left. Your company offered another two weeks of paid vacation is a thank-you for the generous contract you just signed. Your boys protested and pouted but you took it, adamant about finally taking that much needed break.

They reluctantly let you go, faking tears but understanding, their jobs equally as, if not more, stressful.

“Nope.” She pops the p with some dark sense of satisfaction, and you repress the shiver that crawls down your spine. “But I can say it’s a good type of fucking. You know, the one where you bend Jungkook over the—”

“Okay, got it, thank you,” you cut her off hastily, holding a hand over the speaker to muffle her voice that rises into a sing-song, glancing around discreetly to ensure no one’s eavesdropped over your rather scandalous conversation.

“You ever notice how whiny your boys can get when you’re away?” She teases when you return to the line. Rummaging in your purse for some change, you scan the airport café for some iced coffee, chuckling, “Yes. You have no idea.”

“You know all the boys have a chat exclusive for their very not safe for work thoughts?” she tells you. It makes you choke and laugh simultaneously, the cashier eyeing you strangely as he takes your order.

“I don’t know how they make it sounds so hot,” your friend continues blandly. “Normally it sounds so greasy. But they’re usually so well-behaved and polite. I was so shocked. I had no idea that Jimin liked—”

You yelp, staring down at your shirt. Luckily, it’s dark enough to hide the stain, so you mop it up sheepishly, thanking the server who offers you some napkins, clucking sympathetically.

“What?” You hissed, pulling to the side. You’re whisper-shouting into your phone now. “They did what?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Didn’t Rhys tell you? He was rolling all over about it,” she snickers. You splutter. Rhys is a close friend to the both of you, and often spent nights gaming with Jungkook and Taehyung. You knew your boys had a group chat with your other male friends but … “But they’re usually so polite,” you exclaim.

Your friend clicks her tongue. “Cue exhibit A. Anyway, good luck girl. You’re gonna need it.” Without waiting for your reply, she ends the call, her cackles cutting off into an odd ringing in your ear.

“Oh dear,” you say to yourself, staring down at your drink. “What am I walking into?”

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Your friend’s call is lousy warning, if you’re going to be honest.

Only the maknaes are able to pick you up from the airport, with the remainder of the boys caught up in the photoshoot. They were able to wrap up before your flight landed.

They’re a ball of hazed energy. Dressed casually, face masked and caps donned, they somehow manage to blend in with the crowd of receivers. Your breath catches. In the short time away, you’ve forgotten just how little justice pictures and videos do for them. They’re beautiful.

They watch you like hawks, glazed eyes dark and you’re genuinely a little concerned for Taehyung. The outline of his length presses insistently against his black slacks, but he pays no attention, half-lidded as he peers at you through thick lashes. You’re shocked no one’s carded him for public indecency yet. The image alone is enough to make your core to clench.

There’s no fanfare, no glee, no innocent excitement, no cheerful, “noona!” you expected from the youngest. Instead, Jungkook silently reaches over to relieve you of your luggage, fingers grazing your palm. He pulls down his mask to kiss the corner of your mouth. He visibly tears himself away, and you can see the way his veins pop under the pressure, jaw clenching hard. Electricity sparks down your spine, making you shiver.

“Heart. Welcome back,” Taehyung rumbles as he tips your chin up. His voice is more of a growl, the sound reverberates from his chest, low and incredibly sexy it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“I missed you,” Jimin pushes his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He catches your hand when you reach for him, steadying your shaky knees. You clutch at the sleeve of his turtleneck, his palm cupping the back of your head as his nose skims the column of your throat.

“G-guys, we’re in public,” you manage in a faint whisper, and Jimin’s grip tightens briefly before he reluctantly pulls away. Jungkook takes your other hand, Taehyung leading the way to the car.

They brush your concern off easily, not even bothering to scan their surroundings in case anyone’s recognized them. You do a cursory sweep anyway, but find the airport still relatively empty, the crowd occupied with their own arrivals. Suddenly, you’re once again struck with a profound sense of appreciation for Namjoon’s forever careful scheduling of your flights so this could be possible.

The underground parking lot is quiet, and you exchange no words as Jungkook’s Mercedes comes into view.

The sexual tension is, as they say, palpable.

You move to follow Jimin into the backseat, but Jungkook grabs your wrist, twirling you around. The cool metal meets your heated skin for a brief moment before he pulls you close. “Noona,” he murmurs, bringing your arm to his lips. He fastens his mouth over your pulse point, suckling gently. His lashes tickle your inner wrist.

“Jungkook,” you say breathily, his leg coming to push your thighs apart. You nearly collapse onto him, and he releases you with an agonized sigh. The mark blooms darkly, and he lets out a long exhale.

“Gguk.” There’s a warning in his tone.

“I know,” the maknae bites back. He lets you down slowly, hungry gaze raking over your form one last time before he lets Taehyung help you into the car.

He walks to the driver’s side, forehead pressing against the hood fleetingly before sliding into the seat. It does nothing to settle the heat stirring in his stomach. He can’t bring himself to regret it, though, despite the way his pants dig into his hard cock.

Just a little longer. His fingers grip the wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as he pulls out of the lot.

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.

They can hardly keep their hands off of you, glued to your side the entirety of the ride back.

Jungkook wants to scream out of pure frustration. He can hardly concentrate, though it is the crack of dawn and traffic is sparse.

He can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick sounds of your makeout sessions. He resists the urge to check the rear-view mirror for the nth time. He knows one glance is enough to make his thighs clench.

He hears your soft, melodic sighs between kisses, lips likely beautifully swollen and plump from their coaxing. He knows that Taehyung is sweet, and that Jimin is eager, a little rough. It's downright pornographic. His eye twitches.

“Mmm, Chim,” you mewl.

That's it. He growls. “Guys, knock it off. Otherwise we’re taking her in the back of my car.”

“Wouldn't be such a bad idea,” Taehyung murmurs, and Jungkook risks a glimpse, only to see Taehyung mouthing at your neck, one hand down your pants. You're a vision, sprawled on Jimin's lap, head tossed back against his neck. Back arched, shirt halfway unbuttoned, bra peeking out and hair disheveled.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook barks. He’s a second away from breaking the wheel. Red light. He watches Taehyung suck a blooming flower against your neckline. He pulls away reluctantly to admire it.

“It's fine,” Jimin pipes up, and Jungkook swears he pops a vessel with the way the older slides a hand up to cup your breast, thumbing your peaks from under the silken material. “We're here.”

The maknae parks the car hastily, all too relieved to be home. He practically yanks the hinges off the passenger door open. Jimin groans, almost falling flat on his ass at the sudden momentum. “Jeon!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, stepping aside for Jimin to step out. Jungkook catches you, stumbling with trembling legs and poorly adjusted shirt. He sweeps you into his arms without another thought, moving briskly towards the entrance. His strength makes you squirm in his hold, clutching his tensed bicep.

“Smell so good,” he groans, and he has to pause at the door, letting you down only to pin you against the glass, kissing you hard.

“Taste so good,” he pants, unable to stop himself from grinding against you. He wants you close, craves you. Your hands snake under his shirt, pushing it up impatiently to flatten your palm against his toned stomach, the other fumbling with his belt.

The sound of the leather and metal coming undone makes him hiss, hips jerking. “Sensitive baby,” you murmur teasingly, fingers digging into his v-line. Jungkook’s breath stutters, cock throbbing unwittingly.

“I’m going to lose my mind,” he moans, slumping onto you as you give his clothed length a tentative squeeze. He’s so incredibly hard it’s painful. The blood rushing to his dick is making him dizzy, a little breathless.

Before you can reply, the door is abruptly wrenched open. You gasp, Jungkook nearly toppling over, but he braces you under his arm, catching you easily.

“Told you he wouldn’t make it in before he succumbed.” You look up to see Hoseok gazing down at you with those strong brows of his, studying you with an intensity that has your body flushing with heat again. Even upside down he’s gorgeous beyond reason.

Jungkook flips you back up, and Hoseok’s lips quirk when he catches you floundering.

“Bet he came in his pants.” Namjoon walks forward, hands in his pockets and his tone is casual, like he’s discussing the menu from your favourite diner.

“Colour me shocked the neighbours haven’t carded the two of you for public indecency,” Yoongi drawls, smirking when Jungkook blushes darkly.

“I’m going to develop abandonment issues if you keep forgetting about us like that.” Jungkook rubs his neck, embarrassed, as Taehyung and Jimin step in with mirroring looks of disgruntlement. Taehyung walks over, lips quirking wryly as you slide your arms over his neck.

“Don’t tease,” you chastise, but he ignores you in lieu of pulling you close, swaying slightly to the sound of his quiet humming. His hands are hot, burning through the thin material of your shirt as he presses you flush against his body.

“Romantic,” you whisper, smiling. Taehyung smiles too, eyes still closed.

“Welcome back, beautiful.” You startle at the sound, but smile at the familiar voice, leaning into his touch. Taehyung allows you to slip from his hold, the newcomer twirling you around.

“Hi, Jin,” you say shyly, biting your lip. Seokjin beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Missed you so much,” he says softly. “Was about to lose my sanity if you were away any longer.”

You laugh aloud, and Seokjin looks a little awestruck at the sound, watching you with that soft, adoring look in his eyes. “I thought you would’ve enjoyed the peace while I was gone.”

“Hardly. I was left in a house full of horny kids. The testosterone levels were crazy,” he sighs dramatically. “Pass.”

Somewhere in the background, Namjoon snorts. “Please, hyung. You act like you weren’t jacking off three times a day to her pictures.”

Seokjin squeaks, Hoseok roaring in laughter. Jungkook claps a hand to his mouth, trying and failing to hide his mirth, sexual tension momentarily forgotten.

You loop your arms around his neck with a coy smile. “Is this true, Jinnie?”

“Don’t tease me,” he mumbles into your neck. He feels the shaking of your silent giggles and groans. “I hate you, Joon.”

“If it helps, I’m flattered, you know. And the feeling is mutual, in case you were wondering,” you whisper to him.

“It wasn’t just that,” Seokjin grumbles, glancing away as the tips of his ears darken. “I always want you around. You’re my home, you know.”

Your heart swells, fingers tingling. “Jin,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks. He looks everywhere but at you, complexion mirroring a tomato alarmingly fast. Seokjin, who can dish out sweetness but never take it, mood maker but so shy. Seokjin, who is kind and charming and gorgeous and has a big, beautiful heart.

“I love you so much,” you whisper. He looks at you wonderingly, as if mystified by such an all-encompassing sentiment.

“___ … You have no idea how much I adore you,” Seokjin breathes, a little giddy, a little lightheaded by that fond, warm expression you’re regarding him with.

“Not more than me.” The two of you jump at the sound, jolted from your secluded bubble, to see, shockingly, Yoongi pouting behind the eldest. The composer has his arms crossed, brows knitted and cheeks puffed out.

“Did you forget about us again,” Yoongi says, petulant. You and Seokjin look at one another, stunned, before bursting into laughter.

Namjoon and Hoseok join the rapper, crowding the two of you from the sides, sporting similarly roguish grins. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook share a mischievous look, squishing in close.

“Guys,” Seokjin complains, broad shoulders being quashed by the sheer force of Jungkook’s biceps. Your face is pressed uncomfortable tight against his – impossibly solid and strong – chest.

“Can’t – breathe,” you yelp, voice muffled. A hand grabs your wrist and pops you from the throng.

“Hello again,” Hoseok grins.

“Hoseokie,” you gasp, a little winded but still incredibly grateful for a breath of fresh air, something the dancer himself seems to embody.

“Sunshine,” he says happily, reaching for you. Before he can wrap himself around you, Namjoon comes slamming in, dimples and all.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our little reunion, my dick is hard and throbbing and the obscene amount of times I’ve simultaneously cried and jacked off to the sound of your voice is absurd, my cock should’ve wilted at the pure ferocity and angst I’ve poured onto the poor thing, and I am beyond ecstatic to have you back – so much so that I need to rail you against the our skyline balcony, lest I implode within the next two minutes. So! Let’s move to the bedroom, shall we?” Namjoon says matter-of-factly.

“Good idea,” Hoseok beams, completely unfazed by their leader’s rather lewd confession as he scoops you up easily, your boyfriends quickly following suit.

Hoseok sets you down onto the centre of the king-sized bed, silk sheets bunching beneath you as you sprawl over them. You move to sit up on your elbows, but Jungkook hovers over you, pressing you down instantly.

His dark eyes rake over your form unabashedly, one hand popping the surviving buttons of your top and the other pulling off his shirt.

“Greedy maknae.” Jungkook readily ignores Seokjin’s disgruntled mutter in the background as he leans down kiss you.

“Missed your taste,” he murmurs. Your hand trails down his bare chest, retracing every memorized groove and dip of his unfairly gorgeous body.

“Jungkook.” He tears himself away, panting heavily, to glance at Namjoon, who sends him a warning look.

“Don’t be selfish,” the rapper chastises. Jungkook drops his gaze to where you lay splayed out beneath him, hair mussed and lips swollen, chest heaving as you recover from his ministrations.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at the least. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, growling once before he slides off.

“You’re in for a long night, beautiful,” Hoseok tells you, cupping your face and thumbing your cheek slowly, revelling the heat that tinges your skin. “You have no idea how much we’ve missed you. And not just this.”

“I missed you all too,” you whisper, smile soft.

Yoongi closes the door.

Your phones blow up the entire night, left collectively buzzing beneath the couch cushions.

[03:21] rhys: damn, y’all still banging? it’s been 4 days

[04:28] rhys: i need a gf

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“Mmm. Tickles.”

“Good morning, gorgeous.” You smile into the pillow, eyes still closed, turning your head to the side expectantly. You know your expression is a little blissful, and you hear his fond chuckle.

“Love you,” you mumble. Someone presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Love you too, heart.”

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 1 (SMUT)

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (male receiving oral), allusions to sex, reader works in a brothel, PTSD, anxiety, panic attack, mention of drugs, guns, character death, typical Narcos themes.

Word count: 4000>

Series Masterlist

*reblogs appreciated! Ko-Fi in bio if you want to support me!

It was the hottest summer in twenty years; or at least that’s what the weather lady had told you when you were getting ready for work this morning. 

You’d been searching for your best friend Rosa all over the brothel, asking your colleagues if they’d seen her anywhere. They all shook their heads or shrugged their shoulders before disregarding your presence completely so they could get back to their conversations. You understood their cold nature to a degree. You were new and fresh-faced in Bogotá, and this sex work was the only thing paying your rent. Sometimes you got the feeling they didn’t like you, but you did your best to shrug it off. The manner of your job wasn’t an easy one, that’s for sure. But Rosa had been with you from day one. Not only was she your only friend, but also, she was a mentor, and she taught you everything you needed to know about being a successful sex worker in the heat of Colombia.

You finally found Rosa outside the brothel, leaning against the brick wall, her sunglasses perched on the curve of her nose. Immediately something felt off. You couldn’t put your finger one what exactly it was, but everything about Rosa’s demeanor concerned you. The cigarette that she held between her fingers was almost completely puffed out, with just a noticeable pink lipstick stain on the foot of the filter paper. You stood next to her and leaned against the same wall, by her side. You noticed her shoulders relax a little at your presence, but Rosa still didn’t say a word. It was strange. She was usually bubbly and talkative, eager to tell you all the gossip she had learned from her clients. 

“Peppermint for your thoughts?” you asked Rosa, diving into your pocket and bringing out a carton of peppermint candies. As you waited for her response, you placed one on your tongue and sucked on it longingly. You’d been working long hours and it was the first thing you’d eaten all day.

“In a minute,” she said, dismissing the sweet and wiggling her finger in the air. She huffed and narrowed her eyes, watching the busy roads intently before taking one final drag off the cigarette. She stumped the end out and threw it away, but the cigarette that was once in between her lips was now replaced with her thumb as she nervously bit at her nails. “Has Limón  come by today?” she asked you eventually.

You knew the cab driver. He’d frequented the brothel a number of times. Rosa often had a lot to say about him until suddenly, she just didn’t.

“Not that I know of,” you replied innocently, but something still felt so incredibly wrong. “Rosa, is everything okay?”

Rosa’s head snapped to face you, and for the first time you noticed the fear strike in her honey coloured eyes. She sighed and pursed her lips together, before raising her hand and cupping your face. Her thumb grazed the height of your cheekbone and she finally smiled. But it wasn’t like her usual smile. It was soft and— sad.

“Of course,” she told you. “Nothing to worry about.”

And you knew better than to push Rosa, so you decided to leave it at that.

Silence with Rosa was comfortable. You both observed the bustling streets of Bogotá. You were thinking about the simpler things in life, like whether or not you could afford the luxury of canned spaghetti hoops in advance of this month’s rent payment, or where in the brothel you’d left your signature lipstick. Rosa, on the other hand…

“He’s an agent you know.” She announced suddenly.

You furrowed your eyebrows together. “Who? Limón?”

Rosa let out a bark of incredulous laughter, and you assumed as such. “No no, not Limón. I’m talking about Peña.”

You felt your cheeks warm up at the initial mention of his name, and you tried to fight back a smile. You had to keep cool in front of Rosa. Sure, the whole brothel knew about your crush on your client but only Rosa’s opinion mattered to you. “Javier?” you quizzed, as if you needed to question who Peña could possibly be.

Rosa rolled her eyes playfully and you stifled a laugh, realising how silly you sounded. “You’ve got it bad huh?” Rosa acknowledged and you felt a flush of shame creep upon your cheeks. “It’s okay. When I first started out I had countless crushes on my clients.” she confessed, and her revelation made you feel somewhat better about yourself.

“How do you know that… about Javier?” you wondered out loud, biting your lip and trying to sound as casual as possible. You’re the girl he’d been fucking with for the past two months and he hadn’t dared open up to you about a single personal detail in his life. Truth be told, that’s what made him different from the other guys. So if anyone was to know anything about the man, it should be you. Why wasn’t it you? You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that your beautiful best friend was seemingly omniscient. “Have… have you been sleeping with him?”

Rosa frowned apologetically and smoothed out your hair. “No honey. I wouldn’t do that to you,” she promised and you nodded your head slowly. You had no reason not to believe her but she still hadn’t answered your question. Just as you went to prod her further, she opened her mouth. “But be careful. Crushes on clients can be dangerous. You never really know who you’re working with. Javier has a… reputation amongst the brothels in Bogotá.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat… a lump that you didn’t even realise you were holding back. “He seems nice. Respectful.” you admitted with a slight shrug of your shoulders. You’d be foolish to dismiss a word of advice from Rosa, but warning you about Javier…? You knew him better than that. You knew him. You had every inch of his body memorised. You could spot his scent from a mile away. You knew he was a good guy.

Rosa hummed slightly before squinting at an oncoming truck that was pulling up outside the brothel. “Speak of the devil.” She muttered.

“Javier!” you couldn’t help but beam excitedly. You quickly turned to face Rosa. “Could I borrow your lipstick? I lost mine and I-” Out of nowhere, Rosa pulled out her pink lipstick and passed it to you. You took it willingly and gave her a quick hug of gratitude. “Thank you.” you mumbled into her neck before pulling away. 

“Be careful!” Rosa called after you as you ran back inside the brothel and into the lobby where you’d wait for Javier.

Be careful. You chuckled a little at her words. You had nothing to worry about. You quickly applied your lipstick with as much precision as possible and checked your hair in one of the many mirrors. Your heart rate picked up speed the second you saw him enter the lobby. Today, he was wearing one of his trademark colourful button down shirts - this one, a pale yellow colour that was comparable to the sunshine. He was frowning, just like always, but the bright colour on him radiated an air of enlightenment.

He looked around the lobby in search of you, and when his eyes finally landed on you, he immediately felt at ease. You waved him over with a smirk and he took off his aviators, hanging them in the v of his shirt. His eyes were beautiful, like the deepest shade of cocoa. You made an unfortunate habit of getting lost in them at any given moment.

“Hi Javi,” you cooed, placing the palm of your hand on his chest. “You’re early today.”

“I can’t stay long,” he grumbled. “Have to get back to the office. Can we make it quick?”

You tilted your head curiously. “What do you have in mind?”

Javier brought out his wallet and handed you enough peso’s to cover an easy blowjob. He looked up at you, hopefully, with an adorable sheepish grin on his face. You took the money from him and nodded your head before taking his hand and guiding him to your room.

It was the room he’d grown completely accustomed to the past few months. He knew his way around. He was comfortable. He closed the door behind him and immediately worked at undoing his belt. You glanced over at his payment that you’d discarded on your dresser and thought long and hard. You really liked Javier. Enough so that you felt weird about taking his money. He was different to the other guys. You fucked men because they were paying you, but you fucked Javier because you liked it. You wanted it. Every second he wasn’t with you… you only craved him more.

Too lost in your own thought, you’d forgotten the man of your dreams was standing by the door waiting to get sucked off. He cleared his throat awkwardly and your head snapped in his direction to face him, your eyes going comically wide. You felt embarrassed that you’d left him waiting and quickly paced over to him, kneeling down and unzipping his denim jeans. He was already hard, judging by the familiar shaped imprint against his thigh.

“Everything okay?” he hummed as you pulled out his cock. His question turned into a slight garble as soon as your fingers graced his leaking head. You gathered his precum and rubbed it along his thick length and his eyes immediately snapped shut.

“Yes. Why?” you asked innocently before pressing a kiss to his slit. You looked up at him through your eyelashes with wide doe-eyes.

“Looked like something was preying on your mind.” Javier muttered, scrunching his face up in pleasure as you licked a stripe along the base of his cock. You extended your hand to massage his balls and you continued to pump at his length.

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” You beckoned further. “To let go?”

“Fuck,” Javier hissed. “More.” he pleaded and you quickly obeyed, wrapping your lips around his head and pushing his cock deep into your mouth. You felt his body tense up and he threw his head back against the wooden door. “More!” he choked out.

You hollowed your cheeks and sank your lips as far as you could go, so his groomed pubic hair tickled the tip of your nose. Tears began to prick your eyes and you pulled off him quickly to gasp for breath. Javier was heaving and panting too, and you took a second to look up at him and lick your lips. He was so perfect, a thin sheen of sweat glistened along his collarbones, only just noticeable under the dim amber lights of your room. Before he could catch you staring like a hopeless lovebird, you reattached your lips around his cock and finished up the blowjob, feeling more than satisfied when his ropes of cum spilled into your mouth.

Once his cock softened enough to tuck himself back in, he zipped up his jeans and redone his belt but not before helping you stand. Meeting respectful guys like Javier Peña in your line of work was a rarity, that’s for sure. Still you couldn’t help but think about Rosa’s words as you watched him smooth out his shirt. No visible police badge. No signs that he was an agent. To say it irked you was an understatement. How did she know he was an agent? There wasn’t a chance he told her… not when he was so secretive with you. You’d been fucking him for two months now and you didn’t know a single detail about his life. You didn’t know where he lived, or how old he was, or if he had any siblings. Rosa might have been your best friend, and she swore to you that she wasn’t sleeping with him on the side, so how did she know?

Of course, it could’ve easily all been bullshit. She could’ve been scheming a way to get you to fall out of love with him. Nobody likes a cop. You couldn’t figure it out no matter how hard you tried, but you knew for sure Rosa would never want to hurt you. You were annoyed for letting yourself get so irrational. You just wished… you wished that he’d talk to you. Treat you more than just some whore he got to use at his own beck and call. Your stomach twisted when you realised that was exactly all you were. A fool facing the wrath of unrequited love. You sighed and grabbed his jacket from the bed.

“Thank you,” he said, taking his jacket and swinging it over his strong forearm. It was too hot outside to wear. You nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything.

For the first time since meeting Javier Peña, you had let yourself get hurt, and for no good reason either. You couldn’t confront him about it. You couldn’t tell him no matter how much he asked you. You just had to suck it up and get over him. He was a client and that was all he could be. Nothing more. Rosa was right. Falling for your customers was a dangerous deal.

“You’re my favourite, you know.” Javier announced, his voice low and heated. You locked your eyes on his. 

“What?” you asked, completely taken aback. 

“You’re my favourite girl,” he clarified with a small shrug, as if his comment wasn’t life-changing. Just like that, you were once again putty in Javier Peña’s hands. Your determination to get over him lasted all of five seconds. Before you could reply, he took a step closer to you, breaking any distance and placed a hand on your cheek. He leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin noticeably longer than usual.

You weren’t mad anymore. Your feelings for him were restored just like that. Your eyes were wide as he pulled away from you and licked his lower lip. You felt like you were melting over the sweet menial gesture. You wanted to say something - anything. You wanted to pull him on top of you and crash your lips against his. But no matter how hard you tried to say something, no words came out. All you could manage was a shy little smile. It was the same smile that made Javier’s knees weak. He squeezed his hand into a fist to resist the urge of kissing your perfect lips and instead readjusted his sunglasses. You ducked your head down shyly and opened the door for him.

“Stay safe.” he uttered.

The same two words he told you after every visit. Stay safe. It was almost as if your client had a genuine care for you. You nodded in affirmation and offered him one last smile before he left the brothel and headed back to ‘the office’. Do agents even work in offices? You wondered.

You paced around the corridors of the brothel to find Rosa, wanting to return her lipstick and also tell her about Javier. You were excited. He really said you were his favourite girl. Out of all the girls, you were his favourite. To say you were beaming was an understatement. 

You caught her speaking to Javier as he walked out the brothel front door and you felt an anxious knot in your stomach tighten. It was hard to make out from the distance, but by the looks of it, Rosa was crying. The conversation was only brief, and Javier nodded along to whatever she was saying, before handing her a card and leaving for good. You officially had questions. You went to push through the crowds of people but a man much taller and larger than you placed a hand on your shoulder and pushed you back.

“Whoa,” you stumbled. “Can I help you?” He made some crude gesture with his fingers indicating the type of sex he wanted with you and you couldn’t help but scrunch up your nose in disdain. “Yeah okay,” you agreed with a small sigh. “Just a second though, I have to find someone. My room is 20 if you would like to wait for me--”

“No,” he growled, pinning you against the wall. “Now.”

You glanced behind his shoulder searching for Rosa but she had evidently already disappeared. 

“Okay.” you huffed, pulling yourself out of his grip and leading him to your room. You supposed you could tell Rosa about Javier after you’d dealt with this guy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He’d left about ten minutes ago, and you were just finishing up in your room, getting ready to clock out of work and call it a day. The brothel lobby was often loud and bubbly, but the second you heard all the muffled chatter stop, you knew something was up. You pulled your purse over your shoulders and locked your room before walking down the corridor. As you approached the lobby, you heard loud footsteps and yelling. The second you stepped foot in the main room, you saw the man Rosa had been asking you about earlier in the day, and your heart sank.

“Where the fuck is she?” Limón shouted. He and another man paced around in circles. It had gone quiet because the men had the other girls, your colleagues, pressed against the wall, holding guns to their heads. Your eyes widened in horror and you immediately brought your hands up in the air to surrender.

“Are none of you whores talking? Where the fuck is she?” the other man hissed. 

“La Quica,” — so that was his name — “Shut the fuck up. You’ll draw unwanted attention.”

They hadn’t noticed you yet. There was still time to escape. But your feet were frozen to the ground. How could you dare run away and leave the girls here, unable to fend for themselves?

Limón pressed the handgun to Martzia’s head. “Where is she?” he spat.

“Who?” Martzia gasped.

“Rosa!” Limón bellowed, clocking the gun in anger. “Where the fuck is Rosa?”

“I- I don’t know!” Martzia cried. She was visibly shaking in terror. All the girls were.

“Bullshit!” Limón snapped back, and within a second, he pulled the trigger and Martzia was dead on the floor.

On impulse, you looked away, but you’d already caught an eye-full. Martzia’s blood was not only on the wall behind her, but it was on Juliet too, who was now a whimpering mess. Taking a deep breath, you mustered up all your strength to look back at the girls. Most of them had their eyes closed and their tear stained cheeks glistened under the dingy lights.

“You. Shut the fuck up.” Limón  growled before moving over to Juliet and pressing the gun against her head. She choked out a sob and apparently that was enough for Limón to pull the trigger on her as well. You slammed your hands against your mouth and let out an incomprehensible noise. That got Limón and La Quica’s attention. La Quica grabbed you and pinned you up against the wall so you were only centimetres away from Martzia and Juliet’s limp bodies.

“How long has that bitch been standing there for?” Limón asked angrily and La Quica shrugged his shoulders. Limón pulled on your hair so he could get a good look at your face. “Hey La Quica this whore must be new. Haven’t seen her around before. Nice ass too.” He smirked, wrapping his hand around your neck and squeezing it. “Do you know where Rosa is?”

You didn’t. But neither did Martzia and that had got her killed. Even if you did know where Rosa was, you wouldn’t give up that information. You couldn’t. Your heart was slamming against your chest and when you felt the handgun press in between your shoulder blades you thought you were going to pass out right then and there.

“Limón.”

It was her. It was Rosa. You felt the handgun slowly slip away from your back as both Limón and La Quica turned around to face your best friend. When you were certain they weren’t looking at you anymore, you turned around too so you could take a look at Rosa yourself. When your eyes met hers, you saw her face soften.

“Rosa!” Limón hissed, running over to the girl. “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me it wasn’t you.” Limón grabbed on to Rosa and began to shake her. “My apartment was fucking raided, Rosa. A kilo of coke, gone. They know. They know we’ve been chauffeuring Escobar.”

You were baffled. We? She’d been helping chauffeur Pablo fucking Escobar? You shook your head in disbelief, praying it wasn’t true. She’d been lecturing you about the dangers of your job when she’d been doing the most dangerous thing of all. And how could she not tell you? If she had just told you… maybe you could’ve helped her. Maybe you could’ve done something. It couldn’t be true.

“I called the cops,” Rosa confessed, her voice emotionless and her face stone cold. “I called the cops and they put me through to the DEA immediately. I met with an agent. I told him everything I knew. I ratted you out Limón, and you should thank me.”

Limón raised his hand and slapped Rosa across the face. “You bitch!” He shouted. “How could you do this to me Rosa? How could you fucking--”

Then, a gunshot.

The sound was blinding and everything went in slow motion. You swore that your heart stopped beating as tears streamed down your face. You screamed as you watched her body fall to the ground.

“La Quica you fucker! You killed her! You killed Rosa!” Limón cried out in anguish, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “What the fuck man! What the fuck!”

“She confessed,” La Quica huffed, trying to calm his friend. “I know you liked her but she’s a fucking whore, Limón! She made her mouth go. She’s the reason you had the fucking DEA sniffing out your apartment. We’re not only in trouble with the cops but if Escobar finds out… shit man. I’m scared.” 

Both La Quica and Limón were visibly freaking out. They had put their guns away at least, but they were pacing around in circles again and shouting at each other. But you couldn’t hear a single thing. You couldn't see anything... just the blur of their bodies. You couldn’t smell and your fingers felt numb. You felt like you were falling. Your chest was tight and your heart was broken.

“We have to run Limón, three fucking gunshots. Three dead bodies. The cops have probably already been called.” La Quica informed Limón as he helped coach his friend’s panicked breathing. You looked down at Martzia and Juliet’s bodies on the floor and then your gaze followed over to Rosa’s body. As the men scrambled out the brothel, you fell to your knees and crawled over to your best friend.

“Rosa,” you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks as you picked up and cradled her body in your arms. Her blood was all over you, and you felt like you could throw up at any second. “Rosa please. I- Rosa. No no no what… What did you do Rosa?” You chanted your best friend's name and cried into her body.

What did she do?

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[couldyouspeakmyname]

NSFW Alphabet: Agata. 3/9

I think I have four or five requests for him. I understand, he’s adorable. 

-Maeve

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is really good at aftercare. He will do whatever you need him to, and a few extra things. He’ll run you a bath if you want it. He’s willing to pamper you. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Agata actually really likes his spots. They make him different from other lions, without making him feel the pressure of actually being a lion.

He loves everything about you, but probably your neck.  He likes to nuzzle and kiss it. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Secretly likes when you swallow. He wont ask you to, but if you do he really appreciates it

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Watches (what many normal animals) consider ‘weird’ porn. Interspecies, male/male, female/female. He’s really embarrassed about it and never talks to anyone about it. It’s really not that big of a deal but he builds it up in his head and is paranoid. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s pretty normal for his age as far as experience goes. He’s not super focused on it, because of his work, but he’s still got some experience.  

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to see his partner, but that could mean a lot of things. On your back, having you on his lap.. He can see your face if you’re pressed against a mirror, so there’s that.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depends. The first time he’s all anxiety, but after he gains confidence, hope you’re ready. He’ll be all confidence, and even tease you. However, he’s usually fun. He wants you both to enjoy it, and he will never leave you dissatisfied. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Pretty well groomed most of the time. He keeps everything neat, but sometimes he’s a little messy. He has a mane to take care of, keeping everything else trimmed takes up so much time. When he’s single, it’s hit or miss. When he’s dating someone, he makes more of an effort. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be very romantic. While he’s not a stranger to the occasional hook up, he prefers to be intimate with someone he actually cares about. If it’s time for romance, he’s going to go all out, in every way. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He always feels embarrassed after, so he tries to not get caught. Sabu accidently walked in on him once, and Agata couldn’t look him in the eyes for a WEEK. He does it maybe a few times a week. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Agata likes to bite. He knows he shouldn’t, and tries hard not to, but it just feels right to have a permanent mark on your body that claims you as his. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

At home. He’s to easily embarrassed to do it anywhere else. He may do it in a car if you’re somewhere late at night where he doesn’t think people will see. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It doesn’t take much. Heavy make outs that get a little too heated, you maybe getting a little handsy. It’s not difficult, he’s basically putty in your hands 90% of the time. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wont fuck in public, or where people could catch you. He’d never live it down, Free wouldn’t let him. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s 110% down to give oral. He likes that control. Behind that sweet face is someone who just really wants to take control, and with you? He feels comfortable doing it. 

He likes receiving, but may end up holding your head and thrusting into your mouth. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can do just about anything, but usually he falls somewhere in the middle. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t like quickies, he likes the intimacy and time having sex gives the two of you. He will do it if he’s desperate though. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’ll try anything once, as long as you ask him and talk about it first. Just don’t go surprising him without communicating first. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

THE BOI CAN GO FOR HOURS! Hope you got time to spare. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’d be open to it, but he’s never gone into a shop to buy anything himself. If you want something you’d have to go with him and hold his hand. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends what kind of mood he’s in. He’s usually a giver, but every now and again he likes to torture you juuuusttt a smidge. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Lots of grunting and moaning. He hates that he does it. When you really get into it he growls. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One of the few lions that doesn’t mind if you pull his mane a little, just don’t do it to hard. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big boy. Please use lube. Don’t hurt yourself. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average. However, you can manipulate it a little if you know what buttons to push.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He would if he had no self control. Instead, he forces himself to stay up and take care of you, then he falls asleep snuggling you. 

[twistedanddecayed]

His Collection.

Summary:  Steve knew from the first time he saw her that she was perfect. What had been a one night stand quickly turned into so much more. He knew no-one else would compare, and soon, so would she.

Characters: Dark!Steve Rogers x unnamed female character,

Words: 1358

Warnings: stalker Steve, oral sex (m), deep-throating, face fucking, p in v, fingering, female orgasm, male masturbation, voyerism, consensual and non-con photography. 

A/N: This came to me last night after hearing Shawn Mendes’ There’s Nothin’ Holding Me Back. In particular, the lines

I wanna follow where she goes I think about her and she knows it

You take me places that tear up my reputation Manipulate my decisions Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

and this pretty much wrote itself. I’ve dabbled in writing the Winchester’s before, but this is the first time I’ve written Steve, so my apologies if this is a little off!

While @cockslut-padalecki​ has read this and created the above visual (ty bb), all mistakes are my own from a 2am drinking/writing spree. Feedback, likes and reblogs fully welcomed!

_____

The skyline is coming alive by the time Steve makes his way through his apartment. When he’d left, the sky was a thick blanket of darkness, beautifully broken up by hundreds of stars which had been visible from the large windows of his hilltop home as he’d considered leaving. Golden rays had streaked over the buildings, reflecting from windows and mirrored exterior in ways that only the Winter sun can as he’d looked down at the city which slept beneath him. He’d paid over the asking price for this place, needing his privacy. Needing to be away from prying eyes. The view was an added bonus. Cameras were installed in every room, a telescope positioned at the window aimed perfectly. For someone who didn’t want to be seen, Steve loved to watch. 

A whiskey glass is held by the tips of his fingertips; the amber liquid swirls with each step and the ice knocks against the glass. The usual clang it should make is all but silenced by his touch. He’d kicked off his sneakers, shrugged out of the dark hoodie the moment he’d re-entered his home. One hand had reached up to ruffle his hair, his sock-covered feet had padded through to one of his favourite rooms. An aged but perfectly comfortable leather chair sits opposite a matching deep burgundy coloured chesterfield sofa.

A tall lamp stands proudly beside the chair, casting the room in a warm glow and highlighting a small table supporting the opened bottle of whiskey. Steve digs his hand into his sweatpants as he lifts the glass to his lips, his eyes searching the scenery for any sign of life this early in the morning while the smooth amber liquid warms his throat and down into his chest as he swallows. Synthetic plastic presses against his fingers, pulling his lips into a smirk as the image burnt into the polaroid resurfaces in his mind.

She looked beautiful tonight, her smile bright and her eyes lighting up when she saw him. The curve of her lips painted in that shade of red reminded him of the way they’d looked wrapped around his cock as he’d filled her mouth and throat only stopping once his pubic bone was pressed fully against her nose and his balls against her chin. She’d squirmed, slapped at his thighs in desperation, dragged her nails down his skin as her eyes had streamed at the forced entry to her throat. He hadn’t given her a second to adjust - the moment his cock had slipped past her lips, he was buried within her with a satisfied groan.

He remained lodged there until she stopped fighting it, which to his disappointment, was sooner than he’d hoped. She relaxed her jaw, loosened the muscles in her throat and began to breathe through her nose as much as she could. Through soaked lashes, she looked up at him and waited for him to begin to thrust. He claimed her mouth as he had her cunt later that night and he’d left her home knowing exactly who she belonged to. 

A wine red dress had clung to her body, accentuated her curves and had his heart pounding against his ribs as his cock had begun to swell at the very sight of her. He’d thought of ripping the dress from her body, or at the very least bunching it up to her waist, tearing her panties from her body and stuffing them into her mouth before taking her in the closest private and secure area. But he hadn’t. He’d shown self-control. 

Steve takes another drink before turning away from the window and makes his way to the bookcase. His fingers find the container disguised as a book and takes it over to the chair. It takes seconds to flip it open and touch over the pictures. She always loved being the focal point of his camera and the shots of her in front of him show this. He places the glass next to the bottle and selects the new additions from his pocket from tonight. 

She stares back at him, her eyes feel as though they’re burning into him. Her lips are perfectly parted in a pout that makes him want to lean forward and nibble on her lip as he drives his fingers within her pussy just to hear her whine his name, feel her knees buckle and her cum to soak his palm. Each photo she’s in a various state of undress, her hand tugging at her bra or the side of her panties provocatively. He can see her nipples straining against the feminine flimsy material. 

His breathing deepens as his cock starts to feel heavy against his thigh. He lightly traces the outline of it with his fingers, barely more than a ghost of a touch but it’s enough for him to feel something. It’s enough for now. He strokes over the distinct ridge of the head, dragging two fingers and his thumb down his shaft and back up again. The small smile on her lips as she pulls the cup of her bra down to finally show what he’d asked, making his tongue to swipe over his lips as he remembers the feel of her puckered bud against his tongue.

The next picture is a close-up. She has her hands on either side of her neck, her arms mostly cover her tits, with the spot above her elbow pushing them together, both nipples are exposed. The picture looks black and white but it’s the lighting. The curtains weren’t fully closed, street light streamed through the slit in the fabric and though Steve doesn’t share, he didn’t care who may have seen what had followed. He hoped they had. 

Hoped they saw the way she’d bounced on his cock like it was a goddamn gift. She’d leant back, her back arching perfectly as her hands had rested upon his knees, her tits bouncing with every rock of her hips, her clit visible through her folds had begged for him to circle his thumb over it. He couldn’t say no and didn’t stop until she’d squirted over him, her cunt sucking him back in with the same level of need he’d demonstrated as he’d taken over; gripping her hips as he’d thrust up into her with everything he had. 

His balls had slapped against her ass as he’d bottomed out each time, his fingers digging into her flesh making her cry out with both pleasure and light pain. He’d left crescent shapes in her skin, her cervix painted white with cum and light bite marks over her body. The next photo shows these very marks a few days later. She’d shown them to him proudly, sucking his thumb into her mouth and thanking him for them. 

By the time he’s onto the very last one that he’d taken tonight, the joggers he’s wearing are tugged down, resting under his balls as his hand strokes from tip to base, his palm circles over the head and back down again. He knows he’s close, he’s pulsing, his balls contract and his toes are curling. He moves at the right time, tugging his shirt up to his chest with the hand gripping the polaroid, pushing the hem of it into his mouth and biting down. His hand works the first three inches, stimulating the tip until ropes of pearly cum splatter the skin of his abs in one, two, three, four strokes.

It may not have been Steve that she was meeting tonight, Steve’s dick she was riding or his name that he watched her mouth as she reached a pitiful show of a fake climax, but he’d make damn sure that it’s him next time. He’d make sure she forgets all about her new fuck toy. He’d make sure the orgasm she cries out for is real and though he’s grateful that she hadn’t learnt to close her curtains, he’d make sure no-one sees the things he plans to do to her. 

No-one but him and his camera. His collection was not complete.

Not without her. 

The perfect trophy.

And he will have her again.

[felix-honikker-kinnie]

hello charlotte - lgbtq+ headcanons (and also canon lgbtq+ characters)

#all art in this post is by etherane :) (note: literally every other headcanon is valid these are just mine <3) Charlotte Wiltshire

So, this is pretty widely accepted throughout the fandom - but I have to say she just seems transfem to me. There are even some possible hints that she might be transfem, and knowing etherane, I really wouldn’t be surprised.

First possible hint is young Charlotte. Not being feminine as a kid and then being very feminine later on obviously doesn’t mean you’re trans, I just thought it was something worth noting. In hc2, I believe there is a scene where Aiden encourages Charlotte to try being feminine, and you can see that she’s much more outwardly happy and expressive presenting as more feminine. Second possible hint is Seth. It was mentioned that male puppeteers are usually not assigned to female puppeteers, which could be a possible hint that she wasn’t biologically female.

Third possible hint was Charlotte’s haircut. Of course, any person would be upset if some people at school cut their hair, but some specific lines mentioned not wanting to let anyone see her and that a stranger stared back at her in the mirror - though that could have just been anxiety. All in all, none of these three things are for certain indicators that Charlotte is transfem, it’s just nice to have a little headcanon. And to be honest, the little hints aren’t even the main reason I think she’s trans, she just - Idk it just makes sense that she’d be trans and I just vibe with it. 

I think this one is also pretty agreed on, but she just gives panromantic vibes. I also get like, demiromantic vibes? And asexual vibes. I don’t have explanations for any of these, these headcanons just vibe with me. Felix Honikker

Next up, my fave, Felix. So my biggest headcanon is that he’s asexual because - well, ew, people, gross. And he just seems omniromantic to me. Again, can’t explain, the headcanon just vibes. And he just - Idk I feel like he’s transmasc and neutrios. Someone also mentioned that he seemed genderfluid and that headcanon is extremely valid. And someone mentioned him being aroace which, is also very extremely valid. Bennett

AAH. MY BABY BOY. THAT SMILE. SO MUCH SEROTONIN. I’M CRYING. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. AAAAAAH.  Okay, so he also gives me trans vibes (transmasc vibes). Charlotte, Felix, and Bennett just - radiate trans to me and I vibe so fucking hard with that.  Also. Bennett is a disaster bi. He. Just. Radiates. Disaster bi. He also seems just...like he experiences sexual attraction but he doesn’t really want to do. Things. I believe the word for that is akoisexual? (Or lithsexual?) Correct me if I’m wrong. Idk.  (Okay I had to stop making this post because I was trying to find the word for it and I just - I just found a post that was really invalidating to ace/spec people and I just. I’m sad now. After this I’m going to reblog all the acespec/arospec positivity posts I can get my hands on.) Florence

Florence also radiates disaster bi. That’s. That’s pretty much it for her, that’s my only headcanon about her orientation/identity. However. I do have many OTHER headcanons but they would not be relevant to this post, so.

Seth

Seth is pansexual, demisexual, and pangender in my mind because. Again. I have no reason. Just v i b e s

Aiden

Hm...he seems like the kind of person who wouldn’t really care about labels and just let people call it whatever they wanted to as far as orientation. (Sorry that some of these are so short-)

Henry Huxley

Huxley is definitely polyamorous, ace and gay. No, I will not explain my reasoning. Because I have none.

Q84

Q84 is definitely aroace. And I highly doubt she gives a fuck about gender and I doubt she’d put a label on her gender.

DelChar

I think we can all agree that DelChar is a disaster lesbian. At the very least, she canonically wlw, so that’s always nice to see. I also think she’s transfem because this is an alternate version of Scarlotte Charlotte I believe, so I just feel like she’d be trans as well.

V19

She’s also a disaster lesbian. 

Scarlett Eyler

Scarlett, like flo and ben radiates bi. I’m thinking she’s either aromantic bisexual or biromantic asexual but I’m leaning more towards aro/bi.

Anri Warhol

Anri is canonically bi. I appreciate that, a lot. 

Vincent Wordsworth

He seems like either he’s gay or he’s queer as far as orientation, and either way, definitely asexual. And he’s nonbinary as well.

Charles Eyler

What’s that? A canon genderfluid character? AND a canon asexual character? Yep, Charles is canon genderfluid and ace and I just freak out every time I think about it because there’s so little rep for those two things that whenever I see it, I just get really happy. As far as romantic orientation I feel like polyromantic.

Vincent Fennell

I’d probably put him about the same as his counterpart in hc3. I just included him specifically because. He’s so fucking pretty. And I wanted to show a picture of him.

C

I know C is technically Charles in a Vincent vessel, but shhh, I see him as his own kind of character. Like Charles, he’s genderfluid and asexual - and I could see him as being demiromantic and panromantic.

Umbrella Man

I just. I just feel like he’s homosexual/aromantic. I just. Do. And I can’t imagine he’s cis, but I don’t think he really has a label for his gender, idk.

Frei

Frei is canon agender! Or at the very least, he described himself as genderless. I feel like he would be asexual and omniromantic, kinda like my headcanon for Felix.

Freya

I know that Freya and Frei are both the Oracle, but each form the Oracle takes just seems like a seperate form to me. I can’t put Freya, Frei, and that other Oracle that was in Scarlett’s head into the same category. Freya is also probably agender but takes a feminine form and identifies with being female while also being genderless. I feel like she’d identify as a lesbian? And also be like, ace? Sorry if this doesn’t make any sense jafioejrpaewrojofjo.

Scarlett’s Oracle 

They’re definitely agender and aroace.

Right, I almost forgot OSIRIS

Osiris seems aroace.

Okay, that’s uh. that’s pretty much it oof. Sorry if this post doesn’t make a lot of sense I just wanted to ramble. And all other headcanons are valid <3 

[celestiababie]

Yunho NSFW Alphabet A-Z

A= Aftercare (What they do/act like after sex)

 Yunho is literally the human embodiment of a teddy bear. After you two have finished, he’ll probably just lay on you, and kiss your neck. He just wants to cling onto you...before you two go for another round.

B= Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

 Yunho loves his smile the most and he knows you love it too. Whenever he flashes his bright smile at you, you get butterflies all over again, and he just adores that he has that effect on you. He loves your legs when you straddle him or just wrap them around him. Yunho loves the lazy days where you put your legs on his lap and just watch tv. He’s also quite the fan of putting them over his shoulders as he thrusts inside you.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum… I’m a disgusting person)

 He gets carried away when he’s fucking you, so he often cums inside of you. When the two of you first had sex, both of you were so in the moment that you hadn’t realized that he came inside until a few minutes after. He panicked for a few seconds and apologized, but luckily you were able to calm him down by telling him that it was fine and that you were on the pill/clean. Ever since that day, he’s been hooked on cumming in you.

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

 He really wants to fuck you against a mirror...preferably in the practice room. He’s had a few wet dreams about it, but he doesn’t want to bring it up, in case that you’ll be weirded out, and then he’ll end up embarrassed.

E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

 Yunho has some experience, but not to the point where he could call himself a pro. He’s probably gotten/given head before and that’s about as much experience he’s had before you. He knows how to get you worked up and he knows how to use his body very well. DANCERS ARE THE BEST AT SEX IDC.

F= Favorite position (This goes without saying)

 Probably missionary, but with your legs over his shoulders. He loves holding your legs up and rolling his hips into you, making sure that you feel him against the most sensitive within you.

G= Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Or are they more humorous?)

 This man-child is a clown! Do you really think that he’s gonna be completely serious? He will probably try and crack a joke here and there when he has sex with you. Whether you like that or not, he can’t hide his bright and goofy personality, even if it’s an intimate moment. 

H= Hair (How well-groomed are they?)

 Yunho trims regularly, but he’s not bare. He thinks that trimming makes everything look better and it’s just easier to maintain. Man-scaping shows character, folks.

I= Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

 He’s a giant teddy bear, and even though he’s very goofy, he’d be surprisingly intimate. He loves you and wants to express it both inside and outside the bedroom. Yunho is top quality boyfriend material, and he’d want to give you all the pleasure that you could handle. 

J= Jack off (Masturbation)

 He doesn’t jerk off that often, he can usually keep himself under control until he sees you. Sometimes if he just needed to release some of his energy, he’d rut against his pillow and send you the audio of him moaning. It would mainly be to try and convince you to come over or let him come over.

K= Kinks (One or more of their kinks)

 His tall ass has a size kink, y’all knew this was gonna be said. He didn’t care if you were even an inch shorter than him or a foot shorter than him, he’d still tease you for being smaller than him. Yunho adores how your body looks underneath him, there’s something about him being bigger than you that makes him feel like he can protect you. Yunho also has a slight exhibition kink, he likes the way his heart pounds from nerves, not knowing if someone was going to see both of you.

L= Location (Favorite places to do the do)

 As stated before, he has an exhibition kink, he believes that sex doesn’t have to stay in the bedroom at all times. Dressing rooms? On a balcony? Against a big window? He’s down for it all, but don’t worry, he’ll make sure no one actually sees... unless you’re into that.

M= Motivation (What turns them on?)

 Due to his size kink, sitting in his lap could get him a bit excited down there, it emphasizes how small you are compared to him, and he can easily tease you for it. Another thing that can get him doing would be teaching you how to dance/ dancing with you, he’s definitely tried to get you to do a sensual dance with him once or twice. If he sees your hips move a certain way or grind upon him, you can bet your ass that he’s gonna whisper in your ear about how much he wants to fuck you.

N= NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

 I personally believe that Yunho is a soft dom, so he wouldn’t want you to call you anything bad or degrading, he’d much rather praise you. You’re his baby, why would he want to be mean to his baby? 

O= Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

 He’s a sucker for getting head, he loves when you look up at him as you press kisses to tip. It’s not like he hates giving you head or is bad at it, he’s just average at the activity, he makes up for it with using his sexy ass hands though.

P= Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

 This one is tough... I guess that it would all depend on his mood, some days he’ll be rough and desperate for a good fuck, and other days, he’ll be slow and sensual. He has no preference, it really depends on how much tension there is and how needy you both are.

Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex and how often?)

He's a fan of them. You two often have to rush due to fucking in slightly risky places, but he doesn't mind that at all. Sometimes, he treats it as it's a game, which one of you is gonna cum first or, how fast can he make you cum?

R= Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

 He has no problem taking risks and experimenting. He's curious about a lot of things and wants to try many things with you if you'll allow him to.

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

 This boy has a lot of stamina, it’s scary. As a dancer, he’s able to have a lot of energy and on top of that, he’s a ball of energy in everyday life, so Yunho would be able to go multiple rounds. He’d want to keep going until you were too tired to keep your eyes open. Dis boi a freak lowkey.

T= Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

 Poor baby would be confused by toys at first, but would slowly start getting more curious about them. He’d do mild research to find ones that would give you the most pleasure and then gift them to you. He’d be hesitant to use any toys on himself, but he’d give it a try if you really wanted to use them on him. 

U= Unfair  (How much do they like to tease?)

 He mainly teases you about your height, but other than that, he’s fair. He likes to give you what you want and even if he finds your begging adorable, he’d feel bad if he kept pleasure away from you...but if you make him jealous/ piss him off? Good luck.

V= Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

 L O U D. He’s not annoyingly loud, but he’s not afraid to moan and groan if something feels good. He has to be careful depending on the location you two are having sex, but even then, he’s moaning for you. 

W= Wild Card (Random headcanon)

 Yunho had invited you over, all the boys were over, but he figured that you were comfortable enough to hang out with all of them. The 9 of you were sitting in the living room, your legs were on the taller male’s lap and he was softly caressing your leg as the rest of the boys were being loud.

  Jongho had noticed the older male’s hand on your leg and he narrowed his eyes at the both of you, throwing a pillow at Yunho. 

“Hyung, touch your girlfriend somewhere else!”

 The other boys had suddenly shut up and looked over at the two of you. Some were confused, some were flustered at the thought and a particular someone was smirking (Wooyoung). You hid your face behind your hands and took your legs off of your boyfriend’s lap. He pouted and made a bold move, pulling your entire body into his lap and kissing your neck. 

  “I’ll touch her where ever I want.” He muttered against your neck. The boys cleared their throats and contemplated whether or not they should just leave the room...

They didn’t, they kept talking, but couldn’t help but glance at the couple who were almost ready to rip each other’s clothes off.

X= X-Ray (Lt’s see what’s going on in those pants)

 He’s a big boi and has sexy hands, so I think he’s above average. He has a decent amount of girth to him and a plus would be that he knows how to use his hips. Big dick+dancer hips= fucking amazing sex. I don’t make the rules.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

 He wants sex a lot more than he’d like to admit, he has so much energy that he wants to let out, and sex is a great way to release all that energy. He’s clingy and that clinginess will often lead to him needing you sexually. I’d say he’d want sex about 5 days out of the week.

Z= ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

It depends on how many rounds you two did. Usually, he wouldn’t feel that sleepy if it was a standard night of sex, but if it was a night where you two were at it like rabbits...maybe he’d get a little tired, but he rarely does.

[comradeclown]

OK, so in honour of my top posts now being me saying at various degrees of length that Arthur is gay (hashtag mylegacy, lmao…), I thought I should just go for it and actually dive in a bit a lot into why I read the character as gay. Now, usually all the justification I need to read a character as gay is “wouldn’t it be cool if this character I like/relate to/etc were gay like me?” and “it’s OK, officer, I do what I want”, and I’m well aware that 99% of the time it’s me using my own creativity to do a resistant reading + the film/book/whatever bumbling into subtext entirely by accident. And while I definitely don’t think there’s ever any more justification needed for any kind of LGBT reading, lol, as it comes to Arthur, obviously feel free to disagree with me, but I honestly think my read of him as a gay man is entirely textually supported, however unwitting and accidental that might have been on the part of the filmmakers (mind you, I don’t think it was Todd Phillips’ conscious intent, but I’m like… 85% sure Joaquin Phoenix knew exactly what he was doing).

(ETA that this is extremely long, so I’ve put it all under a cut.)

First of all, there’s of course… pretty much the entirety of Joaquin Phoenix’s performance (a very, very small sample can be found in my he gay son tag and just generally in my arthur fleck tag, ha), from his mannerisms to his physicality to the way he interacts with other characters. I know part of it is a function of wanting to go back to the character’s campy roots (which are themselves… you know…), and I know I’m relying on stereotypes to some extent, but first of all, you can’t divorce either camp or gender non-conformity from LGBT history and existence, and secondly this is literally how characters have been coded as gay throughout the entire history of cinema. What I’m saying here is that you can’t have a character who acts like Arthur does, literal limp wrist and all, or says “come on, Muuuurrrayyy, do I look like the kind of girl clown who could start a movement” the way he does, to pick one of many, many examples, and not evoke the long history of cinematic wink emojis at People Like Me.

That in itself would… honestly be plenty, lol, but it could be chalked up to, idk, Joaquin Phoenix doing his own thing, were it not for the fact that it’s completely reinforced at every turn by the filmmaking language, even down to his wardrobe choices, and it’s worth noting at this point that the framing is always one of empathy — albeit with nuance — and affording the character subjectivity, rather than being “ew, look at this gross [homophobic slur]”. Like, the very first time we see Arthur, literally our first impression of the character, he’s at a mirror, putting on make-up and then ruining it by crying, and while the make-up is of course part of his job, this is just not how the inner crises of straight male characters are expressed in the language of cinema. Of note too is the fact that he’s clearly visually separated from his co-workers in all the scenes at Ha-Ha’s, indicating his alienation from them, and while this could be chalked up purely to his disabilities, I don’t buy that that’s the only reason, given that Gary gets shit due to his dwarfism, sure, but at the end of the day he’s clearly “one of the boys” in a way Arthur (can’t be) isn’t.

There are honestly so many examples of the framing working to separate Arthur from conventional masculinity and heterosexuality that I’m just going to pick some highlights, such as: obviously, the way he expresses himself emotionally through dancing (to the point that one of his coworkers explicitly ribs him about it, “if your dancing doesn’t do the trick”), which again is not something that straight male characters do in the language of cinema. The fact that all the media we see him consume is musicals, classic comedies and a talk show he’s obsessively fannish about and watches with his mother — and we know he’s a fan of the show as a whole, not just Murray, hence him saying “I love Dr Sally” (and the way he says it…). Or, speaking of his media habits, when he’s dancing with the gun while watching Shall We Dance, this could have so, so easily been about him ~regaining his lost masculinity~ through, say, fantasies of revenge or badassery, but instead it’s about him being acknowledged as a great dancer and punishing bad dancers, and it all ends in slapstick anyway.

Also, while I’m on this topic, I want to address the nature of Arthur’s dissociative fantasies about Sophie. Honestly, I don’t read them as indicative of genuine romantic/sexual interest at all, because the film frames them as identical to Arthur’s more deliberate daydreams about Murray. I mean, not that I’m adverse to gay readings of that if that’s what you want to do, lmao, but to me they’re both very clearly post-traumatic fantasies of having another person look after you for once, of having someone value and cherish you and take care of you emotionally (which obviously has massive appeal if you’ve been dealing with the after-effects of catastrophic trauma all your life but nobody has given a shit about your suffering and you’ve had to be the one to look after other people to boot). Note that after the get-together with Sophie — which is clearly patterned after all those old comedies and musicals Arthur watches — the Sophie fantasies are incredibly platonic and involve things like having another person be there for you in a crisis, telling you something supportive, getting you a hot drink (in contrast with the reality of the hospital scene, in which Arthur is alone and he’s the one trying to comfort someone else, i.e., holding Penny’s hand), essentially no different from fantasy!Murray hugging Arthur and knowing exactly what to say to make him feel good about himself. Also note that both fantasies involve being the object of someone else’s affection, Murray picks Arthur out of the audience and Sophie comes to him, it’s a pillow princess Cinderella fantasy, more than someone loving you it’s about being loved. (And, once more, this could easily have all been v. v. different, the Murray fantasy could have been the much more conventionally masculine fantasy of being a famous comedian and being invited on Murray’s show, the Sophie fantasies could have had an undeniable sexual component, etc.)

Anyway, to get back to the general point of cinematic framing, again if the movie didn’t want me to read Artie as gay, it shouldn’t have had a pivotal moment in his character arc be him sitting at his mother’s vanity table, doing a new make-up look which involves using her lipstick, and then having a Moment while he’s literally holding a quasi-glamour shot of her.

And the thing is, all these reams of stuff aren’t even the key piece of the puzzle for me, which is the way in which the film as a whole can be read as a gay narrative. I’ve posted before about how part of the emotional catharsis of the film is about Arthur finally shamelessly embracing and even revelling in all his freakishness and socially-despised traits, a big one of which being what is arguably his effeminacy and… honestly I don’t need to explain how that’s a classic gay (and more generally LGBT) narrative, do I? Like, there’s a reason why a pivotal scene is Arthur having his hair-dyeing underwear rave in a flat that’s suddenly incredibly bright and sunny for the first time, it’s about reclaiming the pain and ugliness of your life and your circumstances into a space of potential liberation, which is honestly why this movie is always going to be incredibly personally meaningful to me for so many reasons, but definitely meaningful to me as a gay woman. (Again, this could so, so easily have been about him becoming some stone-cold badass or whatever, but instead the film has him dye his hair, put on a super garish new outfit and new make-up look, dance shamelessly in the street, and be incredibly campy on national television.)

More generally, there’s other aspects of the narrative arc that tie into this general theme and which also serve to continually distance Arthur from the conventional cinematic narratives of heterosexual manhood: for instance, once he starts fully embracing the Joker persona — which is… just Arthur, the crucial difference is in how others perceive him and how he perceives himself — any attraction to women, feigned or real, goes completely out the window and the only genuinely affectionate interaction he has with another human being is with Gary (I know we all love to joke about his first kiss being with Dr Sally, but it’s obviously Comedy Jokes and he doesn’t even kiss her for real, his make-up is completely intact; Arthur’s only real kiss in the movie is when he kisses Gary). Or, when Arthur’s personal narrative finally intersects completely with the larger social narrative — which is itself about upheaval, reclamation and potential liberation — the big triumphant moment is him once again dancing, this time for a cheering crowd, and using blood like lipstick to redraw his smile.

Or even, to a lesser extent, his whole sub-plot with his mother, before I watched the film I was worried that this was going to be the usual narrative about the henpecked guy who finally puts the bitch in her place as part of becoming a Real Man, and it’s not at all, quite the opposite, Arthur is not henpecked and is clearly in charge of the household, he genuinely loves Penny — and is confident she loves him back — and enjoys doing at least some things with her (them watching the Murray Franklin Show together), and up until the reveal any issues he has with her are largely the product of having to look after an ill person with zero social support and while working a physically and emotionally demanding job and dealing with his own disabilities. When he kills her, it’s a deeply sad and self-destructive scene and it’s the result of his profound anguish and sense of betrayal and he frames it as the bitter, trauma-haunted dark half of self-actualisation and self-acceptance (“that’s the real me”, “I haven’t been happy one minute of my entire fucking life”, “now I realise… it’s a fucking comedy”).

Or, at a more meta-textual level, the way the film is unabashedly both a pulpy thriller and a melodrama, just shamelessly embracing all its emotions, its pain and catharsis, without a trace of irony. Like, yeah, part of this is the immense sincerity and compassion Joaquin Phoenix brings to his performance, but it really is the movie’s approach as a whole, and when there is humour — and I do think there’s quite a lot of humour in the movie — it’s not the distancing, let’s-not-feel-anything-too-deeply-bro humour of your typical MCU movie, it’s the camp sensibility of laughing with and at your own tragedy. (Myriad examples down to the use of certain songs in the soundtrack.)

On a final note, you guys know how much I don’t care about authorial intent, but I feel compelled to point out that in his director’s commentary, Todd Phillips says, while discussing Arthur’s journey into becoming Joker, that he reads the larger pop-cultural character of the Joker as someone who doesn’t want women, and like… Again, it’s not like I think that he was deliberately making a gay narrative in any way, it’s just that if you’re creating this journey of a man who eventually becomes a character who’s not interested in women in that sense, you’ve also just ended up stumbling into a gay narrative accidentally on purpose, lmao, what’s the real difference between “at the end of the story, Arthur doesn’t want women because he’s ~da Joker now, baby, he doesn’t want anything~” and “at the end of the story, Arthur doesn’t want women because he’s gay and he’s no longer deeply repressed and closeted”?

Anyway, like I said, feel free to disagree, he’s a fictional character, lol, but this is where I’m coming from, and the reason why if everyone involved in the movie decided to make a statement tomorrow about how much Arthur Fleck wants to bone women I’d just say “shit, idc, I’m afraid you made a gay movie about Arthur Fleck, a gay man, it’s a little too late to retcon this bitch now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯”. Also this is over 2,000 words long what the fuck I am so sorry

[wiinterrose]

          ( xavier serrano , male , he/him, 23 ) omg ! i was walking yonge street downtown , and you’ll never guess who i saw . 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 ! i just saw a post about them on sixsecrets ! i think it said something like “ 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝟓 𝐀𝐌 : 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 ?” . isn’t that wild ? i guess it makes sense through , since they’re apparently 𝐃𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒 and 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 . but i’ve heard they’re also 𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 and 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 ! i’ll just stick to giving them the benefit of the doubt . i mean , it’s not like i know them personally — they’re a famous 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 / 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐄𝐑 ! you know , i’ve actually heard rumors that ██████████████████, but they’re just rumors … i think . i dunno . if you happen to run into them , tell them i’m their biggest fan ! ( ollie , they / them , 21 , est )

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

— mikey was born and raised in winnipeg because i think it’s funny when characters are from winnipeg. if you’re from winnipeg i’m so sorry. definitely was born on the coldest day of that year ( so like some point in january )

— but because of those long, cold harsh winters, mikey found himself in a dance studio a lot. his aunt was a dance teacher and with rather absent parents who meant well but both had long hours at the local hospital, he spent a lot of time with her. he fell in love with dance pretty early on, always having a certain fluidity and grace even when he was young.

— random but he also played hockey up until he was like 16 or whatever because he’s canadian and i’m not stupid. it happened. he can still skate tho. in a slightly different life he probably would have been a pretty good figure skater huh 🤔🤔🤔 but anyway...

— also feel like it makes sense that he did gymnastics. and trained in classical ballet.

— he went to university of toronto for college, studying kinesology and dance, and danced at one of the prestigious studios in the city.

— his big break moment was when in his sophomore year at ut, he made it onto the second season of world of dance in early 2017 ( lets pretend that show has been on longer than it has bc i don’t want it to be the first season of it sldk ). he made it all the way to the finals and quickly become a fan favorite along the way. though he ultimately placed second and missed out on the million dollars, that was the beginning of many doors opening for him. ( for those who, might have the vaguest clue what i’m talking about : i’m highkey feeling like, michael dameski style which is an idea i had after i named him michael so don’t @ me for him having the same first name ).

— millions watched that show, including some prominent agents and scouts who were able to help him launch a professional dance career : something he never thought he’d see himself actually doing. his first big gig was making the dance team for some singer’s north american tour, and he ended up not returning to ut to pursue a professional dance career full time. since then he’s danced in a few music videos for some uber famous musican ( same one he went on tour with or not idk ?? also a wc ?? maybe ?? ), a tv show, couple movies, and other various gigs around the city. he works part time at a studio when he has time, and has been honing his choreography skills as well.

— he makes enough dancing, but certainly not enough to make him RICH. no, that come from an impromptu vlog he did while on tour with aforementioned singer. having already garnered a following from world of dance, he soon rose to youtube fame as well, something he never could have predicted. i feel like his videos are very just, day in a life with various random challenges mixed in, and various workout and flexibility tips. he also still does pieces and duets with other prominent dancers just for fun too. his natural charisma and attitude really just carries him through easily lmao.

— mikey developed a bit of a habit of sleeping around when he left for college, all the newfound freedom was just intoxicating and well. he was hot so. it wasn’t like it was hard alsdkjf. that stuck around well into his blossoming dance career. nothing that was enough to be scandalous, but he made his way around. and then a year and a half into this unforeseen new life, he met matthew glass.

— he’d had a couple serious relationships before, one in high school, one his freshman year of college but neither of them could hold a flame to what he felt when he was with matt. perfection wasn’t something mikey believed in, but he almost did with what they had.

— it was like for over a year and a half he lived in this insane dream, and then mikey and matt broke up and he was devastated ( behind closed doors and with curtains pulled tightly shut ).

— he then proceeded to broadcast how perfectly fine he was doing by going back to his old ways and sleeping around obsessively, this time with very little regard as to how many headlines he was making. as far as coping mechanisms go, i guess sex is better than alcohol ?? not to say he wasn’t also drunk at times l o l.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂

— mikey is a... how do u say... im gunna write manwhore bc it’s accurate so pls don’t take offense. inch resting bc i’ve written smut like once in my eight year rping career but that’s what he decided he was gunna be and who am i to deny that.

— very bi. very much does not care. if the world didn’t know he was before, it definitely does now lmao. he hasn’t come out in the sense he’s like posted a video about it and said “i’m bisexual” but it’s pretty obvious from the media and maybe he has gotten asked in interviews and has just shrugged and been like does it matter ?? i’m sorry he’s not the vocal bi ally we need. perhaps we will work on that.

— hasn’t dated anyone since matt bc he’s highkey lowkey still hung up on him but no one needs to know that right. outwardly, he’s very much the same : seemingly happy, but he’s a lot more careful with his heart and letting people close to him. if anything he’s become a bit of a two-way mirror, always seeing out but never really letting people see in, just what they want to see.

— probably goes without saying but extremely flexible. idk if any of you know who juuse saros is but apparently he can twerk in a split and i’m not saying mikey can but like. he just might be able to...

— straight up does not get cold. never wears more than a hoodie, probably danced shirtless in the middle of winter just fine. at least being from winnipeg is good for one ( 1 ) thing.

— i feel like people call him flower. idk guys. maybe im just thinking too much abt hockey goalies.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

— he tends to be extremely underestimated as he comes across a bit dumb and generally has a pretty positive outlook on life which people confuse for him being naive when that isn’t the case. but he’s found he can use that it his advantage and that sometimes, people will tell him things they think he can’t understand but he hears and remembers everything. it’s helped him out of a few difficult situations before.

— i feel like he has a bit of ethan dolan’s personality & dumbass energy idk guys...

— live in the moment kind of dude. his motto is probably like : you just gotta know what you want to do next. i mean looking back on his life it’s been pretty crazy and that’s only solidified his outlook that like, you really can’t control too much. just let it go where it takes you.

— people do like him though and they like talking to him for whatever reason. generally has pretty trustworthy vibes but he’s more slippery than he comes across. he’s a selfish person at heart and always has his own best interests in mind, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first.

— extroverted. i think ??

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

— 6′1″. chocolate brown eyes. curly brown hair. he has a lithe but extremely fit build due to his career. his core strength is especially impressive. 

— he has a monochromatic lineart tattoo of a rose on his left forearm / wrist and a butterfly ( again monochromatic & just lineart ) on his right shoulder. small scar at the base of his neck by his ear from an unfortunate hockey accident.

— needs glasses but usually only wears contacts unless he’s in his apartment late at night.

— he’s not overly fashionable, going more for comfort than how he generally looks. on a regular day, he’s probably got the whole... college athlete look going if you know what i mean. a big fan of mirrored aviator sunglasses. wouldn’t know what dressing up meant even if it slapped him in the face.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

first and foremost i want to say that i like to vibe and brainstorm with people to come up with unique connections between our characters but here are a few ideas:

— the singer whose tour he danced on — singer whose music videos he’s been in — mayhaps even actors for that tv show / movie he was in ( v small role but whatevs. maybe they just Vibed yknow ) — flirtationship 😔 — always ye ol good hookup l o l — we keep running into each other idk maybe we should talk ??

TAKEN CONNECTIONS PAGE HERE

𝐎𝐎𝐂

          hey guys, i’m ollie. my intros are either written really eloquently or a big mess bc im trying to rub together a couple braincells at 1 am and whatever comes out, comes out. no need to guess which category this one falls into lmAO. anyway, i’m a slow plotter bc i’m easily overwhelmed trying to do too many things at once but i swear i will try to get to as many people as i can. and yeah this entire character is inspired by my love of world of dance don’t @ me... if u made it all the way down here u should watch this bc 😳 & mikey has the same athleticism and strength.

[richmond-rex]

🌹🌹 - If I’m not too late!

Oh, you’re definitely not late! I was here thinking to myself which excerpt I could post without giving too many spoilers away, and I remember I wrote the first chapter of a character study about Cardinal Beaufort on the days before my thesis’ viva—I needed to decompress and I couldn’t possibly try to write my usual fics and characters because nothing would come out right. But I had no emotional attachment to Henry Winchester whatsoever besides a mere curiosity and for once I wanted the challenge of writing a devious, cunning character. The fic is entitled Four Kings, Five Scenes and each chapter was supposed to portray the cardinal during four different reigns: King Richard II (ch 1), King Henry IV (ch 2), King Henry V (ch 3), King Henry VI (ch 4) and King Henry VI again (ch 5). Obviously, I realised that no one would want to read this story lol. It really was the stress of the moment that made me write the first chapter. Well, since I’m not going to publish it anywhere and the chapter is fairly small compared to my usual chapter length (5k or more), you can read it here below the cut! Tagging @nuingiliath because she might be interested as well.

OLD TEMPLE, HOLBORN

Late September 1398

“Tell me what I ought to do, brother.”

Henry Beaufort, newly-appointed Bishop of Lincoln, rolled the episcopal ring on his finger—amethyst flaring under the sunlight—and let out an exasperated, long-held sigh. He could see its tracking ascendence in the air, the way the dust specks caught in the sunbeam would spiral and dance. Though old as its very name suggested, Old Temple was still one of the finest episcopal houses in London, bought for the exclusive use of the bishops of Lincoln after the Knights Templar decided to move within the borders of the City. A dusty residence it might be, but it was still one of the various privileges acquired after Henry’s consecration, or perhaps more importantly, his legitimisation. Everything was coming together, and yet, all hung at the brink of destruction.

“You are the eldest of us, John,” Lincoln replied, voice softening. “It is for you to lead us once Father is gone.”

His brother turned from the arched window, face twisting into a frown. He looked lost, utterly and completely lost, the tip of his red chaperon thrown over one shoulder as if the very fabric was trapping him in place or threatening to coil around his neck and squeeze out his breath.

“You’re the family’s clergyman.” He entreated, stepping closer. “Tell me, brother. What would God have me do?”

It was Lincoln’s turn to frown. By then the morning had given way to noon and the bishop had just finished donning his purple robes, a gold-threaded stole hanging from either side of his neck. It was almost time for Lincoln to resume his administrative duties concerning his diocese—let not anyone claim Henry Beaufort had earned his mitre by bribery and favouritism. He ran a hand along his tonsured head—he still had to send for his zucchetto hat to be brought to him—and paused in that pensive state, partially choosing what to say and partially assessing when he should schedule another shaving.

“God would have you love your brother—” He clasped his hands before his stomach, magnanimously. “—and obey your king.”

It was the first opportunity the two Beauforts had to discuss Bolingbroke’s banishment from the kingdom. It was an urgent matter: Henry Bolingbroke was Duke of Hereford and Earl of Derby, and—that was the most important piece of information—their father’s rightful heir. He was to inherit the large possessions and prodigious fortune that belonged to the Duke of Lancaster, the richest man in the realm—or so it had seemed, at least until the moment King Richard sent him into exile. The king had not mentioned his Lancastrian inheritance but as all invisible things, it still had its own weight, it still cast its own shadow. Lancaster himself was no less worried for the omission of the matter. It hung heavily, unresolved, in the air. 

His brother John, lately elevated from his earldom of Somerset to the marquessate of Dorset, resumed his speech after a brief moment of consideration.

“I say Bolingbroke is a good Christian, brother. He has vowed to defend the faithful and I know he means well and true.” 

John would know, the two of them had gone crusading together. While John, Bolingbroke and Swynford were bonding over tournaments and military expeditions, young Henry had his head buried deep in manuscripts and missals. For a time it had been a fancy of Henry’s to imagine himself a Knight Templar fighting for the kingdom of Christ in the Holy Land: the armour, the tabard and the red cross, entire armies under his command as a Grand Master. A child’s fancy, yes, for the Templars were no more—yet there Lincoln stood, at the very place those brothers had once called home. There was a rightness to it, a taste he could feel at the very tip of his tongue. Lancaster might have arranged for the trio of brothers to be admitted into the Confraternity at Lincoln’s Cathedral but it was he—Henry Beaufort—the one chosen to command the entire diocese now. 

His brother John didn’t even seem to notice his state of reminiscence. He kept talking, his words coming to Lincoln’s ears in all of their ardour again.

“—I didn’t speak for Uncle Gloucester at the time and now it weighs on my conscience! Worse, brother, I condemned him! I called for his very arrest!”

“Woodstock was a traitor of the realm.” The bishop deadpanned. “It was your duty as a peer to call for his arrest. You know that as well as I d—”

A boy holding his purple zucchetto was just about to enter the room. The bishop dismissed him with a sharp turn of his head, shooed him away with a glare and a quick motion of his hand. The boy scurried away, his hurried steps echoing on the flagstones. Lincoln frowned, pressed his lips into a thin line: his own brusqueness had displeased him. He should be nobler in his actions, loftier, gentler even, a true shepherd of Christ. As he turned, he saw John had already stepped back to the window. Once again, he didn’t seem to have noticed any commotion around him.

“Be as it may, this time is different.” John restarted. “Our brother has done no wrong against the king. There is only one explanation for this—” John stopped short before he went further, checking himself at the very last minute. He didn’t utter the word, but it hovered just above them, somewhere over their heads. Retribution. Vengeance for the time Bolingbroke joined the Lords Appellant and rebelled against cousin Richard. One by one those rebels had been crushed.

The glass panels tinted his brother’s face with green, spots of red covered his face as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Shocking blue, poisonous red, a liquid green so fresh one could almost drink. 

“It was cruel to make him fight Mowbray to the death, but there was still honour in it. There’s no honour to be found in exile.” He closed his eyes. “He has six children, Henry.”

This time the bishop’s reply was swift. “Father will take care of them. As will we if it comes to such an end. We shall support the family as we always have.”

John, still looking very much disheartened, acceded with a small nod. “You know,” he smiled weakly, eyes growing distant like a far-away ship. “I used to look up to him when I was little. All I ever wanted was to be like Bolingbroke, a true son of Lancaster.”

The sensation was familiar to the bishop himself, only his brother still seem to hold to that boyish memory as his heart’s truest wish, even now that his aspirations were supported by law: standing there at the bishop’s residence, John was dressed in Lancaster blue and white, their father’s SS livery collar hung over his shoulders, the S-shaped links crafted in pure gold and held closely together. 

A sting of bittersweetness washed over the bishop. What if… what if the king had Bolingbroke attainted? Surely, King Richard was unpredictable those days—no one had been quite able to placate his moods ever since Queen Anne had died—but if the king did attaint their brother, neither he nor his children would be authorised to inherit Lancaster’s lands and title. Perhaps… perhaps King Richard would choose to pass them over to Lancaster’s next legitimate male heir, in that case, his brother John himself.

“Dear brother, why do you choose to dwell in such sorrowful thoughts? Father loves you best.”

John turned to him sharply. “You cannot know such a thing!”

Oh, the plain irony of watching his brother’s face turned into a scowl that mirrored exactly the one their father was famous to possess! John had Lancaster’s same strong nose, as did the bishop himself, yet now at his anger, his brother had turned into the very picture of John of Gaunt. It was oftentimes that natural children would have their sire’s face if not his name, as if it was an underhanded way of nature to compensate for their social ostracism.

“He does.” The bishop repeated in a firm voice. He clasped his hands, a position that gave him reassurance in difficult situations. “Recall that Father has done everything in his power to make us his true children. He appealed to Parliament and His Holiness the Pope Himself, he moved mountains to secure our charts of legitimisation. All this time, he has extensively defended our cause to the king. Now, that same king has banished his heir from the land and the Duke of Lancaster poses no resistance. Why do you think that is?”

It was not exactly true, but it was what his brother needed to hear. Lancaster had, in fact, negotiated with the king to the best of his abilities, a piece of information that the bishop suspected his brother John knew already. The Marquess of Dorset was, after all, well-placed within cousin Richard’s circle. A more credible point against the bishop’s claim would be, however, that the Duke of Lancaster rarely ever showed his true emotions, fatherly or otherwise. It would be impossible to say whom he loved best.

“If Father will not risk his head over this matter, John—John, my beloved John! Heed my words now. You should not risk your own!”

John looked at him with such heaviness it bore into the bishop’s own soul. Henry walked over to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“You have a good heart, John. It is loyal and true and it bears testament to your character, but it will get you killed. Remember who gave you your earldom of Somerset, who made you marquess of Dorset, knight of the Garter, who married you to that illustrious lady, the king’s own niece. He who appointed you as Constable of Dover—”

“—Warden of the Cinq Ports, Admiral of the Fleet in the North and West, Lieutenant in Aquitaine, I know, I know!” John took a long breath. “I know. The king, our cousin.”

King Richard himself had fastened the earl’s belt during John’s girding; the king himself had draped the velvet cloak across John’s shoulders. The ceremony had been clear enough: the earl’s power derived from his authority and his authority alone.

The bishop retrieved his hand from his brother’s shoulder slowly, pulled it back inch by inch until it was safely resting against its twin counterpart, flat against his stomach. 

“Father has been unwell. When the Lord deems time to call him to His side again, who will look after us? Remember our brother Tom, so young and not yet a peer. Remember Joan and her children. Remember Mother.”

“No. No, brother, you speak true.” John conceded with a nod. “I can’t endanger your safety nor leave any of you unprotected. I cannot defy the king.”

There was resolution on his face, yet there was sadness as well. The bishop still sought a way of soothing his brother’s heart. “Let me be the one to speak for our brother. Cousin Richard already knows I’ve had my whole diocese pray for him. I stand safer as a prelate than you do as a courtier.”

In a second, his brother gripped his shoulder, displaced the stole hung around the bishop’s neck with a heartiness that surprised him. As though they were mere, simple children again, John smiled in truth at last.

“You have always been the wisest of us, brother. Yet,” He looked down,chuckled. “Yet sometimes I still remember that boy who vowed to God he would become pope.”

Bishop Beaufort felt his lips quirk up—a genuine, delicious thrill elicited by the memory—and so, accordingly, he lowered his eyelids in modesty. “All wisdom comes from our Holy Mother, the Church. All grace from God the Lord Almighty and His Son, Christ the Holy Lamb.” His prelate answer given, he glanced up again. “Sometimes I caught myself thinking of that boy as well, dear John, yet times have changed.”

John raised an eyebrow, apparently befuddled. “Have they?” 

“Yes,” The bishop replied, no longer speaking of the ambitions held for a long time inside his heart. “If for the better or for the worse, only the future will tell.”

_______________________ *notes: it’s said that John Beaufort, while still suporting Richard II at the time of Bolingbroke’s invasion, might have played a double game. When he was captured by his brother’s forces and the Percys called for his execution, Henry IV is supposed to have said: “I beseech you do him no harm, for he is my brother, and has always been my friend; see the letter he sent to me in France.” Henry IV later made John Beaufort his Lord Chamberlain.

Henry Beaufort remained close to his brother John up until his last breath. The bishop stayed by his side at St Katherine’s hospital while he was dying. Henry was made executor of John’s will, a mark of deep trust, if not also affection the brothers had for each other. It may explain why Cardinal Beaufort vouched for his nephews, his brother’s children, so fiercely in the coming decades.

[thegeminisage]

thots on what constitutes a Guy Game, or if that's too controversial, thots on the best first person games.

ok wait im doing this in reverse order because EASILY the best first person game is mirror’s edge. u can’t compete with perfection?? i didn’t really like first person games until i played it because i was so used to a third person camera but now i have no issue with them and i actually think that there are a lot of perks to not having to think so hard about camera position the way you do in third person games. i had a really hard time with the camera in the last guardian and that just really made me appreciate mirror’s edge a lot because i NEVER had a hard time with it. it was so fucking intuitive

RE: GUY GAMES

this is a little long sorry i am going to go into video game history, which i wish i could give a college lecture on, but i can’t, because no one cares. nobody is obligated to read this entire thing u can skip the next 3 paragraphs

anyway i think there is a very specific demographic that guy games are reaching out to that are like, firstly, men (duh), secondly, we are American!, we didn’t grow up playing nintendo games and watching anime and so we think all that weeb stuff is for nerds. in the 90s and early 00s video games werent for just Anybody they were for kids and for nerdy people (usually guy people, girls got sooo excluded it’s like v sad). like back in the 90s and early 00s games were released in america months or even years after they were in japan (and if you were in europe or australia, FORGET IT) and the translations were often kind of shoddy and slapped together, so you wound up missing stuff sometimes or getting something hilarious like “all your base are belong to us” (kudos to one of the internet’s very first memes...you memers out there better respect...video games MADE YOU...). anyway the point being japanese made games are not always appealing/accessible to the average american (who sees and anime and goes...why do they look like that thats weird) 

so that’s where a console like xbox comes from, it’s american-made, it’s the first of its kind, its gonna compete with nintendo (ostensibly for families/kids) and playstation (ostensibly for more grownup games) and americanize/westernize what is essentially a japanese medium at that point to make it accessible to americans/western men (because video games won’t be For Girls until like, very generously, the mid 2000s, and even now it’s a crapshoot), because it’s a huge untapped audience who aren’t experiencing or enjoying this medium, and if people wanna keep making games, games gotta keep making money, you know how it is w/ capitalism

as a side note i think it’s worth noting that before xbox came into the picture, sega was making its own consoles (genesis etc) that were VERY well-received by american audiences...sonic the hedgehog got like a FUCKTON of american-exclusive media such as shows and even a live action movie that came out as recently as THIS YEAR. but they didn’t have as much casual appeal and also had other difficulties, and so once they went under console-wise the market kind of opened up for something New. something with the american-friendly appeal of sonic, and something with the casual appeal of nintendo games, something with the more grownup appeal of playstation. so boom, you have xbox, you have halo, call of duty, etc. suddenly after almost two decades of japan exclusively cornering the home console market, americans can make games! wild!

(skip to here) and so i think that’s what a guy game is: a game made by american men specifically to appeal TO american men, or, at the very least, to not be a threat or turn-off to that demographic. guy games are exemplify american masculinity, and get their roots from what that meant in the early 00s (bearing in mind that as a rule Classic american masculinity is usually sexist/racist/homophobic lol). they have either male protags or female protags that are there to be eye candy. they’re often violent and lighter on the story content (or with a story specifically geared towards men, like halo, which was a huge rousing success) and feature limited women/romance plot lines. they’ve typically got that instant-reward action hack-em-up/shooting gameplay and not very many puzzles, because they’re by design meant to be easy to get into so as not to scare away the new audience they were trying to court 

happily that definition has expanded somewhat and we now have the phenomenon of the little girls from previous guy games (emily kaldwin from dishonored, ellie from tlou) becoming the protags of sequels in their own right. and it’s not like guy games are all bad because i, A Woman, have enjoyed many guy games myself. shooting is satisfying gameplay and sometimes im just not in the Mood for big heavy romance arcs like u find in rpgs. technically mirror’s edge borders on being a guy game but it’s got a TON of well-rounded women in it including a female protag who isn’t just there for sex appeal. games including guy games have more characters of color now (not to point to mirror’s edge twice but LIIIKE it’s one of the best games ever made, so). “””guy games””” made in the 2010s are just more inclusive generally bc american devs figured out women like games and they spend money too, and so gradually the classic “guy game” genre is sort of merging into the more broad thing of just “american games” which is probably a good thing but has also been fascinating to watch in real time. ok lecture over ty everyone for attending

[cooltrainererika]

Alt-talia x Evillious Chronicles: The Key to Zorn (Part 1 v. 1)

Couldn’t come up with a better title. 

This is for Alternate Universe/AU, or Angst, it can qualify for both. 

Okay… so… holy hell. 

This is the longest fic I’ve ever written. And it isn’t even finished. 

I thought “Superbia” was long. But… I outdid myself. Over FORTY FREAKIN’ PAGES IN GOOGLE DOCS. And again, this is not finished, I’m splitting it so I at least have the hope of releasing something! With two routes! This is a novel, folks!

I’m probably going to repost this for the Christmas event since I want as much people to see them as possible. Because there are some Christmas elements here. So yeah, you can take this as an early Christmas fic too.

This will be a movie, folks. Grab a seat and some popcorn. 

Also, look, it’s goddamn Ludwig torment again! For the fourth time in the span of a month! And this might just be the most elaborate way I’ve tormented the poor guy yet. But I didn’t really have many options. 

So I wanted to enter Mirror Week, but in the main canons write in, Alt-talia and Hetalia Emblem, I haven’t come up with any use for 2Ps, and in the former case I can’t see how I could use them. 

However, there was one Alt-talia spin-off AU I had been thinking they would exist on; I didn’t know whether I wanted to release media to it so early, and due to a reason I will explain in a moment, I was reluctant to release media about it in general. But… I went with it. 

This is my Evillious Chronicles AU. Yes, an AU of an AU. What about that. 

Basically, the Evillious Chronicles is what started as a series of Vocaloid songs telling a much larger story; it has since ballooned into a vast, tangled network of light novels and other such media. It’s as confusing as it sounds. Some of you may have heard of the songs “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil”; those were the first songs to be released in that series. Those two songs weren’t self-contained, oh no. 

The thing is, for this AU I wanted to write just based on the seven sin songs (and Servant of Evil), with accompanying Hetaloid covers, and leave the rest of the story up to the audience. I’m still planning on that. However, I still wanted to enter the event, so here I am presenting a version of events for one of the arcs; however, it is merely the route that hews closest to Evillious canon from what I can gather of it. So yeah, NONE OF THIS IS HARD CANON. Especially since I wasn’t sure on the roles of some characters here. 

Also, if I somehow ever get to publishing my main Evillious x Hetalia fics sometime in the future; first of all, hi. But more importantly, please, I implore you, do not read this before reading The Muzzle of Ludwig. Especially the second half. I tried to avoid spoilers, but someone becomes extremely obvious with contextual clues. 

Also… it’s not like I wanted to write Ludwig torment again. But he was basically my only option, since he was the only one whose sin most likely overlaps with… well, it’ll become clear as this goes on. Ludwig’s story here is based on Nemesis Sudou’s story. Though since Nemesis and Ludwig are vastly different characters, there may be some plot holes, unfortunately. 

And THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: for those who have read none of my other works yet, Alt-talia has often vastly, vastly different characterizations. I based most of these characterizations off of their late 19th century to very early 20th century personalities in Alt-talia. Special OOC warning for the following characters: Austria, Hungary, and Prussia. Minor OOC warning for Germany. I used @askimperialludwig ‘s version of the character as a reference, along with my personal perception and research. may add more later. 

Also, credit to my friend @tomboyjessie13 , my Evillious consultant, for helping me through this!

I can’t let this be too long, since the fic is long already. Let’s go!

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(Also... people who read my fics, please reblog them. I work hard on them, and want many to see them!)

And since I forgot to add this above the cut; this canon is also one of the few times Nyotalia characters canonically exist as their own entity in my works, if not the only one so far. It’s kind of necessary, since otherwise it’ll turn into a complete sausagefest. However, as I have no set personality for them in main Alt-talia canon, I basically write them the same way as I would their male counterparts, with maybe some minor changes. I do have some ideas for Nyotalia characters in “what if” stories for main Alt-talia canon, but since this would be an Alt-talia spinoff, most of my theoretical audience would be there for the Alt-talia characters who appear in most Alt-talia media. Not to mention male stereotypes for countries are usually more fun anyway. However, in this universe two counterparts of the same character can co-exist. I try to avoid that though. 

Also, a character named “Arendt” is briefly mentioned; this is Brandenburg. He isn’t really that important though, and really I’ve barely fleshed him out, so that’s all you need to know.

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The Key To Zorn

In a certain continent, there was a forest.

A serene, peaceful forest, where inside one could almost feel mystical energy in the clear, unpolluted air.

Until, under the evening sky, a gunshot sounded.

Ludwig Beilschmidt, a boy of merely 8 with innocent, cornflower blue eyes, ran through the forest he knew so well, a basket of wild berries and herbs in his arms and a small sack over his back.

Soon, in his view, among the trees and wild cornflowers was the only place he had known all his life, the little wooden cottage he called home.

The boy immediately checked his old, somewhat rusted mailbox, a look of anxiousness on his face - one which immediately turned to disappointment upon finding there was nothing there.

He sighed.

“Nothing today either...”

He reached up somewhat, twisting the doorknob and opening the wooden door.

“I’m home!”

No one answered back.

As per usual.

He didn’t expect one anyway.

Ludwig went to the dining table, setting the basket and sack, as well as his small, old-model pistol, down on his side of the table. Inside the sack was a small rabbit; the poor little thing. He hoped it didn’t struggle for long after he had shot it.

He prepared dinner as he always did, the bubbling as the ingredients stewed the only sounds other than the cries of the wildlife outside.

And he ate in silence by the light of the lamp, staring at the empty, vacant other side of the table, the light of the sun dim and faint.

“Mutter, is it good?”

Nothing.

Ludwig sighed again, going back to shoving the stew into his mouth.

——-

Ludwig tucked himself into bed after a bath and a change of clothes, now in his old, almost too small pajamas, having finished the book in his hands an hour ago - while he had reread it and others several times already, it was a window into a world different from his, where friends supported each other and families told stories in front of the fire - but now that it was over, here he was, once again, stuck in loneliness, on his own, within the cold, dark walls of a small cabin.

Once again, it was quiet. All too quiet; except for the sounds of the forest.

Now as he had nothing to distract him, every rustling of the underbrush, every animal cry made him bristle. The forest was his comfort by day, almost a second mother, but by night, it was dark, feral. 

He pulled his blankets up to his face, curling up, shaking like a leaf. He felt any moment, a beast could break through the walls and tear him to shreds.

He missed his mother so much, oh how he missed her. Her harsh but protective voice, her calloused hands squeezing his wrists. He missed his onkel Arendt, who told him stories of the battles he and Mutter had been through.

She’s dead. She’s dead, accept it.

No, no she wasn’t.

She couldn’t be. She had to be alive.

She was too strong to die.

She would come back. She always came back. 

His mother wouldn’t want to see him like this anyway. He was being pathetic.

“Einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a deep breath. He was stronger than this. 

Imagining his mother was standing by his bed, staring at him with disapproval at his fearful behavior, finally his shivering started to lessen ever so slightly.

He needed to make it so that when she came home with another medal shining on her chest, she could come home to a son she could be proud of, after all.

“Good night.”

He said to no one in particular, as he let the faint moonlight be his comfort, finally closing his eyes.

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

A soothing, calming melody played in his mind; Ludwig didn’t know where he knew it from, but as it surrounded him in soft, almost familiar gentleness, the shivering stopped, his muscles loosened, and he was finally lured into the welcome embrace of sleep.

Lu li la la lu li la la la…

Lu li la la lu li la la la...

———-

“FIRE!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Birds flew away in massive numbers, disturbed by the sudden noise.

Ludwig blew the steam off his pistol, seeing that the bullets had all landed near-target. Almost there.

Not bothered by the recoil anymore, he lined up the shot again, swearing he would get it right this time.

Every two days he did this, before 10 sets of running, marching, and every parallel bar routine; this wasn’t how most children his age passed their time, willingly anyway, if the books he read were any indication, and surely he felt sorry for the animals who had to hear such things, as they were the closest things to friends he had. But it broke the silence. 

And most of all, he could almost sense his mother beside him during these practice drills; he could feel her hands on his arms guiding him in his aim, and hear her voice shouting in tandem with him as he shouted “FIRE!”. In fact, sometimes he swore she actually was there, by his side.

He took a deep breath and aimed again.

“FIRE!”

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

When he came home, he once again saw a basket of supplies.

They always puzzled him. They came at such random, unpredictable intervals, filled with food, a few bottles of milk, several cartridges of bullets, and even occasionally a book, toy, bar of soap, or other extra, but by the time he found them no one was ever there.

He should be grateful. Though he wished someone would explain to him.

Oh well.

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

Days passed, then months.

Once again, on the night of his 9th birthday, Ludwig laid alone, the weak moonlight unable to brighten his gradually deepening pit of despair.

The silence was maddening. He craved for any touch, for any warmth of another person, for anything. But even that simple wish was too much to ask.

He bunched up the worn blanket, the cold, frigid winter air seeping into the cabin.

Every day, he wondered if he was slowly going mad. 

Holding a cornflower and his mother’s black cross necklace to his chest, looked out into the moon, to the night sky peeking from a clearing in the trees.

A star shot through the night sky, and Ludwig was quick to make his wish.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

She had always told him that believing in such things was foolish.

But what was the pain in hanging onto the little light he could find?

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

Now’s your time.

Alright. I’m going in. See you. 

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

One cold, chilling day, towards the final days of the year he turned 9, Ludwig stepped outside to check his mailbox again.

Snow lightly dusted the ground, softly landing on his old, worn coat.

He had checked his homemade calendar; Sancbruma. Such a lovely holiday. But now, just yet another cold, freezing, lonely day. Oh well. He had known Pater Natalis wasn’t real for years to need confirmation.

But this day, after creaking the old thing open, he found something.

His heart almost stopped.

Immediately, he ripped the envelope often, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath quickening, and he immediately glued his focus to the words, written specially to be understandable to a child.

Ludwig Beilshmidt, we are sorry to inform you that…

Time seemed to stop. He swore his heart stopped.

Dread shot through his body like lightning.

He read on, clinging onto the little hope that still remained with him all those years as they escaped from him, flying away as he fell deeper.

…

…

Tears fell from his face.

She was gone. 

She was really gone.

Finally, suppressed despair replaced dread, filling every corner of his mind and body, every nerve, every muscle. 

But mixed with it, and eventually almost overpowering it in the concoction of emotion, was wrath. 

Pure, unbridled wrath.

He tore the paper and screamed, his screams piercing the serene forest air.

Tears fell from his eyes like a burst dam as he cried into his hands, cursing whoever had killed her, her fate, the cruelty of the gods.

If only he could get his hands on whatever bastard killed her, he would strangle them, he would gouge out their eyes, he would shoot them in the leg and watch them bleed to death, how dare they take his mother away!

He had always been told the best came to those who were patient.

He was proven wrong that day.

All those years, waiting, hoping, hoping for nothing.

Nothing. 

His mother was never going to come back. Ever. 

Grief, anger, and sadness gripped his small frame as he shook, on the ground, his young brain besieged with intense emotions and reality, dreaded, painful reality.

Don’t cry. How pathetic. Is that how I raised you?

Ludwig forced himself to take deep breaths, desperately fighting his tears and holding back the flow of the concoction of emotions any further. 

No, his mother wouldn’t want to see him like this. He couldn’t let her be honored like this.

“Einz, zwei, drei, einz, zwei, drei...”

He took a breath with every word, forcing his emotions back and attempting to lock them away, until finally once again he could think somewhat coherently.

It was here he noticed something wet poking his hand.

There was something in front of him.

A dog.

A medium-large dog with pointy, perky ears and snout; a magnificent, beautiful coal-black Fernirhund, its bright, intelligent eyes a rare violet. 

He didn’t notice it before in his panic, but now the dominant emotion in his mind was confusion.

As he sniffled, the dog nudged him again with its nose, looking up at him with its soulful eyes.

“...A dog?”

The dog stared at him back.

Ludwig’s mind immediately jumped back to the beginning of the year.

I hope Mutter will answer my letters soon.

“Are… are you from my Mutter?”

Silence.

Immediately, he embraced the dog, making it yelp, crying into its fur.

“It’s adorable! I love it Mutter! Thank you!”

It let him cry into its fur, as the boy’s short arms wrapped around it in the first living thing it had embraced, nay, touched, in years.

He was actually holding something living. Oh, it had been so long. Oh so long.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold life in his arms, to feel its warmth, to feel its gentle rising and falling, to hear the subtle sounds of another’s breath in his ears.

For the first time in years, despite the unforgiving cold of the winter morning air, warmth reached Ludwig’s heart, happiness brewing with and overpowering now subdued despair and rage.

<Sure… Whatever makes you happy, kid.>

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

“Oy vey… I was too late again.

...This world is fucked.”

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

Ludwig put a saucer of stew in front of the dog, which surely enough it soon started lapping up.

“It’s good right? What should I call you… I’ll have to give you a name.”

He stared at the dog, deep in thought.

“Oh, I know… Schwarzchen!”

The dog looked at him.

“You like it? Then Schwarzchen it is!”

<...I didn’t say anything. ’Blackie’? You cannot be serious.>

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

That night was different from usual.

Ludwig nestled his head in Schwarzchen’s fur, holding onto him like a stuffed animal, running his fingers through his soft coat. It had seemed reluctant at first, clearly not used to such close contact but as Ludwig begged it to stay, as if it understood him, it decided to stay with him. 

The dog’s breathing neutralized the deafening silence he had gotten so used to, its warmth protecting his small body from the frosty air.

It was like heaven.

Oh, he almost forgot something.

He took his mother’s necklace from his bedside table, putting it around the dog’s neck like a collar.

“There. Perfect. It suits you.”

He barked.

“Good night, Schwarzchen.”

That night, sleep came to Ludwig easier than usual, as he was surrounded by his new companion’s soft breathing and warm fur.

----------

“Hallo. Kid. Wake up.”

Ludwig awoke, his eyes fluttering open.

Once his eyes focused, he almost yelped in shock.

He was somewhere he didn’t recognize, some formless void; Schwarzchen was nowhere to be seen, nor were the walls of his cabin or even his forest, all that remained was his bed.

In front of him was a man clad in what seemed to be a long white lab coat and some type of mantle, or at least Ludwig assumed, his clothing style almost resembling that in illustrations in one of his novels, ostensibly chronicling ancient legends; but not just any man. 

A man who looked almost exactly like how one would imagine Ludwig would look like when he was older, save for his unnatural purple, almost magenta eyes that shined with a calculating glint, a scar under his left.

“H… hallo?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I… Who are you?”

The man smiled at him softly; despite his harsh features, it calmed some of Ludwig’s nerves, just a little.

“That isn’t important. But you’re lonely, right? And it’s causing you pain, yes?”

His voice was deep; much lower than Arendt’s, the only other reference he had for an adult man, surprising Ludwig a bit.

The boy nodded.

The man dug into one of his pockets, taking out a key.

“Here. I’ll be your friend; all you have to do is take the other end of this key, and you won’t feel any of that loneliness and pain any more…”

Tentatively, Ludwig took it.

The boy gasped as he suddenly felt something overwhelming and indescribable other than energy blitz between him and the strange man through the key; it was painless, in fact almost manic energy, bright lights flashing in his vision.

Ludwig woke up.

The boy laid there, his eyes wide, his mind mulling over what he had just seen.

“A dream… it was a dream… Who was that man?”

He turned, and there Schwarzchen was. 

“Never mind… Good morning, Schwarzchen.”

<Are you really going with that name?>

Ludwig blinked.

“...Did you just…”

<I thought children were supposed to be creative?>

Ludwig’s eyes widened. He held his head; it seemed to be coming from within his head, like a thought, instead of from his ears.

“...Schwarzchen? Is that you?”

<Yes, this is the dog. And I have a name.>

Ludwig took a few seconds to process the information.

“...What? ...Mein Gott, I’ve really gone crazy…”

<No. This is real. I’m speaking to you through something called telepathy. Speaking to you through your mind. I could explain all the intricate details but it would probably short-circuit your child brain.>

“I know what it is. But it’s just like in the stories! Wow! I didn’t know they really happened!”

<Well you could say that.>

Ludwig sat up on the side of his bed.

“You keep insulting my naming sense. So what is your name?”

“Schwarzchen” looked him directly in the eyes.

<Well, well, it’s the same as yours, funnily enough. Ludwig.>

“We have the same name? What a coincidence.”

 <But I know that is confusing. Just call me Lutz. That is what everyone calls me.>

“Alright… Lutz it is. ...I liked ‘Schwarzchen’ though.”

<...Whatever, kid.>

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

Like that, Ludwig and Lutz became friends. 

His 10th birthday had been the best birthday he had in years, even if it was just the two of them.

Over time, Lutz taught the boy how to use telepathy; and without him saying a word, he became a third hand to him.

...Sometimes. Other times, the dog merely yawned, telling him to “Do it on his own.”

Ludwig wondered if all dogs were like this. But even then, he didn’t mind. Even if Lutz was a cold, snarky jerk sometimes, it didn’t matter.

Every day, they ate together, went hunting together, bathed together, and at the end of the day slept together.

He could almost forget his loneliness, and the fact that his mother would never return.

Almost. 

——————

As Ludwig braced himself on his bed, he once again counted his breaths. 

The wrath he felt that day; it was coming back. From within, it seemed to spread to his entire body, to the point it was unbearable. 

He would never forget that pain. He couldn’t. But mindless rage was for the foolish. 

He wouldn’t forget. But he would remember, silently. 

When he looked to Lutz, Lutz didn’t seem afraid at all. He merely stared at him with those violet eyes. 

Ludwig embraced Lutz, not letting go. 

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

Lutz stared at the young boy as he slept, his chest rising and falling.

<How cute.>

It was easy.

A bit too easy.

What did he expect from a child though.

<Still, would have liked a bit more of a challenge.

Oh well. Sleep tight, kid.

...Though why do you have to use me as a pillow?>

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

Over the next year, Ludwig grew. Now on the cusp of puberty, he became stronger, he could run faster and further, and he could shoot with more and more accuracy.

On the morning of his 11th birthday, Lutz presented him with a query.

<Kid.>

“Huh? What is it, Lutz?”

<Now that you know that your mother isn’t coming home…>

Ludwig froze.

<Don’t cry on me.>

“I wasn’t going to”

<Yes, yes. In anyway, since you know you mother isn’t coming home, what’s the point staying in this place anymore?>

The boy pondered it.

<I’m a dog and even I think it’s pointless waiting for someone if they’re clearly dead. Well maybe I’m not the one to talk here.>

He was right.

“But… This is all I have ever known.”

<Don’t worry about it. You’re smart. I think. You should find out what to do soon enough.>

“...Jawohl. I don’t know what my purpose is being here forever too… It’s not like this place will disappear either. And it’s not what Mutter would want me to do. ...We’re leaving tonight.”

————-

Ludwig opened his drawer.

There it was; the notice he had torn up all those years ago. 

Why did he still have it? 

Just so he would never forget, probably.

Ludwig sealed the notice into a pouch before the rage became too much to bear, stuffing it into his bag, going to fetch his clothing. He had a sailor suit saved up for “special occasions”; he hoped he hadn’t outgrown it already. 

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

Ludwig looked behind his back one last time to the small cabin, the cornflowers, the trees he had known for his entire 11 years of living. 

It felt so odd to know he would be away from it. 

He quickly ran back, Lutz grumbling behind him, and picked a few flowers, pressing them between the pages of a book. 

<Are you done now?>

“Jawohl. Coming, coming!”

-----------

When Ludwig entered the capital, the little truly important belongings he had on his and Lutz’s backs, he was in awe.

It bustled with energy, with people, rickety, clanking automobiles and trolleys spewing steam or smoke that made him cough if he went to close, radio commercials resounding through the air, as well as delicious smells the likes of which he hadn’t known in years, some never before, but mixed in with the inexplicable smell of whatever was coming out of the automobiles. 

Ludwig wasn’t quite sure whether he liked it or disliked it, but most accurately he would describe it as a strange mix of the two; but more than anything, everything was so new.

He marveled at the sight of a trolley passing by, when he heard honking behind him. 

“Get out of the way brat!”

Ludwig stepped back, hopping back to the sidewalk, and an automobile clunked on, its driver looking at him irritated.

But its movements fascinated him, how the machine seemed to move magically, how it seemed to have a life of its own.

“...Where should I even start?”

<Well? Do you have any relatives?>

“Not that I know of.”

Lutz pointed in the direction of some other children, in a way much like how a pointer or setter dog would.

<You could try living on the streets like them for a few days. See where it gets you.>

“...Oh.”

Ludwig sighed. He may as well. 

————-

“Shoo! Shoo!”

“No money? We aren’t a charity, sorry.”

“Outta the way!”

————-

Ludwig slept in an alley that night, huddled in his old blanket, snuggling against Lutz, who had gotten used to the close contact years ago. 

He was so tired. He just remembered he hadn’t slept for an entire day, and it was finally catching up to him. 

He had gotten some attention due to being cleaner-looking than the rest, though Lutz was far more charming in their eyes. But more often than not, the overwhelming message in the air was clear; he wasn’t welcome here. 

“Lutz?”

Lutz looked up. 

<What is it, kid?>

“Why didn’t you tell me I needed money for everything?”

<Didn’t you read about it?>

“I didn’t know it was this necessary.”

<I can’t hold your hand all the time.>

“...Lutz?”

<...What now?>

“There’s so many people here. But I still feel so alone.”

<Well at least you got some to get through the night. Don’t be choosy.>

“Jawohl… Good night.”

————

Seeing no reason not to, Ludwig had decided to explore the city a bit more the next morning, after having helped himself and Lutz to a piece of bread and some beef jerky he had bought, plus the miscellaneous items he had been given the day before.  

After a long while of walking, taking in the different sights, from the historical landmarks and building to new projects, some even in the midst of being built, neatly separated or together, working in at times harmonious and at times chaotic tandem. Every so often he saw stray animals run about. After some time he started to see schoolchildren, some about his age, run to school with their friends, adults dressed in suits on their way to work. 

Until, Ludwig started to feel the air change. 

It felt somewhat... sticky? The breeze seemed stronger. And inexplicably salty. 

For he had reached the city harbor. Birds, they were called seagulls he believed, cawed above. Fishermen had far since left the dock, and in the distance, trade ships were being loaded to go who knows where. And they were floating on a vast, open field of water, water, nothing but water.

“Lutz... is this...”

<The ocean? What, you don’t even know what the ocean is?>

He had heard his mother’s stories about the ocean; while she had never been a woman of the seas per se, she was in the army, not the navy after all, he had heard her describe growing up near it. It was odd thinking that she, too, had been a child once like him.

This ocean was to her like the forest was to him, quite possibly.

She had also spoken about a rumor; a rumor that a wish put into a bottle and cast into the sea would, eventually, be granted. She had dismissed it as childish of course. And she did say that she much preferred the land after growing up.

Though according to Onkel Arendt, she would at times, despite this, just go to her childhood home, staring out into the eternal ocean.  

He wondered what she had thought as her red eyes stared out into the distant horizon, the salty breeze flowing through her silver-white hair.

It was strange, imagining his mother like that. The sea was so free, almost careless; the complete opposite of her. But maybe that was exactly what drew her to it.

Ludwig started running along the dock, letting Lutz chase him, the briny wind rushing past him and through his hair. People had started to come to swim, and the city was starting to fully come to life. 

Even if life was hard, at least he had some way of entertaining himself when everything was so brand new. 

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

One day, a duo of teenagers spotted Ludwig.

And being the thugs they were, Ludwig suddenly found himself in confrontation with two kids much larger, older, and stronger than he; even if Ludwig was tougher than most 11-year-olds, these two seemed to be about 14 at least, if not, and probably, 15.

“Hey street rat, where’s your mutti?!”

Ludwig tried not to pay them any heed, even if he bristled at the rude words. 

“...What business do you have with me?”

The shorter one grabbed him by the collar. 

“I asked you a question, shorty!”

After the initial shock and fear, Ludwig felt a flash of anger. His fists clenched as he tried to struggle his way out. And worst of all was that he couldn’t do anything. 

<Kid. Listen.>

“What?!”

<Listen to me. Tell me to “Intimidate”. Now. Don’t ask questions.>

“Of course! ...Intimidate, Lutz!”

————-

Ludwig stood there, dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed, as the teenagers ran away, screaming “DEMON DOG! DEMON DOG!”.

And there Lutz was, looking terribly bored, as if nothing had happened. 

“How… how…”

<I’m a Very Amazing Dog, you could say.>

————

A week passed; Ludwig counted, as he always valued timekeeping, no matter what. The other street children left him alone, eyeing him strangely. Occasionally, he heard extortionists threatening some unfortunate soul. 

That was when, however, Lutz told him something vital. 

<Hey. Have you ever considered asking the police if you have any relatives?>

Ludwig looked at the dog, puzzled.

“What?”

Lutz pointed at a building.

<There. It says “POLIZEI”. Can’t you read?>

“...Why? Won’t they throw me in jail or something?”

<Actually they have records too. They might have your mother’s family on file.> 

Lutz looked up to see Ludwig’s dumbfounded face staring back at him. 

“...Why didn’t you tell me that, you mutt?!”

<Thought it would be interesting to observe you. Also don’t be too loud. Everyone will think you’re a crazy person. 

Ludwig took a look around, and indeed there were some passerbys staring at him. 

Ludwig loudly sighed, his palm on his face. 

“...Fine. Thanks anyway.”

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

“Your name?”

“Ludwig Beilshmidt.”

The officers looked at him for a few seconds.

“...As in Julia Beilshmidt? General Julia Beilshmidt?”

“Jawohl.”

They were in shock.

“...Excuse me? Is something wrong?”

“Erm… We apologize. Ja.”

“Do I have any relatives? I need some place to stay.”

“...Ja. We will search immediately. Please wait here. But it may take a while.”

————-

“Hallo? Is this the police? Why must you be calling?”

“Well, you see, sir… It appears that a relative of yours has suddenly shown up out of nowhere. ...He claims to be Beilshmidt’s son.”

“...Mein Gott. Julchen did say she had a son… I knew she wasn’t the type who should be able to take care of a child. I will be there as soon as I can.”

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

<This is boring.>

“I know, Lutz. Shut up.”

Lutz yawned.

“He should be here soon-”

It was then that the door to the police station opened with just enough force to be noticeable without slamming. 

Standing there was a dark brown-haired gentleman with a large, curly cowlick, probably in his thirties, most likely affluent from his clothing.

“Excuse me, I hear there was someone waiting for me here?”

Ludwig stood up, and their eyes met.

“Hallo. ...You are Ludwig?”

He adjusted his glasses, then his tie.

“Ja?”

He looked him over.

“Ah, I can see some of the resemblance. Though you’re actually somewhat adorable, unlike her.”

“...Is that an insult against her?”

Realizing his mistake, the man cleared his throat.

“Ah, sorry.”

He outstretched his hand.

“I am Herr Roderich Edelmann. Your mother’s cousin. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you, but it is nice being able to see you with my own two eyes.”

Ludwig took the hand, shaking it. 

“Ludwig Beilshmidt. Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Then, suddenly, Roderich’s formal facade dropped and he pulled the boy into a hug.

“You’re so precious! You may call me Onkel Roderich! Don’t worry, we will take great care of you!”

Lutz looked on in amusement as Ludwig’s cries of shock became muffled in the man’s chest. 

Ludwig was flabbergasted. It had been so long since he had been hugged. He only could relive them in his memories, and they weren’t frequent, but here he was, feeling it yet again, surrounded by warmth; he didn’t know how to process it. 

But if there was one emotion he was certain about as the man smoothed his hair and cooed over him, it was that he felt loved.

————-

Ludwig held on tightly as the automobile rocked around them. Roderich didn’t seem to mind it whatsoever, but Ludwig had only heard of an automobile once, and had seen, much less ridden, none. Roderich was happy to make him comfortable next to him though, warning him whenever a bump or “pothole” was coming up. 

“I forgot to ask… what is that dog doing with you? A purebred Fenrir no less?”

Lutz was lazily sprawled out in the back seat behind them, his ears pricking somewhat at the mention of him. 

“Oh, that’s Lutz.”

“...Lutz? As in…”

“Jawohl.”

Roderich looked puzzled. 

“Erm… Mutter named him.”

Roderich huffed.

“Ah, Julchen, of course…”

“He was my last Sancbruma present from her before she died.”

Roderich quieted for a few seconds.

“Oh… I see. We will accommodate him too. Do not worry. ...Also, no need to ‘jawohl’ around me.”

“Jawo… ja.”

—————

Onkel Roderich was a renowned musician; he was a master of many instruments and even knew how to compose, but his main forte was the piano. He was sought after for his talents across the land.  

And he had the house to show it as well. 

“Welcome to your new home, Ludwig.”

Ludwig took it all in; the house was already larger than average compared to others in town, and as a boy who had grown up in a small log cabin all his life, it seemed especially enormous. 

A woman with long, light brown hair came up to them, looking from Roderich to Ludwig. 

“Ah, Erzsébet! This is my nephew, Ludwig. He will be staying with us from now on.”

Roderich bent his knees so he was at Ludwig’s level. 

“Ludwig, this is Erzsébet, my wife.”

“H… hallo. Nice to meet you, Tante Erzsébet.”

Ludwig outstretched his hand. 

The woman merely eyed him for a few seconds.

“Hallo. I guess.”

She said, gruffly, with a distinctly foreign accent.

Roderich sighed. 

“Erzsébet, why do you have to be like this?”

“Why do we have to take in this ratty-looking kid?”

Ludwig scowled. 

“Hey!”

Roderich held Ludwig closer, glaring at her. 

“Erzsébet! He’s a child! Have you no heart?!”

“Fine, fine.”

She shook his hand, roughly. 

“But the dog is cute though. And wow, a Fenrir?! Hallo, come here!”

Lutz merely yawned. 

Ludwig couldn’t help but snicker as an unamused frown crept across Erzsébet’s face. 

“...Whatever. Make yourself at home I guess.”

She walked off. 

“Prepare the bath and extra room for the boy! Come on now!”

Roderich commanded, and soon after servants bowed and quickly ran upstairs in single file. 

“Don’t mind my wife. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic to hear from you. But she will warm up to you eventually. Though… you are in need of new clothes, aren’t you?”

He gave the boy a once-over, making Ludwig look down to his old, beaten-up and washed out child-sized military uniform. 

“Sadly, we do not have any clothes your size as of now. I will have a servant hire the tailor immediately. Meanwhile I will order them to wash what you have now.”

<He’s awfully happy to see you, isn’t he?>

“Ja… he seems like a nice person.”

————

That might, Ludwig had the best dinner he had ever had. 

He could only marvel at the dishes in front of him; even those he had heard of before looked so refined. And there was so much of it! The variety of bread available was amazing.

But he couldn’t let himself forget his discipline. Even if it took all his willpower not to start gorging himself on everything like he had been possessed by some demon of gluttony. 

“Onkel, what is this?”

“A chocolate torte, you see. A type of cake.”

Ludwig remembered actually having a cake a grand total of once. He still remembered its sweetness so well and it was probably the best thing he ever had eaten. And then there were two other things he had only read about before. 

...And Lutz seemed unusually interested in it.

He couldn’t blame him though, it’s aroma was mesmerizing to Ludwig’s senses.

“Chocolate? Is that what the brown is?”

“You have never had chocolate before?! Mein Gott, Julchen, What have you done?”

Ludwig was quick to take a bite, and he froze. 

The mellow, deep sweetness melted on his tongue, spreading throughout his mouth in such an indescribably perfect way, a tinge of bitterness within that instead of detracting from the experience, somehow harmonized with the sweetness in such a heavenly way. 

“...Ludwig?”

“...It’s amazing.”

Roderich seemed somewhat amused by how floored the boy was. 

“Even your mother was quite a fan.”

<Hey, hey. Kid.>

Ludwig was surprised by the unusual agitation in Lutz’s thoughts. He didn’t think he had ever heard anything like it before. 

“Lutz? What is-“

<I need it. Now. Don’t ask questions!>

Ludwig almost panicked, giving a piece to the impatient dog. 

“Ludwig!”

“I… erm… It was unfair to have it to myself!”

“...Wasn’t chocolate poisonous to dogs?”

Erzsébet questioned. 

“Wait wha-“

<Don’t worry. ... Ahh, bliss...>

Ludwig smiled nervously. 

“He’ll be fine.”

The couple just stared, confused. 

“Erm…”

“Trust me! I know him well. ...Can I have more? Please?”

“Absolutely.”

His face absolutely lit up at that, and in the corner of his vision Ludwig saw quite possibly the most genuine expression of joy he had seen from Lutz in all the time he knew him. 

“Why’s it that everyone in your family loves chocolate so much?”

Erzsébet asked as her husband took another piece. 

“Why don’t you is the better question.”

“...Actually, yup, you two definitely are related. Leave some for me though!”

————

Roderich doted on the boy; he made sure he had the nicest clothes and the nicest food that he could afford. 

He had made sure the room was in absolute best condition, that his pillows were always fluffed and bed always made, even if Ludwig insisted he wanted to do it on his own. 

He taught him everything about the basics of civilization, how to read more complex sentences, how to play the piano and the violin, even how to dance. He took him with him to work, across the city and sometimes even country to places he had at best read about and to meet so many new people.

His next Sanctbruma and 12th birthday were the most extravagant he had ever had. 

Yet…

Yet something was missing. 

Despite the man’s kindness, he felt something wasn’t right. Ludwig couldn’t put a finger on what, and he felt awful about it to be sure; he did so much for him, what more could a boy ask for?

But yet…

Sure, Erzsébet never completely warmed up to him; even if she wasn’t as cold to him, according to Lutz she was merely tolerating him. And the same was true for many of the servants. 

But that didn’t change the fact that Roderich himself was nothing but loving towards him. Even if he had curfews and other such rules, he never had trouble with rules. His mother raised him to obey rules. And while he was often busy, he still tried his best to spend time with him.

Finally, he actually had someone who resembled a parent after all those years. He should have been thankful. 

But he wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

Someone had to be doing something wrong. 

At times, he still lay awake at night, those lonely days and nights and that fateful Sanctbruma playing back in his mind; as well as the accompanying emotions of pure hatred and wrath. 

Once, Roderich has entered the room at an inopportune time to Ludwig curled up in his bed, seething, growling at him to leave him alone. 

While he didn’t say anything about it at dinner, it was obvious he was disturbed by it. 

“...Lutz. Why can’t I be happy? I still feel alone, but I don’t even know why.”

<Maybe you’ve been alone for too long. You’re past the point of return, kid. Maybe you should come to peace with it.>

“At least I have you.”

<Whatever.>

———

“Ludwig.”

“Ja, Onkel Roderich?”

The man sighed.

“It has been over a year since you started living with us. What is it with your standoffish behavior? Is something wrong? I will listen to it.”

“...I just can’t, Onkel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I… Something just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why.”

The man looked so disappointed.

“I try my best to make you happy, Ludwig. I really do. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to satisfy your needs.”

“Nein. It isn’t that.”

Roderich shook his head.

“As I was saying… the chords for this piece are…”

—————

Ludwig continued to do his practice drills whenever possible, even if they had taken a different shape; makeshift targets became proper shooting galleries, improvised exercises became possible using an open space between buildings and proper equipment. And as he grew more and more by the day, his physical abilities took leaps and bounds above what he had been capable of before. He just wished he could go more than weekly. At first, Roderich objected, but it didn’t take long for him to cave in. 

After all, he had to keep himself in shape, especially as he now had access to all the candy and chocolate that could be plausibly afforded. 

After a while, Roderich started to continuously try to ask him to consider other options in this weekly time slot. He was never too forceful, however. And after a while, as Ludwig expressed his clear annoyance, it finally ceased just as it had begun. 

There was another episode that irked Ludwig.

One night, as he went to get a glass of water, he had seen Roderich, seemingly sneaking away from his room. 

“...Onkel?”

The man bristled as soon as he turned on the lights. 

“Erm… Ludwig, I didn’t expect you to be awake..

Then, Ludwig saw it. 

In his hands was his mother’s necklace. 

“...What are you doing with Mutter’s necklace?”

He immediately stuffed it inside his pocket and turned around, a fake smile on his face. 

“What necklace, my dear Ludwig?”

“I know you’re hiding it.”

The man sighed, taking it back out again. 

“I… I wanted to put it in a place it will be safer in.”

Ludwig tried not to grill him further, even as he felt something fueled by doubt start to boil within him. 

“I’m sure it will be safe with me. It’s been so for all the years I’ve had it. Can I have it back now?”

“...Ja.”

Ludwig swiftly took it back, going down to get his glass. He really needed one. 

“You could tell a servant to get it for you?”

“No. I prefer to do it on my own.”

When Ludwig had returned to his room, he had quite the things to say to Lutz. 

“Lutz. Why did you let him take it?”

<I was sleepy, kid. Why do you care about that thing so much?>

“It’s from Mutter. You should know. ...Lutz. If anything, protect this with your life.”

<Oh come on now.>

“I’m serious. It’ll be the last thing I ask of you.”

<Alright, alright. Whatever.>

“You aren’t sincere, are you?”

<What do you want from me? Good night.>

——————

One day, as Ludwig overheard some servants speaking to each other in hushed voices, glancing at him every so often. 

He was able to catch two things; “Miss Erzsébet” and “barren”.

He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. But for whatever reason he didn’t like the sound of it. 

That night, after some shouting, once again Roderich stormed out of the master bedroom, telling Erzsébet to “Get a hold of yourself already, you indecipherable woman!”, to his own separate room, as Erzsébet shouted some words back that sounded really angry and probably inappropriate. 

<There goes the lovely couple.>

Lutz thought, as Ludwig tried to sleep. Lutz, meanwhile, had no trouble. 

————

13-year-old Ludwig stood outside of the bar, alongside Lutz, as always, and other members of his gang. 

It was in a seedy, rough part of town. And it was where their rival gang frequented most often. 

It wasn’t the most well-to-do of bars, to say the least; as soon as they entered, the air smelt pungently of alcohol, and ambiently of various nasties. 

<Ergh. Try coming here as a dog.>

They immediately saw their target; the offending gang’s leader. 

Their leader went up to confront her rival, fists clearly ready to fly. 

“Hey! We know ya killed him!”

“Who?”

The rival boss said, with a cheeky grin. 

“Ya know who!”

The two continued to escalate their argument, until they became close to blows.

“Enough yammerin’! Get ‘em, boys n’ girls!”

Suddenly, they were grabbed by the rival gang bangers, including Ludwig, who held back a yelp. 

“We didn’t kill one of yer ratpack, asshole! Now get out or we’re gonna force ya out!”

“...You better tell us.”

Ludwig said, tersely, utilizing his now lowering voice and copying his mother’s tone. 

The rival boss laughed.

“Or what, kid? What are ya gonna do, huh? Man your recruiting standards have gone down!”

His boss smirked. 

“Ya better listen to the kid.”

“Or what?”

They laughed uproariously. 

“Lutz. Restrain.”

Their laughing instantly stopped, their faces going sheet white, all the other bar patrons, the bartender, and staff turning to gawk. 

For they bore witness to the gang boss being pinned down, on the floor, between the claws of a giant, terrifying hellhound, its eyes glowing, its fangs bared, its breath in the unfortunate gangster’s terrified face. 

Ludwig walked up to the rival boss with measured steps, the gangsters holding him having let go out of sheer terror, the thumping of his feet the only sounds other than his companion’s breathing and the squeaks and sputtering from bystanders and rival gangsters, and pulled out his old pistol, aiming it at the thug’s head, glaring daggers so sharp that they could gouge eyes out. 

Show your enemy no mercy.

Once again, he thought he felt his mother voice in his ear. 

“Tell us the truth.”

The rival boss sputtered, shaking like a leaf, looking awfully smaller than the much younger boy. 

“We… we… d-d-di…”

Ludwig cocked his pistol.

“Speak in a real language!”

The rival boss flinched, and the rest of the rival gang huddled, terrified. 

“W-we didn’t do anything! I-I swear! I swear!”

Ludwig lowered his pistol slightly. 

“...Really?”

“J-ja! I swear! I swear by both the Heavenly and Hellish Yards! P-p-please let me go, Sir!”

“...Alright. Lutz, release.”

The dog shrank back down to size, returning to his original, fluffy, cute self. 

His boss grumbled. 

“Whoop. That was pointless. Lud, let’s get outta this dump.”

They turned to leave, the other people in the bar still staring at them. 

“W-Wait.”

Ludwig and his boss turned back to the humiliated rival boss. 

“We might’ve not killed ‘im. But I-I have a good idea who might’ve.”

———-

“So, Lud. Good job today. We’ve got ourselves a lead.”

“Jawohl.”

Their boss patted Ludwig on the head and gave the group a once-over. 

“Ok. You’re all dismissed.”

Ludwig was quick to leave, the others staring after him.

“What’s it with him? I swear, it’s like he doesn’t wanna be associated with us.”

“He said something about a curfew.”

“Really? Kid still follows curfews? What is he, 10?”

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

When Ludwig came back, Roderich was waiting for him. 

“Ludwig.”

“Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich’s expression was serious and stern. 

“...What have you been doing?”

“What do you mean, Onkel Roderich?”

Roderich held Ludwig’s shoulders. 

“Let me state this plainly.”

He took a deep breath. 

“You’re involved in gang activity, aren’t you?”

 Ludwig was in shock.

“How…”

Roderich shook his head, his hand on his forehead. 

“Ludwig. I am sure even Julchen taught you to obey rules.”

“I… I don’t want to depend on you for everything. I feel like a leech.”

Roderich was shocked.

“You’re only 13, Ludwig! It is alright! It isn’t worth putting yourself at risk like this!”

“I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Roderich shook his head.

“Don’t say that. You could deliver newspapers, or use those piano skills I taught you-“

“And they’re my friends.”

“Friends?! I care for you, why do you need them?! Do you even know any of their names?!”

“...” 

“You’re going to get into trouble eventually, young man.”

“I… I know!”

Roderich flinched. 

Ludwig looked down and stormed back into the house, Lutz running behind him, into his room, throwing himself onto his bed. 

“Hmph, teenagers...”

Erzsébet mumbled. 

—————-

“Ludwig?”

Roderich opened the door to Ludwig’s room that night, peeking in.

Ludwig couldn’t bare to look him in the eye. 

“I’m sorry.”

Roderich sighed.

“Is it because I’m not Julchen?”

The boy felt a pang of guilt. 

“I’m sorry! I don’t hate you, I’m thankful for what you’ve done, and-”

“I see. Just try to forget about her, alright?”

Ludwig froze. He felt like someone had stabbed his heart. 

“But…”

“I do so much for you. I give you everything. What was it that she had that I don’t? I’ve been a far better parent than that stone-hearted, cruel, cold-”

<Oh no. You’ve done it now.>

“DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT MY MUTTER!”

His voice cracked terribly, but he didn’t care. 

Roderich stumbled back, his face pale, horrified. 

Silence. 

“Ludwig… I’m sorry.”

Ludwig buried his face into his pillows. 

“...I’ll tell the servants to bring you dinner. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Leave me alone!”

“...I’m happy with any path you want to take. Just please stay safe.”

Roderich sighed and closed the door. 

From that day on, Roderich started informing Ludwig of where police may find him, and locations of stations across the city. Anything for his safety, he had said. 

But from that day on Ludwig knew; he knew that his suspicions were true, that all this time he was trying to make him forget about his mother. He couldn’t let that happen. It was only confirmation when he heard him brutally disparage her one night in a drunken stupor during one of his binge-drinking sessions.

Once again, Ludwig could trust no one.

And once again, wrath simmered within him.

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

Their boss summoned Ludwig and the rest of the gang to a gathering; to sort out their clues, they had said. 

Ludwig was appreciated for his abilities; but outside of the action, he sat somewhat removed from the rest. He couldn’t connect with them much either. 

His mother had despised lawbreakers; “scum”, “rats”, she would call them. If she knew what he was doing now, she would have caned his palms until they were raw and bleeding. She would have told him he was better than this. He never would have imagined he could stoop this low too. After all, he was his mother’s only son. He should have been destined for greatness.

Quite honestly, he didn’t fully understand what he was doing here either. How did he even get here? Was it just a business affair? Were they really his friends? 

Maybe it was because this was the closest thing to military service he could find. Even if it were on the other side of the law. 

A girl a year or so older than him, the second youngest in the gang, came up to him attempting to speak to him. Ludwig hesitated, but in the end continued to be fascinated with the clues they had and Lutz. 

“Hey give up on Herr Stick-In-The-Mud already! Bet he’s never even kissed a girl!”

A gangster said, using the nickname they often used when ribbing him.

“What’s with him? He to good for us?” One of them muttered when Ludwig refused a drink.  

“Ja. Imagine being one of us and caring about drinking ages. Never can understand Herr Stick-In-The-Mud.”

“Ja. Where was he raised, His Majesty’s Elite Imperial Barracks?”

“Hey, hey, did you hear that Boss might have the hots for him too?”

“Why don’t you fuckwits shut the fuck up?” Their boss barked at the last one. “The kid’s basically an infant!”

<You’re the most rule-bound gangster I’ve ever seen.>

“Why do they treat it as a bad thing?”

<You’re the one who joined a street gang, genius. They’ve got different rules.>

Ludwig looked at the bottle of cheap moonshine he had been offered again, sighed, and took a gulp. 

He immediately gagged. 

The last time he’d had booze was when Roderich had allowed him to try beer, and even then he had basically diluted half of it with water and it definitely didn’t taste like... whatever this bottle of horse urine was. 

“Ack! This is awful! ...I did it, are you happy now?”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Doesn’t count! He gagged!”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“Let’s get back on topic. We are discussing the murder of a fellow comrade. This is no time for inane chatter.”

Finally, the air became solemn.

“Ja, reasonable, I guess…”

“Now, onto the information Scout 2 gathered...”

—————-

Ludwig, more than anything, considered himself a logical person. 

He and his mother both despised vagueness. It seemed pointless, really, all the dancing around the true meaning of your words in the name of “politeness”. While apparently many in this part of the continent were considered similarly blunt and practical, it seemed even then he was exceptional. 

So his own emotional turmoil, how he could never seem to explain himself, frustrated him more than anyone else. It angered him. 

But one thing he knew for sure was that he looked forward to stopping by the library on the way home. Thank goodness Roderich had taught him to read to a level more appropriate for his age; it was difficult at first, but he was also fortunately a fast learner. 

He always had taken a fascination with the sciences. They were at first glance unpredictable, but once broken down and observed, logical. They made sense, they were rational. Recently, he started finding them more investing than fiction, in fact. And his new reading skills finally made the higher levels of it beyond simplistic drawings attempting to explain the laws of physics and magic accessible.

Which was why today he sat outside the library in his usual spot, looking through a medical encyclopedia, munching on one of many bars of dark chocolate and a small loaf of bread.

Lutz licked up pieces of chocolate Ludwig had given him, peeking from under him.

“HERS?”

<Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome.>

Ludwig looked to Lutz in shock. 

<A rare genetic, psychiatric disorder with no known cause. Those afflicted by Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome, a Hereditary Evil Raiser, or HER, is said to be at their core an incarnation of malice, "programmed" to destroy the gods, everything they created and everything related to them. Therefore, as a natural prerequisite, they typically show extreme cruelty and having the compulsion to increase their own kind and ensure the continuation of their "mission" to spread malice by any means necessary, taking immense pleasure in doing so. Currently there is no known cure, though in high-functioning individuals it may be managed, and manifest in lesser ways.>

“How…”

<I have my ways.>

“Though… Hereditary Evil Raiser Syndrome? Who names this stuff?”

<Hey. They probably had their reasons.>

“Why do you care? Did you come up with it?”

<Maybe. Plus, that’s rich coming from the kid who literally named me “Blackie”.>

Ludwig sighed. 

“I... Fine. And wait... are you reading with me?”

<Yeah, I can read. I never told you?>

Ludwig continue to stare at him.

“I... I just didn’t think you would...”

<Turn the page already. I already know this.>

"Maybe you could try reading a novel, Lutz?”

<Don’t care. Why should I care about what you flesh-apes think, much less fake ones? No one in the world knows what I’m thinking anyway.> 

Ludwig closed the encyclopedia. 

“You mean you feel that no one understands you, right?”

Lutz looked up, his ears erect.

His words struck him like a spark of lightning. 

“That makes two of us”

An awkward few moments passed. For once in his life, Lutz had nothing to retort back. 

Why was he so shocked? 

Ludwig blinked, confused. 

“Lutz? What’s wrong?”

<...Nothing.>

Lutz didn’t know what he had just felt. 

“That makes two of us”

It should have meant nothing, coming from this brat. 

But yet...

Whatever. It probably still meant nothing.

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

“We’ve got our guy! Rich bastard’s not gonna know what hit ‘im.”

Their boss said, confidently, gesturing to an assassin she had bought into their abandoned factory hideout. 

The assassin looked across the crowd of gangsters.

“So. Which one of you brats wants to come?”

“Actually, we’ve got a good clue already for who’s gonna be a good fit for this mission.”

Ludwig waited, anxiously. He would gladly take the job of avenging his fallen comrade, of course. 

“Ludwig!”

Ludwig stood to attention.

“...You’ll be providing nice clothes for us to blend in!”

Ludwig was speechless.

“How… Why?”

<Turns out you aren’t as tough as you thought. Better luck next time, kid.>

But when all had left, he went up to his boss. He needed answers.

“Why am I excluded?”

She looked at him as if he was stupid.

“I don’t think ‘Giant Enemy Dog’ is a viable weapon to use on a cruise ship.”

“But… I can shoot well too! You said I was a great marksman!”

“You’re good. Gotta say that. Still, don’t know about your skills in stealth yet. Can’t risk it. Now, see ya.”

Then, she abruptly cut him off and left.

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

Three days later, Ludwig and the rest of the gang not chosen for the plot awaited at the dock. 

Soon, they spotted the assassination party, coming towards them. 

One person was clearly missing. 

“Hey! Boss! ...Boss? And where’s...”

Her face was dire.

“Shot dead. ...He spotted us.”

“He saw all our faces. All of you are fucked. We’re all fucked.”

More silence.

“...WHAT?!”

Silence immediately gave way to panic.

Ludwig stood, frozen.

“How… Why…”

He clutched his head, overwhelmed.

“But it can’t…”

Emotions swirled inside the boy, overpowering all of his senses, all of his thoughts. 

What was going to happen to him? His friends? 

“No, no, no, nonononononono…”

<You know what to do, kid.>

Suddenly, he bolted. 

Along the harbor, he ran. 

Then, in a burst of emotion and without much thought, as if on instinct, he acted immediately as Lutz took a running leap into the sea. 

“SIC ‘EM, LUTZ!”

He didn’t even bother with the telepathy. 

Everyone could only look on in shock and horror as Lutz became an utter behemoth of a beast, seemingly not completely solid and with a godlike glow, his tail alone twice the size of the ship; to those who were watching from afar, it would have looked as if a demon dog had risen out of the sea itself. 

The ship was no match for the beast. Before anyone could fully comprehend what was going on, the ship had been sunk, every single person on it with it.

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

Ludwig walked back to the gang, who all stood staring at him, utterly horrified.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

“...Holy shit.”

Another turned to him, their eyes wide.

“...Lud? Did you just…”. 

The boy’s mind was blank. What could he even say?

He had killed all of them. Every single one of them.

But in the end...

“Mission accomplished…?”

“Am I trippin’?”

“Did we just witness a massacre?”

“...What the fuck?”

Ludwig took a deep breath.

“But we accomplished our mission. ...I did what I had to do.”

“Ja, but… Holy shit.”

“In anyway…”

Their boss cleared her throat.

“Let’s… Let’s go with this loot before the cops find out.”

The rest could only muster a “Ja” in unison.

Lutz trotted up to Ludwig, as unbothered as always.

“Lutz…”

<Just did as I was told. Don’t complain to me. Here.>

In the dog’s jaws was a doll; an eerily faceless, unusual, porcelain-ish doll of indeterminable gender.

<Here. I brought a present.>

“What is…”

<Have it. Since I can’t give you Sancbruma presents, here it is, months early.>

“It’s… it’s probably from a dead child, Lutz!”

<Don’t be ungrateful. Oh, and your buddies are waiting. You should go.>

“...Ja. I did what I had to do. We killed him. That’s all that should matter…”

————-

The news of the shipwreck was all over the radio. They had listened to it in their hideout, huddled around the device. 

“The perpetrator is currently unknown. However, many claim to have heard the voice of a boy or young man scream for the dog to attack…”

————-

When Ludwig came home, Roderich was standing in front of the door, in shock. 

“Ludwig…”

“Onkel?”

“...It was you wasn’t it?”

Ludwig looked down to his feet. 

“Lutz, specifically…”

<Hey.>

Roderich pulled him into a protective embrace. 

“You could have put yourself in so much danger! What if the police find out about you?! Don’t you dare do that again.”

"...”

Roderich pulled him in. 

“Now, come in before someone recognizes you.”

—————

Roderich rarely ever let him join the rest of the gang since that day; it was too dangerous, he had said. 

He went out in mostly in a dark hood for a disguise, at times without Lutz, for over the radio, one expert had identified the beast as “a black Fenrir transformed with powerful magic.” 

Later that year, a month before Sancbruma and two months before his 14th birthday, he had heard something unusual. 

<Ludwig… Ludwig…>

“Huh?”

Telepathy. But Lutz wasn’t with him; it came from the doll in his bag. 

Ever since that fateful day, Lutz had told him to carry it for some vague reason he couldn’t understand; his alleged simple explanation was “It’s amusing to see you carry around a girly doll like that.”

<Ludwig...>

He took the bag off his back and looked in.

<Someone is after you. You have been found out. You must run.>

“What?! How do you…”

<Do not ask. Please, please run… you must.> 

He slung it back over his shoulder.

“Lutz!”

He had to get Lutz. Now. 

But by the time he had gotten home, it was too late. 

“No, Sir, he is not here. You will not find him here…”

“There he is!”

Two figures stood with Roderich; two figures he didn’t recognize. 

A tanned, sturdy-looking man in a black suit, probably from the south of the continent, turned his attention away from Roderich, and pointed at Ludwig, gun in hand. 

“Ludwig Beildshmidt! You are under arrest!”

Ludwig’s eyes widened. Emotions and stress once again blitzed through him. 

“Lutz! Restrain! ...Lutz? Lutz?!”

His eyes darted next to the man to the other figure, what Ludwig thought to be a long-haired, somewhat tall foreign woman in eastern attire, her dark, raven hair pulled back into a ponytail; seemingly holding Lutz back without touching the dog, but clearly struggling. 

“Hurry!”

She shouted, in a foreign accent Ludwig didn’t recognize. 

Ludwig bolted. 

“Don’t you dare, you-“

“Herr Edelmann! Stop, or you will be arrested as well for interfering with police procedure!”

“Don’t touch him!”

The mysterious man finally shoved the weaker-looking man off him and gave chase, but Roderich grappling with him had given him some extra time...

“Ludwig! RUN! RUN!”

But before Ludwig could escape, all of a sudden he was blindsided by a third person, jumping on his back and pinning him down, the boy’s small body no match for the adult. 

“LUDWIG!”

“Let me go, LET ME GO!”

That was the last thing he remembered saying before he had been slammed on the back of the head. 

Ludwig blacked out.

To be continued in part 2...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author’s notes:

So I had to split this thing in half since it became much longer than I expected. Wow this is a monster. You will see the parts listed here after I write them. Parts, because this will have two different routes! Hopefully! Then again it seems like no one read this... 

Also, the scene with the sea is even more ambiguous “canon” in this already ambiguously “canon” story, but I wanted to write it in because I liked it, having seen the idea that Prussia has some kind of connection to the sea before and liking it. I wish I could find it now. I think Alt-Prussia would have grown up with the sea when he was younger, and while he would stay very strictly a land fighter (in fact the Prussian navy was never all that good, being mostly a merchant fleet. Even the German navy, while it did go through a growth period in the 1880s in competition with Britain I believe, by WWII at least their Kriegsmarine kind of sucked. It’s why the invasion of Britain never happened, their navy would have been laughably curbstomped), and I still associate England, Netherlands, or Portugal way more with the ocean, maybe the North Sea has some kind of soothing effect on him. 

Also adorable child!Germany is adorable. Why do I love this kid so much? Why is he so damn cute?!

[drsilverfish]

Re-Fridging Mary Winchester? The Ouroboros Narrative Swallows its Origin Story (14x18)

This is the last time we see Mary Winchester alive (14x17 Game Night). Her last words are, “Jack, please, listen to me!” and her last shot is this shaky close-up, straight to camera. 

(Image credit Wayward Winchester https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIbBibdvsaM )

Doesn’t it look as if she’s directly addressing the audience here, as if to say, “Hey, folks, pay close attention!”?

The “real” Mary is, like the title of the episode (Absence) absent in 14x18. 

Rowena says, after doing her locator spell, that Mary, “...is not on this earth.” We see ash that is supposedly hers, as Jack tries desperately to “resurrect” her. We learn Castiel has seen her soul in Heaven, but we do not see her, only the apparent door to her Heaven:

And the “body” Jack raises using Rowena’s necromancy spell? It is not Mary:

(Image credit Wayward Winchester:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ny7tLZC3nto )

Sam is very explicit about that. He says, “I talked to Rowena. She said she thinks that what Jack brought back, he just brought back a shell, a body, y’know, that it was empty, just a... replica, incapable of holding life.”

A replica, like... a doppleganger, a mirror-image?

The shot above, of her sons holding this shell, this replica-double, is laid out at a boundary, between grass and ash, between life and death, almost as if between one world and another (separated, perhaps, by a portal?).

You might have seen my posts already about 14x17 Game Night and 14x18 Absence, wherein I am suspicious (for various reasons) as to whether that is really the last we will see of Mary Winchester on the show.  Just as I am suspicious about Jack’s “Hallucifer” really just being a part of his own mind, because likewise, I highly doubt we have seen the last of Lucifer on the show:

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/183968888069/lucifer-rides-again-games-within-games

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/184140015899/14x18-absence-the-games-continue

So, my consideration of the re-fridging of Mary Winchester in the S14 SPN narrative is caveated by the fact that I have a sense that this re-fridging may be contingent rather than final. 

It is also caveated by the fact that Mary’s second (apparent) fridging was handled by Berens in a way which subverts it, because, as outlined above, Mary herself is absent from the mise-en-scène of her re-fridging. She has noped out of it! 

But, if my suspicions concerning another twist to this narrative are incorrect (and I hope they’re not) then, deft or not, Mary is still dead again to further our male protagonists’ narratives. 

I think we’re probably all familiar with the term, “fridging”....

 The term originates with Gail Simone, a comic book writer who created the website Women in Refrigerators in 1999 (twenty years ago now, wow). 

This is the link to the website (still live) and this is an excerpt of what she said:

“This is a list I made when it occurred to me that it's not that healthy to be a female character in comics. I'm curious to find out if this list seems somewhat disproportionate, and if so, what it means, really.

These are superheroines who have been either depowered, raped, or cut up and stuck in the refrigerator. I know I missed a bunch. Some have been revived, even improved -- although the question remains as to why they were thrown in the wood chipper in the first place.”

http://lby3.com/wir/ 

The trope, “fridging”, has now taken on an established life of its own in pop-culture criticism. 

Here is some more discussion of it in an article by Maria Norris “ Comics and Human Rights: A Change is Gonna Come. Women in the Superhero Genre” (2015).

“The trope Simone describes is now widely acknowledged, and the practice it describes has come to commonly known as ‘fridging’. The superhero genre typically depicts interactions and relationships between male and female characters that lack consequence, emotional resonance, permanence and accountability. Often, these fictional relationships stagnate, or end tragically. Too often, women in superhero comics become pawns in schemes meant to develop male characters or give them motivation to act.”

http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/80285/1/Comics%20and%20Human%20Rights_%20A%20Change%20is%20Gonna%20Come.pdf

So, we can define fridging, from these sources as - the often gruesome or shocking death of a female character, for the primary purpose of driving male character motivation or development. 

Whilst the trope may have been defined in the 1990s, it is much older in literature. We could argue that Oedipus’ mother, Jocasta, was fridged, for instance, because who she is (Oedipus’ birth mother) and her suicide, are framed as being all about Oedipus and the impact on Oedipus. We could even argue that Shakespeare fridged Ophelia, whose tragic suicide is driven by Hamlet’s cruelty (and his murder of her father) and whose death, in the play, is primarily designed to impact her menfolk - Hamlet (her beloved) and her brother Laertes. 

Essentially, what we mean by the “fridging” of a female character is that in stories (usually by men) where men are the protagonists and the heroes (or tragic heroes or anti-heroes) sometimes (by no means always) women are written as primarily existing in relation to those men, so that their own deaths are not about themselves, but are used principally to explore the emotional landscapes of the hero-protagonists to whom they mattered and who live on after they are gone.  

Mary Winchester’s original fridging, her gruesome burning on the ceiling, which we the audience see in 1x01 Pilot, provides the origin story for Supernatural. 

Mary is fridged because she is dead the moment we meet her. 

We don’t have time to get to know who she is, or what her death means as part of her own journey. She is killed gruesomely and that death provides major character motivation and development for her husband John Winchester and for her sons Sam and Dean. She is, originally, defined primarily by her relationships to them; as a dead wife and a dead mother.

Mary Winchester is fridged by fire and her menfolk are thus “birthed” into narrative. Over her silenced and torched corpse, they become words and action.  Their narrative journey begins because hers ends. 

That fridging is, in the very same pilot episode, repeated for Sam’s girlfriend Jess:

Supernatural, it is thus swiftly established (by a double fridging at the outset) is, overtly, a story of heterosexual men (John and Sam being so established by their relationships to Mary and Jess) without familial women. Men who have been initiated into a world of violence and grief, powerfully driven by revenge, because their women-folk have been slaughtered. 

(Dean, however, has been queer-coded from the beginning, but that’s another story.)

In the established patriarchal order of the SPN universe (in which stories about men are central and stories about women are peripheral) heightened masculine emotion (which lies at the heart of Supernatural) is thus created and legitimised, by the death of women.

When Bobby becomes the Winchesters gruff substitute father-figure (with a gooey,  although masked, heart-of-gold centre) his own back-story repeats the pattern. We learn Bobby had to kill his own wife, Karen, whilst she was possessed by a demon (see 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me, 5x15 Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, and 7x10 Death’s Door). In Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, Karen is raised as a zombie by Death, and Bobby is forced to kill her all over again, thus, once more, reinforcing the death of familial women as the origin point for the centrality of masculine emotion in the narrative. Karen, in the SPN narrative, does not really exist as her own person, only as Bobby’s tragic wife, framed, rather tellingly, as a home-maker and help-meet in this shot from 5x15:

Familial women, associated with the core male characters in Supernatural are thus, initially, strongly framed as occupying the domestic space, the hearth-fire, whilst hunting and the open road belongs to their (bereaved) menfolk. 

For Mary Winchester, however, things become a little more complicated than that. Because, thanks to the time-travel abilities of the angels, she is “resurrected” in 4x03 In the Beginning and 5x13 The Song Remains the Same and her sons get to meet a living, younger, version of her. Mary becomes a person, raised as a hunter in her own right, rebellious, brave, independent, determined, a fighter. We see her having something of her own agency, although to a limited extent, in that she remains “trapped” by the angel breeding programme and the fate the angels have laid out for her - to marry John and to bear angel-vessel sons. She cannot therefore, escape her primary framing as a wife and mother, as in this shot from 5x13:

So, when Dabb inaugurated his era as showrunner, and his Ouroboros narrative structure, by taking us back to the start of Superantural and re-working the story by unnfridging Mary Winchester (11x23 Alpha and Omega):

(Image credit: http://timetraveldean.tumblr.com/post/144939142393 )

it was such a brilliant “un-zipping” of the original SPN narrative architecture. The Ur “woman in white” was back from the dead; Supernatural was going meta-narrative on its own ass in a big way. By having Mary brought back to life from Heaven by the feminine God-principle in the universe, Amara, who had previously been unjustly locked away by her brother, God, SPN was critiquing its own patriarchal origin story. 

Yay! 

Which is why Mary’s re-fridging in 14x18, IF the writers’ room is playing it straight (and, as above, I have my strong doubts about that) would be so disappointing.

Sure, on one level, from Dabb’s Ouroboros narrative perspective, it makes impactful and symmetrical sense.

Jack was always paralleled to Azazel, as well as to Dean and Sam, at his birth - see this meta of mine on 12x23 All Along the Watchtower:

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/160876601179/all-along-the-watchtower-12x23-and-12x22-and

A yellow-eyed supernatural being in a nursery, a baby, and a mother who dies. The ingredients are the same (1x01 and 12x23) - the recombination is different, as part of the narrative journey.  

Mary’s first death inaugurated Dean as substitute-parent to Sam. 

Jack’s mother, Kelly Kline’s death, inaugurated the Winchesters as substitute parents to Jack. And oh boy, did the narrative not treat Kelly Kline well. Kelly Kline was stealth-raped by Lucifer and died giving birth to Jack (her body mystically ripped apart by the birth). Kelly was fridged for Jack’s nascent emotional journey, because, once again, the show’s core depends on the absence of familial women. 

Kelly Kline dies giving birth to Jack (12x23)

Jack’s birth and Sam and Dean’s parental responsibility for him also coincided with Castiel’s death, thus (in subtext) the narrative also mirrored Dean’s grief at losing Cas to his father John Winchester’s grief at losing Mary.

In a patriarchal culture where male feeling is repressed, which is definitely the in-show world of Supernatural (mirroring aspects of IRL US culture) the stakes, apparently, “have to” be bloody, they “have to” be high, in order for the narrative to “permit” the levels of traumatic emotion which Dean and Sam (and now Jack) continually cycle through, whilst maintaining their ostensibly “tough” hunter hero status.

The bedrock of that “permission”, i.e. permission to be a show about male sentiment? With Kelly Kline’s death, it continued to be predicated on the violent death of familial women - at the very moment the Winchesters themselves became fathers.

Dabb used the same (tired) trope in 9x20 Bloodlines (Ennis lost his girfriend to a werewolf attack, and was thus deeply emotionally wounded and bent on revenge).

Female familial death is the narrative “excuse” for the homo-social world of SPN, and it also works to contain the homoerotic subtext of SPN. Women are ostensibly, only absent from these men’s lives because they keep traumatically losing them, not because they, in fact, prefer the company of other men.

Two grown brothers and a male-embodied angel who live together, have adopted a son together, and who spend all their time in states of incredible emotional angst?

Hollywood culture (and the mainstream audience it imagines it is speaking to) still (for the most part - although let’s acknowledge Tapert’s Spartacus for Starz, 2010-2013) cannot compute how to experience that kind of set-up as both “queer” AND “manly” (which is why Troy [2004] eviscerates the homo-romantic from Achilles/ Patroclus) so the violent death of familial women in Supernatural is used as an excuse for their absence

Mary’s ostensible death in 14x18 seems, once again, to re-affirm this patriarchal order, even though, in her time back on earth, from 11x23 to now, Mary has been written and portrayed as a flawed, real person; her apple-pie baking, perfect Mom, childhood mirage (Dean’s dream of her idealised memory) thoroughly deconstructed. And I have lived for that. 

To have her re-fridged, for her sons’  man-pain (i.e. for the narrative “permission” to cycle through grief and angst and growth again) after all that, just sits wrong with me.

And, despite the beauty of Beren’s structure, despite his respectful treatment of her, make no mistake, Mary is (if we read this as played straight) re-fridged, because her death, is not about her or her own journey, rather, narratively, it now deliberately leaves her sons in the place of their father. 

A yellow-eyed “demon” (their adopted Nephilim son Jack, whom they fear has lost his soul) has killed Mary Winchester, again. Will the Winchesters follow in the footsteps of John Winchester’s revenge quest, or will they find another way? 

I really hope Mary comes back from the AU world she’s been un-wittingly blasted to by Jack to kick some sense into her sons’ asses and, oh yeah, punch Lucifer in the face all over again:

Mary punching Lucifer in 13x22 Exodus. 

[franceslittlenightmare]

 S T A I R W A Y T O H E A V E N.

: — ;Solo # 4 — ; Mid October Two Thousand Ninteen — ;Trigger warning: Mentions of an Eating Disorder — ; Song: Stairway To Heaven By Led Zepplin

— ; Admin Notes: This is Elsa’s current state. After our Royal Pains hiatus I figured we all needed starting points and explanations for our character’s absence. So, Elsa went to treatment for her ED from September to early November. She’s finally returned and basically is trying to get her life back on track. Her personality is still very much the same.

❝There's a lady who's sure All that glitters is gold And she's buying a stairway to heaven When she gets there she knows If the stores are all closed With a word she can get what she came for Oh oh oh oh and she's buying a stairway to heaven There's a sign on the wall But she wants to be sure 'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings In a tree by the brook There's a songbird who sings Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiving Ooh, it makes me wonder.❞ Elsa Grimaldi drew in a deep breath of air, pausing for a moment before exhaling. It had only been an hour since she was checked in but time was dragging by. Each excruciating minute after the next burned her up inside. It felt like a fire was raging itself through her body, destroying whatever stood in its path. Since arriving at the Eating Disorders clinic Elsa couldn't help but to notice how everyone kept acting like she was at some world star resort. All of the employees hid the depressing atmosphere with painted on smiles and matching lilac colored outfits, as if they weren't here to watch people literally kill themselves. At the Estate her absence was announced as a "retreat" which pissed the girl off even more. While her self confidence was low and she hated what she saw in the mirror, Elsa was never embarrassed of her Anorexia. It was very much part of herself, ingrained in every essence of her being. So, sugar coating the fact that she was dying infuriated the girl. The disease was a long time best friend, a trait in her personality, she was protective over the thing that had been destroying her body for the last five years. The first weigh in however, was absolutely modifying. As the petite princess entered the sterile white doctors office the smell of alcohol and bleach invaded her senses. The faint smell of the lavender plant in the window made her laugh internally, as if they could cover up the smell of sickness. As the girl was instructed to drop her white robe by a man with a friendly smile she couldn't help but to internally panic. It was something Elsa Grimaldi would never admit but, she was filled with an overwhelming anxiety about stripping off in front of anyone. Outwardly she gave off a confident, almost cocky, persona. But, that was a front, on the inside she was about as small and as fragile as one could be. The only man who had ever seen her fully naked was her ex, Ashton Deutch, and that took a lot of courage. So, the girl could feel the tears that began to prick at her white chocolate orbs. She slowly untied the wrap that held the robe to her small frame. Then, she dropped the piece of clothing. Why did it have to be a man? "Alright Ms.Grimaldi, go ahead and step up onto that scale right there. Once it beeps just hop off, put the robe on and head over to room 203." The man spoke kindly but rather monotone as he went through the motions, staring down at his clipboard. Elsa couldn't look back at him though, she was frozen in fear. This was exactly what she was afraid of, standing on the scale stark naked as she confronted exactly what she was terrified of, herself. Tears begun to fall over her hollowed cheeks as she stood there, staring down at the sleek glass scale, listening to it taunt her. "Is everything alright? I can get a female nurse over here if that's what would make you comfortable-" the man continued, interrupted by the soft voice of Elsa, a contrast to her usual direct tone. “No, I- I’m fine. Just, um.. just one moment please.” She trailed off, her arms wrapped around the thin frame of skin and bones that held her up and barley kept her heart beating. The French girl drew in another deep breath, trying to find the courage to step on the scale. Getting on it meant starting recovery. It meant acknowledging that she was sick. It meant coming to terms with the fact that she was dying. Getting on that scale meant so many things Elsa was afraid to come face. “I promise everything is going to be alright.” The voice spoke out again, softer than before. Elsa nodded once, long locks of chocolate colored hair falling in front of her face as she glanced down to watch her step. Slowly, she stood on the scale, her eyes shutting as she willed her mind to take her away from this current moment. After a few unbearable seconds the man thanked her and handed Elsa back her robe. The initial evaluation wasn’t good, she knew that. Prior to the weigh-in her vitals were also checked and various other minor things. She knew the results were bad just from looking at his expression. Quickly, she dressed again and dipped out of the room to find where she would be staying for the next to weeks before the male nurse could say anything further. After settling into her room, or more like pacing around, Elsa was summoned to a house meeting to hear the rules. Then, it was dinner time. She dreaded it, absolutely despised meal times with every single fiber of her being. Elsa Grimaldi had an addictive personality. When it came to liquor, shopping, men see it once and she was hooked. As a small child Elsa remembered the first Audrey Hepburn movie she watched, then rewatched twenty six times that month- Roman Holiday. It was a movie about a young princess who yearns to experience a normal life and ends up escaping and finding love in an ordinary man. Something about that movie called out to her. Her addictive personality only grew more intense with age. She continued to latch onto and devour the same obsessions. That is until she came face to face with her eating disorder. Food became her newest addiction, the rush and control she felt. But, as the years went on her eating disorder began to control her and run Elsa’s life. So, as she sat in the chair, petite frame rigid and small as she stared down at the plate of food. It started with something small for her first day, tomato soup. Every patient had a specialized meal plan along with their overall treatment plan. Tomato soup was a staple in her diet back in France. So, while the familiarity was comforting it only annoyed the girl more. Slowly, she lifted her spoon, dipping it into the vivid red liquid as she began to stir absentmindedly. The Parisian woman noted how the liquid reminded her of blood, undeniably so. “Elsa-“ The voice broke her out of the trance she was in. “A bite, just one.” The voice repeated, an older female counselor. “I promise you, the road to recovery starts with one bite. I know it’s incredibly difficult, but remember why you’re here, your baby boy.” The girl hated that, she despised it. They used her son as leverage. But, she couldn’t quite be mad. Using the baby as a way to save her life wasn’t exactly criminal. Elsa promised the infant, or promised herself, that she was going to be around to watch Grayson grow up. She would be the mother she never had and unconditionally and fiercely protect the child she had carried and loved for nine months. It wasn’t like the Parisian girl to grow attached to another person. Her deepest longest bonds had been with her brother, her own father and the father of her child. They were all complex, one of those relationships being deemed as toxic by her therapist. Another body she had developed recently was with a man of authority, an Italian man she had no businesses even talking to. Yet, all of her dynamics with men were complicated and took a toll on the girl. So, she wanted to get it right with Grayson, her child. With a deep heaving sigh Elsa lifted up her spoon. Her hand shook slightly as she held the utensil up to her plumped lips. With big Bambi like eyes she glanced up at the personal therapist on her case, the friendly woman giving her a reassuring smile as she nodded once. Carefully, she inched the spoon closer to her mouth, quickly slipping on the red liquid and then pulling the spoon back once more. “Good, that’s good Elsa. Progress is important. Yesterday you were almost in Kidney failure. Today, you’re out of bed and participating. I’m proud of you-“ the woman chided with a friendly smile, gently patting Elsa’s frail shoulder as she stood up to fetch the woman a glass of water and her medicine for the meal; antidepressants and vitamins. As Elsa processed everything she caught her reflection in the spoon. Her wide eyed staring back at her, empty and scared. She didn’t realize what she looked like. She was no longer the fiery woman who hid behind insults, attitude and an ice wall. Her defenses had been stripped down and she was Elsa, that little vulnerable French girl. For the second time that day her eyes began to well up with tears. Silently, she let them fall, holding the spoon as she watched tears adorn her cheeks. She truly saw herself, the person she used to recognize. This was the start of something, Elsa thought to herself. a faint smile dancing across her tired features as she dipped the spoon back into the soup, taking another cautious bite as she began to eat.